#irony is in aus it was pretty warm today

[keibea]

autumn 🍂

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Walk Right In, It's Around The Back

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Big Sky

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Beau Arlen/Reader, Beau Arlen/Reader

Synopsis: Spending the holiday alone? Not if the Deputy can help it. For the sake of argument, let's say this takes place pre-introduction, when Our Hero's working as a sheriff's deputy in a small town somewhere in Texas, and You are an administrative grunt who works in the same sheriff's office.

Tags:  Beau Arlen, AU, Really Just Smut, Written Before Watching The Show So Excuse Plot Whoopsies Please

AN:  Title is from the song "Alice's Restaurant," by Woodie Guthrie. Listening to the concert version is a Thanksgiving tradition. No I haven't watched the show yet. It's on my list. Purely speculative porn based on wishful thinking on what the character might or might not be like. Blame the actor for being so goshdarn cute. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

The County Sheriff’s office is tomb-silent as you swipe yourself in.  There’s a deputy up front in case of emergency but the back office where you work driving a desk is dark and quiet.  You’re not sneaking-- you cleared this with the office manager last week and again yesterday.  Still feels like sneaking.  You can’t help but tippity-toe.

Booting up your work computer and setting up Skype’s the work of a few minutes.  You wait, and eventually your family’s faces tile the screen. “Happy Thanksgiving sweetie-bird!” your mom chirps, and the ever-present ache of homesickness simultaneously eases and intensifies.  Been almost a year since you moved five states and a thousand miles away from everybody and everything you ever knew.  Shit, you thought a hundred and ten degree heat was a myth until you moved here.  You're still not used to how bright the light is, and how everything's out in the open.  You're a trog, you like hiding places.

Anyway.  You wave hi to your sister and brother-in-law and the stepfamily in Kalamazoo and your mom in Ypsilanti and your cousins in Hillsdale.  "So what're your plans for the day?" your mom asks.

"Oh, I'm gonna go home, watch TV, hide out at my apartment tomorrow because of course some idiot's gonna start a riot at the WalMart over the last big screen TV," you say.  "Bask in the irony of people trampling each other for stuff the day after a holiday dedicated to being grateful for what they already have."

Your mom makes a face.  "I'm sorry I couldn't fly down--"

"It's okay," you brush off, "I'll be up in January even if I have to hitchhike.  So far the boss here's been pretty reasonable and I promised I'd work over Christmas.  No sense in spending money on a plane ticket when I'm just gonna see you in a couple months anyway.  What're you doing for the day Mom?"

"The usual.  Going out with your aunt to the Seoul Garden and catching a movie," your mom shrugs.

“We got the pit going out back.  Uncle Jake scored a whole pig.  The guys from the VFW’ve been taking shifts all night,” the chief of The Cousins, Daniel, reports.

"We're gonna go out and see Dad after dinner and then go visit the stepmother in the hospital," your sister says.  "He couldn't make it today."

You swear.  Your Dad's been down with a bad back for months and your stepmother's in the hospital recovering from gallbladder surgery.  "When you see them give them my love."

A big warm hand lands on your shoulder and you hop halfway to Heaven.  "Easy!" the owner says, that million-dollar smile shining out from a neatly barbered beard.

"Deputy!" you squeak.  On the computer monitor both your sister and your mother have gone quiet and buggy-eyed.  Not exactly a unique reaction to the sight of Sheriff’s Deputy Beau Arlen, who is by far the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in the flesh.  All reddish brown hair and big jade-over-amber eyes, sensuous lips in a neatly barbered beard, and a body built for sin.

"What're you doing here?  I thought you drew the short straw for Christmas," he says.

"I did.  I don't have high-speed at my apartment, so I asked if I could come in and use my work computer to talk to my family back in Michigan."  You scootch to the side a little so he can see the screen.  You introduce your family as he takes off his uniform hat like a gentleman, "This is Beau Arlen.  He's one of the deputies here."

Thank God for your mom's faultless sense of etiquette.  She greets him warmly with best wishes for the holiday.  "Taxpayers working you hard Deputy?"

"Something like that," he says.

“Shit-- sorry sir,” Daniel says, “Uncle Jake needs help out back.  Catch ya later!” and signs off.

"I should--" Deputy Arlen says.

"Of course of course," you stutter, waving him away.  "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Happy Thanksgiving," he replies and heads for the offices up-front.

Your sister cusses.  "You didn't tell me he was fucking hot!"

"Yes I did," you hiss in a whisper.  Small town, everybody's got ears like satellite dishes.  "He is also married."  At least he wears a ring.  You've never heard anyone mention a wife.  Widower?  Divorcée?  You have no idea and you haven't been working here long enough to get plugged into the gossip mill.  God knows if you had any claim to those six-odd feet of divine manufacture you'd never let them out of your sight.

"Of course he is," your mother sighs.  "C'est la vie."

"Yeah."  In the background somebody calls your sister's name.  "I gotta go.  We're sitting down to dinner."

"Love you kiddo," you tell your sister and she signs off with a smile.  Your mother hangs on the line a little longer, mostly the two of you exchanging bitches about traffic and the weather.  Then your aunt arrives and your mother signs off, leaving you in the dark back office alone and facing a long stretch of holiday to kill.  And you can tell, today the time's gonna die hard.  All by yourself, and with none of the comforting touchstones of the familiar around you.  You'd get drunk and have a good cry but you're out of booze.

"Hey."

You damn near jump out of your skin.  God damn, the man can be quiet when he wants to be.  "Jesus Deputy, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm sorry, I thought you heard me."  A mild Texas accent makes his words soft and round.  He smiles a little, ducks his head.  Is he nervous?  Nah, can't be.  Man's got brains, bravery, and beauty crammed into a set of uniform khakis.  He's got no reason to be nervous about anything, ever.  "I was just wondering if you had a ride home, is all."

"It's okay, it's only a few blocks and it's not that cold out."  You were even robbed of a nice day to go walking in; it's been overcast and chilly, threatening autumn drizzle.

"It's no trouble.  I don't have anywhere I have to be today."

That's a surprise.  "What?  Why are you even here come to think of it?  It's Thanksgiving."

"My parents are somewhere in the Gulf on the Princess Katrina and my sister's spending the day with her in-laws in Montana."

"Shit I'm sorry, Deputy--" you say.

"Beau.  I'm off-duty-- my name's Beau," he corrects you.  "It's not a big deal.  We all get together for Christmas at my grandparents' place."

"Sounds like my folks," you say.  "For the longest time my aunt'n'uncle were the only ones who had a house big enough to host everybody, so that's where we all gathered for the holidays."  Deputy-- Beau pulls up a chair and the two of you exchange stories about holiday gatherings.  You giggle when he tells you about his twin cousins climbing on the roof playing Truth Or Dare and by some miracle coming down without a scratch.  His chuckle when you make a schluping noise describing the way your cousin eats the mashed potatoes makes you all puddly inside.  God even his laugh is sexy.

"Well," he says, slapping his legs and standing.  You check your watch and to your surprise it's well into the afternoon.  "I'm so hungry I could eat a dead shark without stopping to skin him first.  You hungry?"

"Starving, actually," you admit.

Beau clears his throat.  "I got a couple of good ribeyes at home.  We could have dinner, watch the game."

"Oh no, I couldn't," you protest, a lifetime of never assuming you're wanted because you're probably not driving your words.

"Why not?" he asks.  "Wouldn't be right, letting a lady spend Thanksgiving alone."

"I mean--" you force the words out, "don't you have to clear it with your wife?"

"My what?"  He glances down at the gold band on his left hand.  "Oh that.  We've been divorced for years.  She left for the West Coast as soon as the papers were signed."  He holds out his hand.  "Come on.  You're gonna make me spend the whole day by myself?  It won't feel right, cooking up steak for just me, and all I got besides is leftovers.  You'll be doing me a favor."

---

When you get to Beau's place, you do a quick inventory of his kitchen and throw together a cobbler from frozen blueberries, as he excuses himself to change out of his uniform and into some jeans and a dark green workshirt with shiny copper buttons.  The color brings out the red in his hair and the green in his eyes and makes him almost too beautiful to fucking look at.  The steaks are wonderful, cooked perfectly and served with baked potatoes and a side salad.  He pretty much inhales the cobbler, mumbling compliments the whole time.  It's the best Thanksgiving you've had in years, honestly.

Stuffed full, you lounge on the couch watching the Thanksgiving day game.  Cowboys versus Lions.  "The overrated versus the damnéd," you say.

"Hey," Beau chides you, handing you a beer.  "Them's fightin words round here ma’am."

"I am obliged by sport law to root for the Detroit fucking Lions.  Honey you don't know what pain is," you growl.

"Yet there you are repping the Mavericks," he points at your Number 77 T-shirt.

"Basketball wasn't a declared loyalty before I moved to Texas," you counter.  Beau cocks an eyebrow at you.  "Besides I have a crush on Doncic," you admit.  "He's cute."  There it is again, that laugh.  Beau really needs to dial back the harmless flirting, your libido’s taking it the wrong way.  Like sit on your lap and suck out your fillings, like go to your bedroom and audition as your mattress, like tie me up and make me beg-- that wrong way.  "You play ball in school?"

"Yeah," he says, "baseball and football."  He shrugs.  "It's expected."  As he relaxes, his accent thickens.  The words melt over you, like butter.  "Was baseball a dee-clared loyalty?"

"Yep," you say, finishing your bottle.  "Ti-GRRS!"  Like a considerate host, Beau gets up and fetches more beers.  This time though, he doesn't sit in the recliner.  He sits with you on the couch.  At the other end of it, leaves plenty of space between you . . . but there.  With you.

Two more beers and an epic Cowboys collapse later you are definitely feeling no pain.  "That's my cat Peggy, rest in peace," you say, pointing to the tuxedo point Maine Coon tattooed on your bicep.  Beau's sitting on the coffee table, his knee touching your knee.  He's so close, you can feel his heat and smell his cologne.  It's all making you feel a bit giddy, over and above the buzz from the beer.  You're gonna be having some very warm and wet dreams about this man tonight.  Thank God you've got fresh batteries in Mr. Shakes.

Beau unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and rolls up his sleeve to show a fleur-de-lis design on his forearm.  "It's medieval," he says.

"I know," you say, taking his wrist in one hand and touching the tattoo with the other.  "The petals stand for purity, chastity, and virtue.  The anchor is for strength and the crown is for courage."

"Exactly right," he says, smiling.

"Beautiful color work," you note, taking a closer look at the delicate shades of gold and gray.  Beau's skin makes a good canvas, pale under a fading workman's suntan.  "Appropriate design for a cop."

Beau's smile's faded a little, shifted into something . . . else.  He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, revealing a glyph inked on your neck in deep blue.  "This here?"

"It's the Chinese character for water.  I'm an Aquarius.  Feels weird," you say, "not having a bigass lake somewhere nearby."  You're rambling, like you do when you get tipsy.  "There's a limit to how lost you can get-- go east or west in Michigan, eventually you'll trip over a lake.  There's nothing like that in Texas.  You can go a thousand miles in any direction and it's still Texas."

"Not quite so far," Beau rebuts.

"You know what I mean.  Everything's so . . . out in the open."

Beau thinks a moment.  "I think I see what you mean.  I lived in Maine some years ago.  Bangor was beautiful but it felt . . . I dunno, claustrophobic?  If Texas feels weird to you why do you stay?  You're not homesick?"

"Of course I'm homesick.  I love Michigan and I miss it, but the job market really sucks and I really hate snow.  I feel betrayed," you say, waving at the window as raindrops run down the glass, "I was told it never got cold in Texas."

"They did lie, whoever told you that," Beau confirms with a smile.  "Still, Texas does have its good points.  Best barbecue, prettiest skies.  Friendliest people."

"I'll grant you those," you say.  You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how little personal space is left between you and him.  And you're aware that he's aware.  His thumb rubs the hollow behind your ear and all your hair stands on end.  His eyes have darkened to the color of Isle Royale greenstone, the same color as the stone in your pendant.  Strong white teeth clench his full lower lip.

You stand up.  "I . . . I'm a terrible guest, I'll help--" empty bottles clink as you gather them up in shaking hands.

"I got it darlin--" Beau says, getting to his feet with a grunt and gathering empty bottles and dirty dishes.

"No it's okay, I'm sorry, I was raised better, promise," you stutter, fleeing to the kitchen with your hands full.  You drop the dead soldiers into the trash.  Okay, you need to remove yourself from the scene before you do something dumb and embarrassing and biohazardous and potentially litigation-worthy.

Beau’s asking for you, and his voice turns your name into something soft and beautiful.  “Did I say something wrong?  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!  No, you didn’t, I’m just-- I have a bad habit of taking things the wrong way.”

“Well let’s talk about that way-- just what’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“You’re just being nice.  I’m the one turning it into something sleazy.”

If this were a comic book, there'd be an Ah-HA! thought bubble over Beau’s head.  He ticks up a finger.  “I should clarify.  I was hoping dinner would count as a first date.”

And a giant flaming question mark would get inked over yours.  “Huh?”

“I mean,” he says, coming in close, “you don’t give a man a chance, do you?  You’re just-- there, with those eyes, and those legs, and that laugh.  I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to ask you out for months but things kept coming up.”

Oh God is he serious?  Offers for rides home even though your apartment’s within walking distance and his shift ends an hour before yours does, raiding the candy dish on your desk every day around lunchtime, complimenting the coffee when you pass out the cups.  That smile first thing in the morning has become a reason to live.

And how did he get so close?

Slowly, giving you time to cry foul, Beau cups your jaw.  “I mean,” his throat works as he clears it, “I can take you home if you want.  That’d be the proper thing to do, iffn I was bein a gentleman.”

And you make a decision.  “Yeah it would,” you say, standing up straight and into his personal space.  In your sock feet you barely top his collarbone.  “If I were a lady,” you say peering almost straight up into his ex-fucking-squisite face, “I’d be thanking you for a lovely time and going home to a hot bubble bath and a Harlequin romance.”

“If I was a gentleman,” Beau says, lifting your glasses off your face and setting them carefully on the kitchen counter, “I’d be taking a shower and getting ready for bed.  I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you though.”

“I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you either,” you tell him, blinking your eyes back into focus.  You’re nearsighted, it makes Beau stand out like he’s the only thing that exists in three dimensions.  “I mean, you cooked for me-- how hot is that?  I’d be very ladylike though.  Drying off, moisturizing.  I wouldn’t get into my regular jammies though.”  Beau’s smile’s turning salacious and he’s stroking down your back, firm and possessive and not gentlemanly at all.  “I’d be thinking about you, and I’d wanna feel pretty.  So I’d get out my silk nightie.”

With a sigh that’s just this side of a groan, Beau says, “I’d get into bed and try to go to sleep.  I’d be making plans to ask you out to this barbecue place I know.  But I’d keep thinking about how goddamn sexy you look when you laugh.”

“Me too.  I’d get into bed in my silk nightie-- it’s this periwinkle blue, and it’s so light I can see my fingers through it.”

“I don’t wear anything to bed usually,” Beau tells you and you blush.  “I work out in the morning so I’d really need to go to sleep.  But . . .” his arm goes around your back and pulls your body tight to his.  His knees bend and you shiver when you feel something that is not a cell phone under his zipper.  “Well.  Gentlemen never let on how damn hard a lady’s makin him.”

“A lady’d never ever write a dirty story about you in her journal,” you say.  “Again.”

His eyes spark and his gaze has gone from warm to downright hungry.  “Again?  So you think about me a lot?”

“A lady can’t admit to that,” you tell him, low and soft.  “A gentleman wouldn’t ask.”

“Mmm.  Good thing I’m not a gentleman.”

“Thank God I’m not a lady,” you confirm, putting your arms around his neck and stretching up to kiss him.

Oh hell, the Deputy knows how to kiss.  Soft lips and a broad tongue, his beard a delightfully soft-scratchy counterpoint.  Beau doesn’t just use his face; he treats kissing like a full contact sport, holding you tight and working his whole body against yours.  Makes you very very aware how big he is compared to you, how strong.

“Is this okay darlin?” Beau asks between kisses, his low voice rumbling through you like sliding rocks.

“Very okay,” you pant, squirming to get him closer.  God damn pants.  All of you feels warm and tender.  Even the weight and texture of your clothes is sweet, the pressure of Beau’s hands exquisite.  The thought of that touch on your bare skin makes you shake.

Beau squats and locks his arms around your butt.  “Up.”  You hop and wrap your legs around his waist.  “You want I should take you to bed and do ungentlemanly things with you?”

“Only if I can be really,” you kiss his neck, down where his beard doesn’t cover, “really unladylike.”

“Honey,” he says, carrying you down the hall as easily as anything, “I mean to be downright barbaric.”

“Rude even?” you tease.

“Oh no, never, my mama raised me better,” he teases back, and good Lord that look would melt the panties off a nun.

Beau's bedroom is tidy for a bachelor.  The bed's a big walnut-bedsteaded rig neatly made with a quilt you're pretty sure is handmade.  You giggle as Beau gently lays the two of you down, settling himself with his waist in between your knees and his head tucked under your chin.  "Comfy.  What is this, a pillowtop?"

"Mmm.  My daddy always told me you spend a third of your life in bed and the other two-thirds in your shoes, so they should both be as comfortable as possible," Beau tells you as he pulls off your T-shirt.  You cringe a bit; laundry day was last Saturday and you're wearing your worn-out minimizer bra and rag-bag ready polka-dotted cotton briefs.  It's not like you were planning to go to bed with Deputy Sex-In-A Stetson.  If you had been, you'd've worn the black satin-- the thong that lets your ass hang out and the bra that gives you cleavage for days.

"Goodgod," Beau says, all in one word, “look at what you've been hidin from me.  What else we got under these?"

"Well what've you got under these?" you ask, working the buttons on Beau's shirt.  You shuck him out of a white cotton T-shirt and gulp at the sight of a body that's mostly ropy muscle covered in soft skin, hair sprinkled across the chest and trailing down his stomach.  You slide your hand over the front of his jeans and goodness gracious that’s a handful.  You feel a thrill of nerves-- it’s been a while and Beau’s a big guy.  “Stupid uniform,” you say.  “Covering up all this.”

Beau chuckles, deep and dark.  Big, clever fingers work the button on your jeans and pull them off.  Light as feathers, they trail back up your legs.  Thank all the Heavenly blessings you shaved a couple nights ago.  “Pretty girl all soft and warm,” he says to himself.

“You said something about barbaric things?” you ask, your voice shaking.

“I did say.”  Beau reaches behind you and works the clasp of your bra.  “But politely.  May I,” he kisses you, trails lips and beard down your neck, “please,” curls a warm tongue around your nipple, “pretty please,” you squeak at the feel of rough whiskers and rough fingers and pulling at your tits, just strong enough to take your breath away, “take these panties off and eat you out until you beg for mercy?”

“Oh!  Um . . . you don’t have to--” Beau scoots down the bed to give himself room and slips your undies off, “I, um, you don’t-- I’m plenty turned on, believe me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that darlin,” Beau says, putting one big hand low on your belly and massaging.  It feels good, way deep down there.  You’re self-aware enough to know you’re not nearly as worldly as you pretend, and you’ve never . . . your last boyfriend seemed grossed-out by the idea so you didn’t--

“There we go,” Beau says to himself, staring down at your pussy like Christmas came early.  “All pink and purty-like.”

You damn near swallow your own tongue as Beau pins you to the bed and sucks your pulsing clit into his mouth.  Electric shocks leap through your body and you cry out, “Fuck!” as he sets your legs in the bend of his arms, crosses his hands over your tummy, and fastens you to his face.

“Patience darlin we’ll get there,” Beau mumbles into you, the baritone rumble against your softest parts a sensation all its own.  “We’ll get there,” he repeats, before doing something with his beard that lights you up like a fucking Christmas tree.  You slide your fingers into his hair, all soft and fine.  Beau’s eyes roll up to meet yours and the cocky bastard tips you a wink.

Your body arcs and your legs almost cramp as you try to close them but Beau’s right there, his head wedged firm against you and his whole face engaged in making you insane.  You slap your hands over your mouth to keep from embarrassing yourself.  Jesus God you hope this apartment’s got good soundproofing.  “Easy there grasshopper,” Beau laughs as you practically bounce off the bed.  “Easy.”

Beau’s hands go up from your stomach to your tits.  Desperate for an anchorpoint as he keeps doing things you didn’t think were possible in the real world, you grip his fingers as they squeeze.  Oh, mistake.  Now you can hear yourself, all shrill and pleading and nowhere near ladylike.  “Oh my God, don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop doing that--” you plead.  The world’s falling away, like it does sometimes when it’s good.

“You’re gonna come?  Not yet you’re not,” he growls.  Fucking growls.

“Okay!” you laugh as he unwinds your legs from his head.  Ache, that’s what you are, from the breastbone to your knees, denied need digging into you with barbed claws.  “Okay, mercy!  This is me, begging.”

“I can see that,” Beau laughs, kissing up to your mouth with the smell of you thick in his beard.  Your hands are shaking, but they’re steady enough to work Beau’s jeans open.  Every cell in your body needs him.  Inside you.  Now.  Right fucking now.

Then his pants hit the floor and, “Whoof.”

“Oh, hold on a minute,” Beau says, rolling and stretching to get at a box on the nightstand.  You can’t take your eyes off his very, very, very . . . well.  Thick, curved a little bit, iron-hard, fucking throbbing as it stands bold as love out of a tangle of wiry hair.  Your mouth waters at the thought of getting to know it and know it well but the owner clearly has other plans.  Smooth as Copperfield doing card tricks Beau takes care of protection.

You throat opens on a gasp as Beau grabs you and rolls you underneath him.  Good Lord, he’s big.  Heavy over you and thick inside you and hot everywhere.

“Shit baby,” he groans, “that’s tight.  You want more?  I got more.”

“You got more?  Gimme more.  God Beau, please, gimme more,” you beg, and if you were joking around before you’re not now, you need to come on this cock.

“Well I dunno darlin.”

No.

“I mean, givin you what you want.”

Oh hell no.

“That’s . . . kinda gentleman-like, hmm?”

He wouldn’t.

“Please fuck me.  Please.  Please.”  You squirm under him, trying to get him closer.  Make him move.  Make him fuck you like a barbarian.  But God damn him, he won’t move.  Just . . . stays put, tension turning all his muscles to stone.

“Oh hey now,” he says as you start to cry.  You can’t help it, the ache’s becoming unbearable, the denial too heavy, it’s all too damn much.  “Don’t be carryin on like that sweetheart.”  Beau kisses you, and there’s an edge to his smile that makes your inner switch flop over and show belly.

“Please sir,” you say as clearly as you can, hiccuping back tears.  Beau’s eyes spark, dark and dangerous.  The wide head of him lodged between your inner petals . . . it twitches.  “Please give me your big cock.”

He does.  Oh God he does.

Thick and heavy and so fucking deep.  You’re so wet and ready the stretch and burn feels good.  Something deep in your guts goes pop! and you shrill out a noise you might get embarrassed about later.  You throw your hands up desperately seeking something to hang onto as Beau rocks into you all hot and thick.  But there’s nothing to grab, the bedstead’s solid wood.  Beau grabs your wrists in one hand and you clutch.  There’s nowhere that isn’t Beau; sight and sound and sensation, inside and outside. 

Beau’s panting, pleasure twisting up his face.  “You gonna come for me darlin?  Come all over my cock like a good girl?”

“Yes,” you pant right back, barely able to put words together but doing it anyway because he expects to be listened to and answered and you’re a good girl.  Good girls get to fly.  “Gonna come for you, God I’m so close, gonna fucking come for you.”  Jesus, he’s fucking you so good it’s damn near an out-of-body experience.  The earth is falling away, you’re fucking flying, higher and faster than you’ve ever felt.

Escape velocity reached and you gulp air around screams as you come so hard you turn inside out.  Beau buries himself in you to the balls and just holds still, moaning as he feels every clench and pulse and wave.  His arms go around your back and pull you tight to him so he can feel as much of your pleasure as he can.  “Good girl,” he tells you as you slump to the sheets, a mess of goo clinging to a jellied skeleton.  “Put your hands up by your head.”

Weakly you obey, and Beau weaves his fingers with yours, holding you down.  He’s keeping control and you are so okay with that, you’re out in space floating weightless and free.  Except here in Beau’s bed he’s fucking you so hard he’s damn close to breaking the bed and to your shock you feel the fire building again.  “Please,” you beg and you don’t even know what you’re begging for, it’s just important that you beg.

“Come for me again pretty girl, you can do it, we can do it together, come for me, come on and come for me sweetheart, God I’m so damn close . . . so close--" his voice spikes up in pitch and your bodies arch together.  Your cunt clamps down and squeezes as his cock kicks and jerks.

Groaning, Beau slumps on top of you.  He’s squashing you and you don’t care, the squash makes you grounded again, puts you gently back on planet Earth.  He’s still holding your wrists and that’s good too, you’re so . . . blown apart, it’s going to take a minute to pull back together, Beau’s grip is keeping you from drifting away.  A snatch of the song drifts across your awareness and you pant out a laugh.

“What?” Beau slurs.

“You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant -- excepting Alice --" Beau starts laughing, and joins you on the next line.  His singing voice is surprisingly sweet, “You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant.  Walk right in, it’s around the back, just a half a mile from the railroad tracks . . .”

---

Later, you cuddle up close, nestled under Beau’s arm and feeling warm and absolutely blissed out.  “That was . . .” you grope for a word that fits, not easy when you’re recovering from the sex of a lifetime, “nice.”

Beau looks down at you, as he plays a fingertip down your arm.  “’Nice,’ sweepea?”

“Sweepy?” you lisp, confused.

“Sweet.  Pea,” Beau enunciates.    “And don’t change the subject.  ‘Nice’?  I mean, speakin personally-- the sky caved in.”  You catch the corners of his lips jittering and burst into giggles.  “Thunderbolts’n’lighting.”

“Very very frighten-ning!” you sing the next line.

“Oh if you’re gonna mock me you can get the hell outta my bed, you minx--"

“No, no no no no!�� you cry out through your giggles as Beau push-tickles you across the sheets.

“The earth moved,” he switches from shoving to pulling, “the angels wept, the demons down in Hell gave us a standing ovation,” as he speaks, Beau wrestles you closer and pins you more securely to the rumpled sheets, “I think I might’ve glimpsed the face of God the Father Almighty--”

“What’d He look like?” you ask, curious.

“Ever seen Holy Grail?  Anyway, all that, and the best you can do is nice?”

You think a minute.  “Really nice?”

Beau glares down at you.  “I’ll get you for that.”

“Yes please,” you say, sliding your hands into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

As you spread your legs to cradle his body properly, a muscle twinges and you hiss in pain.  In an instant Beau’s off you.  He looks you over and sees bruises starting to set on your arms and between your thighs.  “Jesus Christ-- did I hurt you?  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Beau, it’s just been a while.  And believe me, I’m not flattering you at all when I say you lack in neither equipment nor technique.”

Beau doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just strokes your belly with that catcher’s mitt of a hand.  “You called me sir.”

“You called me a good girl.  I think we’re even.”

“Not what I meant.  I mean-- that’s not the kind of rough you do first time you go to bed with someone.  Not without talking about it first.”

You cover his hand with yours.  “Dude.  You just gave me the absolute best fuck of my life.  Don’t ruin the moment.  Besides . . .” you hesitate.

Oh well.  God hates a coward.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-off, you know.  I mean, yeah, it was nice--”

“Really nice,” Beau interjects.

“Really nice gives us a good baseline.  I’m sure with some dedicated practice we could work our way up.”

Beau’s expression’s unreadable.  His hand on your belly turns and his fingers close over yours.  “Wouldn’t blame you if you left right now and never looked at me again.”

“Hey,” you tell him, “look at me a sec.”  When you have his undivided attention, you say, “We got mutually a little carried away but nothing happened I wasn’t on board with.  You?”

“You can be assured ma’am I was an enthusiastic participant in all activities.”  Beau’s smile is as much wry as cheerful and with that he slips under your skin.

“Okay.  So . . .” you think a minute, “how about we get a nap, have a mature conversation about boundaries, and get to work topping Nice.”

---

Several hours later your throat burns around shrieks.  Beau’s broad body pins you to the shower tile and his broad cock pulls against every fucking nerve you got.  Beau’s got his hand buried in your hair, holding your head fast as he kisses you, deep and frantic.

Swearing, Beau lets go of your hair and slaps the wall by your head, coming with a gasp.  Without missing a beat he pulls out and drops to his knees.  Two fingers slick up into you, a hot mouth lands on your clit, and you cry out as you come.

You slide down to the shower floor as Beau gets rid of the condom.  Panting, he slumps next to you.  “Well?”

You think.  “Super-duper nice?”

---

[scorsoneamelia]

colors

here’s an amelink au!! i am super excited for this one and it may be confusing i’m so sorry if it is!!! i’m planning on making this a multi-fic so that’s why it’s so short cause this is just basically the first but BUT i WILL be continuing this one! hope it’s good and isn’t too confusing

tw: mentions of death

              Colors didn’t exist; maybe they existed but nobody could see them. Everyone and everything was in black and white, skin color didn’t exist, nobody could tell when someone’s cheeks flushed red from embarrassment, the sky was always dark, cars were all the same color; the world was dull. It was either black, white or grey, some shades were darker and some were lighter. There was no such things as blues, purples, reds; nobody even knew what those were. Everyone saw in black and white unless they’re dying.

               They didn’t know why, they didn’t know how but according to anyone who was dying they saw the world differently, more brighter, more full; more full of life and some would laugh at the irony considering the moment they’re dying the world goes from dull to light. It’s been researched about, it’s been talked about and some people think it’s a myth; seeing something completely different from others just because you’re dying. It can’t be true.

              Some doctors believed it while some didn’t, people who weren’t dying thought they were crazy and some believed they actually were. (mind you, having people tell you you’re crazy, starts to sound believable.)

              Maybe that’s why Amelia believed just that; believed that she was crazy. Because enough people told her that and even when she would look out the window the trees were not the same dull and bland color they normally were, and the sky was brighter and the clouds seemed more white. The theory of her being crazy became more true because even though the sky and the trees were different, the rest of the world wasn’t.

              She was okay with being crazy; it made the world less dark and if it meant she got to look at the world this way until she dies, she’ll be okay with it. At least this way the sky didn’t match the darkness she had inside her.

               The grocery store was different, while most things were the same bland and gloomy shades, some things were lit up; bright and beautiful. The lettuce was the same colour as the trees, where as the strawberries and bananas were normal; what she was used to. The blueberries were the same as the sky, only a much darker shade. It was weird, and she had a confused look on her face the entire time while everyone else didn’t. She wonders if anyone else, anyone at all can see the fruits the same way she did. (maybe they were crazy too.)

                She was short, she’d admit that, especially when she was reaching for an item on a top shelf, her arm and fingers spread as far as they could, standing on the tip of her toes. A huff of frustration left her throat and she placed her feet flat onto the ground before she tried again, jumping slightly to try and reach the object.

                “Need any help?” There was a voice beside her, a male who was much taller than her was reaching for the object, and it was easier for him.

                 He handed her the box, and she noticed his eyes resembled the sky, it made her breath get caught in her throat. She’s never seen someone look like that; that beautiful. His jawline was sharp and his eyes were a color that she has never seen until today and she couldn’t stop staring. He towered over her, his body shape was lean and he was fit, and super attractive. There was an awkward silence, neither of them breaking contact and his eyebrow was raised.

               “This is usually the part where you say thank you,” his reply wasn’t hostile or rude, but he was smiling and there was a sparkle in his eyes that made him look even more beautiful. (if that was possible)

                “Uh, ya,” she was stumbling over her words, her cheeks getting warm and she had to force herself to look away, to look anywhere but into his eyes. “Thanks.”

                 Her hair was short, shoulder length and it was a dark brown with a hint of blonde at the ends, mind you, brown hair or blonde hair wasn’t a thing, you either had dark hair or light hair. Her eyes matched his although hers were a darker blue, something she never noticed until today. Usually her eyes were heavy, dark and there wasn’t any hint of life in them. The male looking at her thought she was beautiful though.

                “Atticus,” he was giving her his hand. “Lincoln.”

                “Atticus? As in-“

                “From To Kill a Mockingbird, yes, my parents are huge fans.” He interrupted her and she hadn’t grabbed his hand yet, although he still had it hovering in between them.

                “Amelia,” she finally answered, their hands connecting to shake each other’s hand; a casual greeting. “Shepherd.”

                 The rest of the world was frozen and it was just the two of them, they both must have been lost in each others eyes because neither of them would stop staring. If it were up to her, she’d stand here everyday until her life came to an end because this was better than the alternative.

                 She was dying. Two years ago, as a doctor; a surgeon, she had the unfortunate luck of getting diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer. This form of cancer is very aggressive and the survival rate is less than 50%. They found hers late because she never showed any symptoms until it was too late.

                 She tried radiation treatment in attempt to shrink the tumour, making it easier for the surgeons to remove it but after nine months of her feeling weak and losing her hair, she ended it. It wasn’t working, the cancer wasn’t shrinking, it was just staying the same.

                 She remembers sitting on the bathroom floor, head over the toilet and she was emptying out her stomach. Her hands were gripped so hard onto the toilet bowl it was like she was holding on for life. There was a pounding in her temples, and it was worse when her eyes were open. She never felt good, always feeling like she literally was hit by a bus, but that’s what radiation and cancer did to you, so there was nothing she could do but sit with her head in the bowl, slow breaths in through her mouth and tears would spill out of her eyes. 

                  Before the diagnosis, her hair was long, reaching to the middle of her back and it was thick. Most would argue that her hair was her best quality (until it wasn’t.) The radiation thinned out her hair, and she remembers all the nights she stood in front of her mirror and would watch her hands fill up with balls of her own hair. Her skin was more pale and she was losing weight. She wasn’t sure if the weight loss was from the radiation, the cancer or just because she had no motivation to eat. Her body was always weak and she was always so tired, she found herself always sleeping in later than usual and having naps constantly throughout the day. Even when she was awake, she wanted to stay in bed all day because, what was the point?

                 She made a promise to herself two years ago, a promise to not let anyone get too close. No friends, no boyfriends; nobody. Death comes with pain, and at this point it was all inevitable. How selfish would it be for her to make friends with someone and die none months later? If anyone got too close to her, she’d be leaving, she’d be leaving too too soon for anyone to be able to accept so being alone was her decision. Of course, she still had people in her life pre-cancer but those people were also loyal and too nice to listen to Amelia push them out of her life. 

                 So maybe that’s the reason why she turned away from Atticus, her hands gripping onto the shopping kart and her knuckles were white. Don’t make friends with this guy.

                “Are you from here?” He spoke again and his voice was like music to her ears. 

                “No,” she replied. “I moved here years ago.” She wasn’t going to give this guy much information because they were not going to get to know each other, she refuses it. 

                “Maybe I’ll see you around?” His voice was hopeful, and she could see the hope in his eyes, too.

                “Listen,-” she was going to be honest, tell him that she isn’t worth his time, that she wasn’t interested but instead she found herself lying. “I’m moving out of Seattle soon, maybe we’ll run into each other again and maybe... we won’t.”

                “I’m hoping for the first option.” So was she, but she promised herself and she doesn’t want to let herself break that promise because the more people she knows, the more people she hurts and it’ll make dying more difficult for her.

                “I will...” she trailed off, eyes meeting each others again and it took her breath away again. “see you around.” 

               “I’m looking forward to it.” She thinks his smile is as pretty as his eyes; maybe even prettier. He thinks she’s the most beautiful. 

               They were both flustered and it was obvious, but both of them tried to casually play it off before he disappeared around a corner, leaving her alone in the grocery store aisle. Perfect. Alone; just the way she wanted it to be. 

               Her doctor said that she had between nine and 12 months to live, the surgery wouldn’t be successful because her tumour was considered inoperable and too aggressive. Surgery would have been done if the radiation treatment would have worked by shrinking her tumour significantly, but unfortunately she was unlucky and didn’t get that option. It took a long time for her to process, there’s still a part of her that hasn’t completely processed the fact that she is, infact, dying. Soon her life will be over, she’ll never see anybody ever again, never be a doctor again and she’s come to terms with it (kind of), but some part of her is always wishing for a miracle. 

             She hasn’t kept in touch with her family, but it’s not like they’ve been begging for her attention or even putting in an ounce of effort. Amelia has lost people before, her family has lost people before and if not speaking to her family will make the pain they may or may not experience any less, then maybe that means cutting off everybody she once cared about. 

              Most people who have less than a year to live would create a bucketlist, sleep with however many people they want, do whatever they want until they take their last breath. Not Amelia though, instead she chose to push everyone away and spend her last few months doing what she loves; operating. But since she could literally die at any minute, she had to quit her job at the hospital. So, since she couldn’t do what she wanted to do she decided to be alone and as tragic as it sounds, Amelia finds comfort in it.

             So no, she doesn’t hope she runs into the boy again mostly because she knows herself and she doesn’t trust it. She doesn’t trust the way his eyes make her feel, or the way his voice sounds or how his smile makes her hands tremble and her knees weak. No friends, no attachment. No boyfriends, no pain. 

[quirklessidiot]

Title: coward :: pretty girl Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: : In which you finally meet the perfect girlfriend of Miya Atsumu and he starts to slowly accept the fact that whatever happened between you two is long gone (or is it?)

authors note: 

here to give my thanks again, literally feels so surreal with how much love this story is getting despite the angst sjjsdjsjd i-

also ive released the prologue for my first ever smau! its a more lighthearted one compared to this one between sakusa and an older gn!reader, if you’re into that check it out here uwu

previous  next   masterlist  

You’ve never actually seen Miya Atsumu and his girlfriend.

This was your first time today during Sugawara’s house party, Daiki had forced you to go and insisted that the three of them needed to have their manly bonding time (it actually only consisted of stuffing themselves with junk food and watching shounen animes), “...Also don’t you want to bond out with your ex-boyfriend that you chose over me? I’m hurt, I didn't know you like fake blonde volleyball players.” he fake-sniffled, in which you replied with an arched brow.

You didn’t know how he ended up knowing about Atsumu, you were expecting a talk from him but he simply shrugs it off and says, “No matter how much I tell you that you should tell him, you won’t listen. So I won’t bother wasting my breath, just know that you’re being selfish by denying these boys the right to have a father and you're denying that blonde shrimp to be a dad too.” 

“Y/N-san, I’m surprised you came!” Sugawara grins.

“Daiki took charge of the kids.” You replied, fiddling with the keys in your hand.

“He looks very reliable.” the teacher exclaims, handing you a drink in which you completely deny because you weren’t very good with alcohol, “You guys would make a great couple!”

“Oh,” You voiced, you were very familiar with those words, many people had always thought you and Daiki would make a good pair. It was definitely a shock to many when they found out you were pregnant and that the basketball player was not the father despite being there most of the times, “I’ve never seen him that way.”

“He did mention that, he even openly confessed to Miya-san that he’s jealous of how he was your first boyfriend.”

You choked on your saliva, that fucking sly bastard-

“Anyways, make yourself comfortable! I have to go say hi to my old friends from college!” he exclaims, patting your shoulder. You immediately turn around to find Miya Atsumu cozying up with a beautiful girl in his arms.

Ah, that must’ve been the beautiful model with legs for days.

“You’re kind of staring.” comes a very familiar voice.

You want to roll your eyes but you decided against it, “I didn’t know you and Sugawara-san were close, Inunaki-san.” you greeted your annoying senior.

“Suga-san’s a friend to the whole team…” he grins, “Also, I’m just here to warn you that Osamu might be here later, he’s not as nice as Atsumu towards you.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” 

“Come to think of it,” Shion Inunaki paused, tapping his chin in deep thought, “Atsumu still follows you around like a lost puppy. He’s been spending his off days with you instead of his girlfriend. I’m actually surprised he even brought her here today.”

“What are you implying?” You reply, feigning ignorance.

“Ah, L/N-san. I love how you still don’t care about my kohai’s feelings up till now.” He grinned, sarcasm oozing out of his sentence.

“Don’t be silly.” You glazed,“What feelings would there be but hatred?”

“It’s anything but that, L/N-san.” he turns to you, hand on his hip, “Even I don’t get why he’s so into you after all this time and the shit you put him through. He’s got someone better in front of him. Physical looks and emotionally speaking, Ri-chan’s a whole lot better than you… No offense…”

You knew he was rubbing salt to the injury but you couldn’t really bring yourself to argue with him, after all, he was right at the most part (you technically considered yourself as the big bad villainous ex in Atsumu’s life) 

“You sound like those girls who used to threaten me back then when I was dating Miya-san.” You replied coolly, Inunaki even notices the amusement dripping in your tone, it's as if he hadn’t insulted you right at the face and called you a lesser being, “It’s almost pathetic.”

You ended up on the balcony right after, so much for trying to socialize, who were you kidding? It’s good you manage to escape the scene before Osamu could see you there, you couldn’t handle Inunaki and the grey-haired twin together. Thank god that Aran wasn’t around the area.

“Figured you’d be here.”

You turn to find the one and only source of all your problems these days, Miya Atsumu, you narrow your eyes in annoyance, “You should leave, people will get the wrong idea.” You simply replied, “I’m not in the mood to be in the middle of that.”

“I just came here because I wanted to apologize about that night with your brat.” the blonde casually leans against the doorway, “It was my fault for riling him up.”

“Yuuto has a temper, he’s more of his otosan than me.” 

“What was he like?”

“Who?”

“The bastard that you miss, those brats father…”

You tilt your head and press your lips together, surprised by his choice of words, “Special.” you openly-confessed as you gaze at the very man in front of you. Oh, the irony of it all. 

How you wish it was that easy to let go of all your fears and anxiety, if you had told him six years ago about your pregnancy, would your life probably be different? What if you told him now? How would he feel?

“He’s lucky,” he admits, gaze fixed on you, “I mean - other than the part that he died  - he was a lucky guy, Y/N.”

It dawned upon you that moment that this had been the first conversation you had with your ex that held no hatred, malice, or anger. He seemed to be slowly accepting the fact that you wanted to do nothing with him. Like you, he had no choice but to move on.

“ ‘Tsumu! What the fuck you moping around alone for up there? You got a girlfriend here!” Osamu calls down from below. You both snap back to reality at his brother's voice, “Guess that’s my cue to leave, I’ll see you around, Y/N.” he uttered softly and as he turned away, you suddenly spoke out.

“I’m sorry.” He freezes in place, somehow this apology seemed different than the rest, “I know I’ve said that a lot these past few weeks and that night but I want you to know that every apology was genuine. I just, I’m not very-”

“I know.” He suddenly turns to you, the very familiar and warm grin that you're accustomed to decorates his features and you feel like its that night in fall and you're back in college again, “I guess I was so wrapped up in wanting to get an emotion out of you that I hadn’t  realized, it’s not you if you did that. You always had trouble expressing yourself naturally to people after all.”

You feel your insides clamp and your lips tremble lightly, you feel the air turn heavy around you. How is that he was always the one pulling the strings and doing all the work between you two? How could he forgive you this easily?

“Don’t be silly.What feelings would there be but hatred?”

“It’s anything but that, L/N-san.” 

“I’m proud that you’re trying hard for your kids though,” He chuckles, “Those brats are lucky they get to see all sides of you everyday.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” you muttered, watching his figure walk away and vanish in the dark, leaving you all alone in the night of spring.

“...I now pronounce you husband and wife…”

You stare at your father and his new wife looking at each other with complete love and adoration, something you never saw when you were growing up. It sickened you to the point that you turn slightly pale and feel the bile on your throat rise. You watch them exit the church as sakura petals fall, the idea of a picture perfect wedding and happily ever after like the fairytale books you used to scorn when you were a child.

You loathed it.

He even had the audacity to invite you and your mother. She ended up not going and was probably drowning herself in cheap saki at home.

You sat at the back during the reception, along with the people who were not exactly ‘close’ to the bride-groom. You feel like an utter fool, why were you even here? You should’ve gone home or attended that stupid party and get stupid drunk with people you barely knew like your mother.

Yeah, that’s right.

You’d rather be there than here.

“Ah,” you hear a glass clink, you saw one of your dad’s friends stand up, ready to make a speech, “First off, I’d like to congratulate my friend. Finally!” laughter resonates throughout the room but you don’t follow suit, instead, you hold onto the wine glass tightly as if you don’t like where this was going, “I know how unhappy you were back then but ever since you met Yui-chan, your life seemed to have become better. I could never be more proud!”

You could feel yourself getting sicker by the moment, especially after you heard the words you dreaded to hear the most, “Let’s not make anymore mistakes shall we?” he jokes.

All you could see was red right after, grabbing your clutch on the table as you made a haste exit. Was this the reason he invited you? To shove it on your face that you were a mistake made?

That you shouldn't have been born?

You ended up breaking a heel and tripping on your own feet soon after, shakily, you adjust your posture and sat at the concrete for a few moments, trying to gather yourself but desperately failing, "I didn't… I didn't ask to be born too, you know?" You murmured to yourself bitterly.

You let it all out, it shouldn't have hurt to be called a mistake. You were an adult already for crying out loud! Yet when they toss that word around like it was nothing especially at that wedding, you feel like you're eight years old again and you're hearing your own mother curse at you for being born into this world, the harsh words she said were as clear as the day, "if you probably hadn't been born, we would've been happier. We'd have better lives, Y/N. So don't go around and cry and think you got it bad, you hear me? Your sadness is nothing compared to ours. It's nothing, Y/N. So stop being ungrateful."

You ended up at the frat house that night, people would occasionally glance at your disheveled state but you just downed the alcohol, ignoring their stares as usual  and when you get a text from your mother asking why you left the wedding so early in such a manner, you feel the pent-up emotions bubbling within you again. 

Blocking her number and taking one last swig of the cheap vodka in your hands, you head up to one of the rooms upstairs. You hold it all in well, you don't want to showcase such things to strangers.You feel the alcohol and emotion about to hit you when you open a door that you thought would be your safe space for the next ten minutes but you're immediately greeted by two people on the bed, ready to hit it off and have a good time.

"O-Oh sorry… I-Wrong room...” you stammered, lips quivering and small tears escaping since you couldn't hold it in anymore.You immediately bolted out the door, So much for sobering up and crying by yourself for ten minutes, you might as well call Daiki, maybe he was available-

“Hey! Y/N!” a very familiar and a very unexpected voice calls out your name on the quiet street.

You hesitantly turn only to find your project partner and classmate standing there, a bit out of breath as if he had just squeezed through the very crowded party in a hurry, you're confused by his actions. You weren’t exactly close? What was he doing?

“Hey.” he softly says, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket to hand it to you. You hesitantly look at it and take it from his grasp as you try to get rid of the runny mascara. You're taken aback by his kind actions so far, although he had always been nice and tried to make conversations with you, you weren’t exactly very participative and it had always been one-sided on his part. 

When he suddenly stopped talking to you recently, you didn’t bother to initiate anymore because you didn’t want to get more involved with people like him.  It’s not like he was a bad person, per say, he just had such a loud presence that made everyone stop and stare. You weren’t exactly a big fan of those kinds of people (save for daiki since you grew up with him)

“Come on, Y/N.” the blonde sighs, taking off his jacket to place it on you, “Let's take you home.”

"You don't have to."

"You look like shit, Y/N. I’m not takin' no for an answer" Atsumu points out forwardly, "Actually, before we head home lets disinfect that wound, yeah?"

"Miya-san, I-" you tried to tell him you were fine but he didn’t seem to be having it.

"Atsumu." He corrects, despite his forwardness and brash attitude, you know he means well, "You let me call you by your first name so please don't call me Miya-san, sounds fuckin weird coming from ya."

You're thankful that he doesn't pry or ask questions about why you looked like this. He just mumbles throughout your whole journey that you shouldn't wear heels when you can't even walk on them.You also start to notice the slight accent from his tone when he got annoyed by your insistence that you were alright, you had always thought that he was a city boy with the way he carried himself.

When you arrive at the drugstore, he pays for the necessities himself despite you protesting again and even buys you a sugar-free treat on top of that, "You said you were diabetic one time." He shrugs off as he lets you sit on the concrete steps.

“Oh,” You faltered, “You remembered.”

“It’s one of the few things you said. You don’t talk to me that much so it's not hard to remember the things you say.”

“Sorry.” You tried to apologize, brows furrowed in deep thought and the only reply you got was a gleeful laughter from the blonde setter.

“You don’t really mean that do you?” he observed but he didn't look insulted by it at all, instead he seemed amused by it, “Don’t sweat it, Y/N. My twin told me I could be an annoying shit at times.”

“No,” you mused, “Not at all, you’re not annoying.”

Atsumu stares at you right in the eye, his corners crinkling just a bit as the amused smile never leaves his features, you’re starting to like it when you see him smile that way, it reminded you a lot of the youth you craved for, the problematic-free youth that you wanted and wished, “Is it safe to say that you don’t mind my company?” he guessed.

“Well, you’re here now and I haven’t left you.” 

He doesn’t reply,  instead he bends down to your level and takes the antiseptic and band-aids from your hands. Before you could object, the setter dabs it on your wound and as you seethe quietly in pain, he blows on it. You’re getting more and more perplexed by his actions tonight especially with the words he says next, “I may not be close with you to know what happened tonight but I hope I made you feel a little bit better, Y/N.” 

The next time you see the professional volleyball player is at work,You’re tasked to send out some documents to your boss again and it just so happens they’re wrapping up the shoot for the advertisement at the studio.

Something’s different now. 

After your little talk with him at the terrace, the air around you doesn’t feel tight, your anxiety around him seems to decrease, and your feet doesn’t get cold anymore. Of course, Inunaki would throw in a jab or insult but you took it like a good sport and didn’t bother with him.

“Ah, L/N-san! How are the boys?” Hinata jumps up and down excitedly as he sees you enter the studio, you still couldn’t get used to this big (small) bundle of energy.

“They’re doing fine, Hinata-san.” 

“Oho, L/N-san, you’re looking better these days.” Inunaki teased, you gave him a brief nod and just ignored the jab, Atsumu slaps his seniors back in retaliation, “You’re not the one she broke up with Inu-san.” he joked, “Hey L/N-san.”

“Miya-san.” You greeted.

“Does Yuuto still want to skewer me like a kebab?”

“He feels sad that he wasn’t able to say sorry to you before you left.” You replied, a hint of amusement laced on your tone as you recalled Yuuto frowning on the dinner table the night before because Sugawara had informed the club members that Hinata and Atsumu wouldn’t be visiting as much because training was about to start.

“Shame, wanted to see that brat say sorry too.” He let out a grin, your conversation is cut short though when a new presence joins the room.

“Oh, Riku-chan!” Inunaki calls out.

You lick your dry lips as you see the very beautiful and tall raven-haired woman approach you, wow, Miya Atsumu outdid himself with this one. You recalled her being on Vogue magazine once and on tv a few times as a fashion model of an underwear brand.

“Oh, hey babe.” Atsumu greets, you note how stiff he became. He probably thought this would be an uncomfortable situation. The woman, unlike you, was very open with her affection. She gave him a brief kiss on his jaw.

Hinata greets her and you’re left wondering if you should excuse yourself before you could make Atsumu more uncomfortable by your presence but Inunaki, being an asshole, decides to make the choice for you, “L/N-san, this is Miyazaki Riku! I’m sure you know her, she’s a supermodel!” he introduces you to her.

“Good day.” You greet the model.

She tilts her head slightly, “Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

“She was my kohai back in Uni and Atsumu’s classmate!” Inunaki grins, patting your back, you hold back a glare since you didn’t want to make it more awkward than it was.

“Oh?” she chirped, immediately letting go of Atsumu’s hand, she grabbed onto yours, “What was he like? I bet he was so cool and chic back then too!”

Chic and Cool?

Memories of a rather clumsy and corny Miya Atsumu in college slowly wormed its way to your head and out of nowhere, you burst into a low chuckle. Inunaki was startled by the sudden reaction and Atsumu feels his insides mush up when he hears that very rare sound, “Yeah,” you croaked, shortly after recovering from your small laugh, “Definitely chic and cool.”

“That’s so cool! I definitely want to hear stories about you back in college, baby!”

“Maybe some other time,” you voice is back to its smooth and cool tone, realizing that you needed to leave from this uncomfortable conversation and start your job, “I have to finish up my work here and get home early.”

“That’s a shame, I could definitely tell you guys were close.” a frown tugs her lips as she notices how quick you were to say goodbye to her, “Bye, L/N-san!”

After that rather dry and one-sided enthusiastic conversation, you finish your work quickly and Daiki messages you just in time that he and the boys would pick you up, you say your goodbyes to your director, the staff, and the volleyball team. You don’t notice the lingering gaze of Atsumu as you left nor do you notice Inunaki telling him that he’s got his girlfriend right in front of him and he shouldn’t look your way.

They shortly wrap up right after and they’re ready to go home. After deciding that they’d all grab a good meal together (much to sakusa’s dismay), Atsumu feels his mood lighten up as they exit the studio to see you standing there along with Yuuto, unwrapping his onigiri. As he’s about to call the brat to talk to him and even drop in to say hi to you, he sees a familiar tall figure emerge from the convenience store with Youta in his arms.

The blonde decides against it.

“...You always had trouble expressing yourself naturally to people after all.”

He watches the interaction from afar and notes how easy it was for the man to interact with you, he even catches on an amused smirk from you as the man tries to tell you a joke, “Is that L/N-san?” he hears Riku ask, “I didn’t know she had a family, that’s so cute!”

Atsumu doesn’t really know what to say as he watches the domestic scene unfold in front of him, he was trying to move on, wasn’t he? Yet why can’t he look away? 

“Baby? You alright there? You’ve been staring at the empty space for a while.” Riku calls out, sounding a bit worried as she snaps him out of his daze. You were already gone, probably far off with that scrub and the brats.

“I’m good.” he tried to affirm himself, wishing it was true, “I’m good.”

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[jimlingss]

Game of Temptation

➜ Words: 16k

➜ Genres: 60% Smut, 35% Angst, 5% Fluff, Succubus!AU

➜ Summary: As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it's still hard to resist Taehyung, and there's little you can do once you've been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don't know your intentions are far from being angelic.

➜ Warning: seduction, sex, homewrecking, infidelity, daddy kink, creampie, etc. There were no morals in the making of this fic. I do not subscribe to my characters’ beliefs, y'all. It's just some crazy fiction. Reader discretion advised.

It’s your chance to have a little fun, peach.   The four wheels of the luggage roll against the smooth pavement, over the cracks and up the massive driveway. The sweltering sun isn’t a bother when the feeling of flames licking against your cheeks is such a familiarity. Yet, you still feel disgruntled as Taehyung’s words ring inside your head.   I know you want to try your hand at it. And you’ve been telling me how much you want a little subordinate of your own. You could do whatever you want with them. There are no rules.   He’s a bastard. If it wasn’t for you being so wrapped around his finger and dancing in the palm of his hand, you would never do something this ridiculous. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. Taehyung’s words of persuasion act like you do have a choice when in reality, he mocks.   Yet, in spite of what you might really think, you continue on your way, lugging your heavy baggage up the stairs and steadying your breath. Feeling a sense of calmness, the pad of your index finger presses the doorbell. You listen to how the sound echoes inside the enormous manor.   There’s shouting, footsteps, and a second later, the door swings open.   There’s a plump woman with an apron tied over her body, her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She’s out of breath as she is fatigued even though it’s only eight in the morning. But she still greets you with a smile that spreads into her chubby cheeks. “Hello! You must be the new live-in nanny and housemaid! Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out here! It’s so cold!”   She helps drag in your luggage.    The large foyer opens up to a grand staircase, two archways on both sides that allow you to peek into the chandeliered and golden curtain rooms. There’s antique china in a display case and vases on tables — more to paint a picture of wealth than for any actual purpose. But while one would expect a quiet and proper home, there’s chaos instead. Feet rumbling from upstairs. Sharp laughter and exhausted sighs. Noises of shouting and screaming.    “You’re younger than I expected. What’s your name?”   “Y/N, madam.”   “Oh, I’m not the madam,” the woman giggles at the thought and bats the air with her hand. “The madam isn’t as old as I am. I’m the Kim’s housekeeper, Ms. Yoo. We’ll be working close together. Have you eaten yet? The trip must’ve been long and tiring. Would you like to rest?”   The corner of your lips quirk. “I’m alright, thank you.”   “I’ll give you a tour around then. The faster you can become accustomed to this home, the faster you can help out.”   You nod, but before she can get in another word, there’s thundering stomps down the stairs.    A boy’s face pokes through the banisters and he gives a toothless grin. Not more than five years old, he wears a blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, one foot with a sock and the other without — he’s no doubt a spoiled, little brat.   The kid makes a ruckus while running down the rest of the steps, jumping from the last three and he comes up to you, eyes wide and sparkling as he looks up. “Who’re you?”   You lower yourself and offer a soft smile. “I’m going to be your daddy and mommy’s new little helper. We’re going to have lots of fun from now on.”   “Jaesun! Jaesun, get back here! What did I say about slamming your bedroom door?!”   A frail woman with grating vocal cords comes down the stairs as well. Her chest is rising and falling, evidently winded from her son but her eyes visibly light up when she sees you.    “You must be Y/N, aren’t you?” She’s a pretty woman with few wrinkles even in her forties, dressed cleanly in a rosy blouse and white skirt. But her dark circles ruin the pristine image.    “Yes, I am, madam.”   She shakes your hand vigorously. She looks at you like you’re her guardian angel. An irony that tickles your senses. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re finally here. I’m Kim Yijin, my husband is Kim Namjoon, but we should head to the kitchen to talk. There’s not much time left.”   The housekeeper smiles. “Yes, I was about to show her the way.”   “Let’s go, Jaesun.” You offer your hand to the boy and he happily takes it, something that Yijin doesn’t miss and even grins at.    The kitchen is twice the size of the foyer, two stove sets and two refrigerators side by side. The counter space is enough to stretch your entire body across and you can only marvel at the surroundings.    “I hope you don’t get too overwhelmed,” Yijin says as she turns to get her coffee started and Ms. Yoo sets out breakfast for Jaesun at the table. “But I should tell you now before I forget to. My family eats a gluten-free diet. Our Jaesun is lactose and tolerant, so he’s only to have soy milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. My daughter has poor digestion, so try to avoid whole-grains when you’re preparing the meals.” She stops for a second, lamenting, “and she has such bad skin these days, so avoid milk and anything bad, like instant noodles, even if she begs for it. The girl doesn’t know what’s good and bad for her.”   With her steaming coffee cup in hand, Yijin waltzes around the kitchen, forcing you to follow her whims.   “Make sure the kids have at least three servings of fruits and vegetables. My husband doesn’t like eggs and Jaesun isn’t supposed to have candy. Also, this is less important, but I really like fried foods that aren’t too oily, so if you have anything you can make…”   The corners of your lips lift. “I have a fried chicken recipe.”   “I like you already.” She snaps her fingers, smile brightening. She looks over to the older lady, calling out to her, “Ms. Yoo, I can get breakfast ready for today. Would you like to continue showing Y/N around?”   “Yes, I will.”    Even when you could tell from the outside, the house is grand. It’s a closed concept, full of mahogany wood panels, twisting halls, oak doors and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a place Taehyung would enjoy.    “Every day, we meal prep breakfast, lunch and dinner. Typically only the master of the house is here for lunch, so we have to watch our portions. He works a lot from home. Oh, his younger brother is also living here for some time. He’s an editor, so he’s quite busy. I tend to deliver his meal to his room if he doesn’t come down for dinner.”   You nod, entering the living room.    There’s a giant family photo above the mantel that looks all too artificial — stiff smiles and pressed clothes with a white background. But the space is warmed with cedar bookshelves, a coffee table to match and perfectly positions cushion chairs. In one of them is a sleepy man with dark hair, sipping on a mug as he reads the newspaper.   He looks up at you, features more tender than expected.   “Hello.” You dip your head to the so-called younger brother, keeping your voice soft-spoken.   “Mr. Kim, this is our new helper,” the housekeeper introduces.   “Yes.” His voice is also surprisingly husky. “I’m Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you.”   The two of you stare at one another until you dip your head as Mrs. Yoo keeps going and you leave the room, walking upstairs.   “We dust every day and clean the kitchen each night. Every other day, we do laundry and vacuum the rooms. The living space and foyer get especially dirty, so we have to stay vigilant. If your back ever aches from hunching over so much, tell me and I’ll give you some cream and heated pads.”   A door down the hall shuts and there’s an audible sigh. What follows are footsteps and a teenage girl in an ironed school uniform, backpack on her back. Her black hair is sleek, ending at her waist and in spite of puffy cheeks, her eyes are cat-like.    “Good morning, Sohee. Sleep well?”   “I guess.” As her pupils dart from the housekeeper to you, her steps slow and she halts altogether.   You lock your gaze with her and smile. “Hello. I’m the new housemaid, Y/N.”   You extend your arm, but she dwells — staring like a deer in headlights.   It takes a moment for Sohee to come to her senses and she shakes your hand while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She timidly murmurs, “O-oh. Nice to meet you.”   “Sohee!” There’s a sudden screech of her name from downstairs, grating to the ears. Immediately, the young girl deflates.   “Coming!” she shouts back to her mom with a groan, rolling her eyes before running down the stairs.   The housekeeper smiles sympathetically. “Sohee’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, so she’s been a bit sensitive lately.” You nod and she continues, “We clean the bathrooms once a week and once a month, we wash the carpets. Your room is just this way.”   Down the corridor is a small mahogany door. But there’s grandiose double doors with golden handles right where the hall begins from the open area. And your strides reduce. You linger from curiosity and peer through the crack with an eye. Vaguely, you’re able to make out bookshelves and an imposing desk. More importantly, there’s someone seated in the leather seat behind it.   Mrs. Yoo notices. “Oh, that’s master Kim’s office, but there’s no need to bother him right now.”   Your body moves a little too late. While you’re still peeping through, the man behind the desk raises his head. Your eyes meet, but you leave before either of you can get a good look at each other.   The room you’re given is a meager space — more like a closet compared to the rest of the house. You hold in your scoff, looking around at the single bed. The empty desk. The tiny window with dead bugs on the sill. The wooden chair with splinters sticking out of it. It looks like antiques shoved in a shed. Not even Taehyung treats you this poorly.   “The bathroom is across from your room, so it’s rather convenient!”   You set your luggage down.   “Also, you’ll be watching Jaesun when he comes home from kindergarten. You’ll wash him and put him to bed as well. I’ll help you out until you get the hang of things, so don’t worry too much.”   You wonder if the old lady ever shuts up, but you keep your voice soft-spoken and your demeanour timid. “Thank you.”   “It’s not an issue.” Ms. Yoo pats your shoulder. “Oh, you can get settled a little later on. We should help the madam with breakfast. She doesn’t cook very well.”   It’s possible to get lost in this abyss of a house. There are endless halls and pompous rooms. You don’t understand the purpose of having a large music room next to a drawing room, but you suppose with this much money, it’s fun to throw it into a blazing fire.   The housekeeper continues yapping away as you make it back downstairs. But on your way, you catch a different individual standing in the foyer. Someone in a black suit with doe eyes, boyish features that draw you in.    He seems surprised to see you too.   “Ah, Jungkook! Have you eaten yet? Would you like a coffee?”   “I’m fine, Ms. Yoo.” He has a cute smile full of teeth and his eyes flicker to you. “This is...?”   “Oh, it’s the new helper I was telling you about. Y/N, this is Jungkook, Mr. Kim’s personal chauffeur. He’s been working with this family for almost as long as I’ve been here.”   “Not that long,” Jungkook retorts mischievously. “I only started here a few years ago after I finished school.”   “Only? Oh my. Feels like you started here thirty years ago like I did! Time goes by so fast!”   “Only when you’re having fun.” Jungkook grins and then redirects his attention towards you, clearing his throat. “I-It’s nice to meet you.”   “Likewise.” You shake his hand and dip your head with a tiny smile. He averts his vision too, becoming shy. Yet, when you lift your head, your eyes meet each other’s. You can feel the way his hand is getting sweaty, but you let it linger for a longer amount of time than necessary. Until you’re the one to let go.   He’s too cute.   You catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.   The tension between the pair of you is only broken when a voice coughs from the top of the staircase and Jungkook breaks apart from you, taking a step back. You look up at the master, Kim Namjoon. A man in his forties, tall with a commanding aura. His hair is styled neatly, thick glasses sitting on his face, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. Everything about him screams of new money.   “Good morning, Mr. Kim.”   He hums at the housekeeper. “Good morning, Ms. Yoo. This must be the new helper. It’s nice to meet you.” The man comes down and visibly inspects you, as if trying to figure you out and only looks away when he’s satisfied. “I hope you’ll do a good job.”   “Yes, sir.”   “Are you going already, daddy?” Sohee comes from the kitchen, crestfallen. The volume of her voice is quiet and tapers off, “You’re not going to have breakfast with us...?”   “I don’t have time today.” The words tumble out and he looks at his phone. Ms. Yoo opens the door as he answers a call outside.    You look over at Sohee who’s become dejected. Her shoulders have slumped and her hair falls in front of her face. She pouts and tries to hide it. But Jungkook smiles softly and ruffles her hair.   “Don’t be so sad. I’ll have breakfast with you tomorrow, okay?”   “Really?” Sohee looks up at him, eyes gradually brightening and her cheeks becoming rosy.   He nods. “I’ll make sure to come early.”   “I’ll have to cook more eggs then,” the housekeeper chortles and Jungkook grins until his eyes travel to you. The glance turns into a gaze and neither of you speak until Ms. Yoo turns. “Come on, Y/N! We can’t dawdle all day now.”   “Yes,” you murmur and follow after her, all too aware of Jungkook’s stare on your backside as Sohee still talks without him really listening. Once you turn the corner, the older woman pauses and your brow cocks. “Is….there something the matter?”   She smiles endearingly at you and shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. You’re just very beautiful, that’s all.”

The house is chaotic.   Before going to bed, Ms. Yoo gave you one piece of furniture to add to the sad collection — an alarm clock. And it blares with red digits reading that it’s five in the morning. Lugging yourself up, you’re bombarded with chores. From laundry to wiping down windows and making the bed.   “Excuse me.” You knock against the door and there’s a muffled ‘come in’.   Yoongi sits at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and a red pen in his hand. His room is similar to yours, cramped and modest, but with a larger window and mattress, and a proper wardrobe and closet.   The man in his pajamas doesn’t look at you. “You can leave it there,” he mumbles and you set his tray of breakfast food on his nightstand.    Your eyes linger on his slouching form. But he never turns around, so you leave.   The noise and bickering from the kitchen can already be heard from the stair landing. The stove top fan is blasted while Ms. Yoo fries eggs, Jaesun sitting at the table with his legs swinging and spitting his cereal all over the place as he plays make-belief with his robot, but most of all—   “Why won’t you let me go?” Sohee is standing by her mother, exasperation and the furrow of her brows ruining her otherwise innocent exterior. “It’s only Yeeun’s house! And you already know her mom!”   “I already said that she isn’t a good influence on you!”   “We’re only studying! I don’t get why you don’t like her!”   “Her family is lower than ours.” Yijin forces herself to become calmer and feeds Jaesun a spoonful of yogurt as he plays. She glances at her daughter after a moment. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d become friends with Lee Sunmi. At least they have something to offer us. And are you going to eat that bagel? It’s filled with cream cheese. We have to watch your weight, remember?”   “Why are you always picking on me?” The girl drops her choice of breakfast and cries, “What about Jaesun?!”   “Are you going to compare yourself to your brother?” She gives her an astonished look full of disbelief, tinged with disappointment. “He’s only five.”   Sohee is frustrated to no end. “I hate you all!” She screams and stomps away as you resume slicing the strawberries, eyes lifting every so often. You watch as Jungkook enters the kitchen at the same time Sohee’s leaving. She pauses for a second but then pushes past him.   Her mother screams after her. “Sohee! Are you not going to eat at all?! That girl! So rude.”   In the meanwhile, Ms. Yoo reads the expression on your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. They never argue for too long.”   “Shouldn’t we at least say something?”   She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to get involved a few times, but it never helped much. Better to keep quiet. Every family argues.”   The housekeeper finishes up in the kitchen while Yijin settles down and sips on her coffee as she scrolls through her phone. She asks for a plate of fruits from Ms. Yoo and at the same time, you notice Jaesun scooping his cereal and purposely spilling it on the ground. No one notices.   It sloshes into a pile.   You hold in your cusses and grab a rag.   The five year old realizes he’s been caught in the act and grins like a little shit. You get on the floor, scrubbing the mess. But the moment the floorboards are back to brown again, there’s another splatter of milk by your hand and a spoonful of cereal flakes that follow. It splashes on your hair and apron and you raise your head to find the little shit plastered with a ginormous smile.   “Done eatin’!” He announces, scooting back his chair before running off in giggles.   May Satan have mercy on the child before you tear his limbs apart.   The minute you’re finished scrubbing the floor and clearing the table, you go off to find the brat. Because god forbid there’s a scratch on him.    You find him in the hallway between the laundry room and garage. “What do you think you’re doing?!”   There’s a bright red crayon in his tight fist. And he’s scribbling all across the wall while laughing at a piercing volume. At the sight of you, Jaesun draws a line as hard as he can until his knuckles are white, bits of wax are sprinkling and the crayon is a half the size it used to be.   The kid runs away before you can snatch him.   Much to your dismay, Ms. Yoo merely smiles in endearment when you tell her. “Kids like to have so much fun, don’t they? I remember when my son was at that age, he was such a troublemaker too. But it’s nothing a little baking soda can’t fix!”   You end up on your knees, scrubbing the wall with a damp rag dipped in the white powder.   You’re humiliating and exhausted.    Taehyung was wrong — there’s nothing fun about this whatsoever. You swear to God you’re going to murder someone.   “How are you doing?”   You look up, discovering doe eyes and pink lips quirked at you. Jungkook is dressed in his suit that’s a bit too big for him, hands dug into the pants pockets as he glances at the wall. You smile at him, brushing away the strand of your hair that came loose from your bun.   It’s not too bad of a time to be sweating. To allow the beads to roll down the nape of your neck.   “It’s tiresome, but nothing I can’t do.”   “I’m assuming this is Jaesun’s little artwork project.”   “Who else could it be?”   Jungkook grins boyishly. “Once he decided to paint the inside the car using the leather seats as his canvas.”   “Why don’t they ever discipline him?” you ask genuinely, tilting your head up at him and he matches the playful glint in your eyes before shrugging.   “Probably because he’s the youngest and the only son, so it’s natural they spoil him.”   “But this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You shake your head, voice pitching upwards into a whine. The irritation was leaking through the facade you’ve created, but all it does is make Jungkook’s grin widen.   “It is. You know—”   “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name in a screeching voice. “Can you come here for a second?”   “Yes!” For the most part, the crayon is taken off and you breathe a sigh of relief. You look over to Jungkook as a tiny smile appears on your features. “See you.”   “Y-Yeah.”   His eyes linger on you as you leave.   “I’m about to be late for work, so can you please bring this up to my husband?” Yijin hands you a wooden tray with a tall glass of some sort of sludgy green liquid filled to the rim. The drink stinks of kale and lettuce. You wonder if she’s trying to poison him. “He hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet and I’m worried. That man never takes care of himself properly. Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you could Jaesun dressed. Don’t know where he’s run off to.”   You nod and balance the drink up the stairs before coming to the familiar grandiose doors.   You knock timidly.   There’s a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment, one that signifies he’s inside but preoccupied. Still, you push the parted doors open and come forward with the tray. Namjoon never looks up at you, busy studying the files of documents.   The room is warmer than expected, oaks and mahogany, paintings and bookshelves, a large desk that reminds you of a judge’s bench — imposing, commanding. Not unlike him. There’s a fireplace, two leather sofas facing each other and a coffee table in between, and above the mantle is another family portrait that exudes a kind of stiff perfection.   You place the glass down on his disorganized desk, eyes peering up at the man. As you retract your arm, your skin brushes against a stack of papers and they’re knocked to the ground. He whips his head over, brow cocked.   “I’m so sorry, sir,” you whimper. As you frantically pick them up, you bend over in front of him.   “It’s fine.” You feel his eyes linger on your rounded behind before he looks at his document again. You mask a smirk. Namjoon mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Where are you from?”    You purposely pause so he directs his attention to you again.   “I grew up in the countryside not far from here, sir.” You hold the tray to your stomach, presenting a timid disposition as if his gaze weighs heavily on you.   “And what did you do before you took this job?”   “I was in university, sir, but I’m taking a break to save some money.”   The man gives a pleasant nod. “What was your major?”   “Education, sir.” You divert your vision elsewhere, but a sweet smile pulls on your lips. “I would love to become a teacher someday.”   He hums in approval, “I could see you doing that.”   “Daddy?” The conversation is interrupted by Sohee at the door. She’s dressed in her school uniform, but is nowhere near ready to step into a classroom with the way she’s teary-eyed and her voice croaks with a lump in her throat. “Mom’s not letting me study with Yeeun!”   Namjoon exhales exhaustingly. He sits back in his leather chair, looking at the ceiling. Sohee’s eyes stings at how she’s evidently annoying her father. But you don’t dwell, bowing your head and dismissing yourself.   //   You would’ve never picked up this job unless you had to. Not even for the useless money.   You detest education. Never did well, never had fun, never got along with anyone. Be a teacher? You could scoff ten times over. You hate children. You hate kids. They’re absolute brats. Noisy at their best and tormentors at their worst. There’s only a few perks to this job.   Like right now.   “I’m glad to be of service,” Jungkook breathlessly laughs.    His hot breath ghosts along your cheek while your legs wrap and lock around his waist.   A comfortable darkness surrounds you. The moonlight cascades through the small window, enough that you can see his handsome profile. And the slick, obscene sounds are covered by the dryer machine still rumbling underneath you. It has the last load of towels the housekeeper wanted to get done tonight — and it’s also helping Jungkook release his load into you.   The vibrations of the dryer flow through your body, adding to his raw strokes and the moans choking out of you. It didn’t take much to convince him to sneak away. The one-dimensional family is completely oblivious too, sleeping upstairs in their warm beds. You’re tempted to whine Jungkook’s name louder and make one of them investigate. You wonder what the look on their face would be if they found their little maid and chauffeur fucking in the laundry room.   Jungkook tugs down your dress further and gently noses your hardened nipple before his mouth travels upwards to the juncture of your neck. You feel his lips suck into your soft skin, but the fingers sunk into his dark hair tightens and you pull his head back.   He gives a throaty groan, half-lidded eyes pinned on your face.   You writhe against his hard chest every time his thick cock drags out of your walls. He’s bigger than you expected. Eager too. Jungkook is a healthy and young one, hips and strokes fluid albeit a bit fast and excited.    You can tell he likes you a lot.   “I-I would’ve never guessed you hated kids.” The boy watches how his cock enters you and disappears. Your pussy clenches around him and he sweats at his hairline, trying to hold back from cumming so soon.   “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you sing-song cutely and roughly pull him in by his shoulders, batting your lashes. “Can you kiss me, please, Jungkookie?”   He nods enthusiastically and leans in to nose your cheek. Then, he tilts his head and your mouth meets his. Your lips immediately part to welcome him deeper and his hands force your thighs farther apart, fingers digging into your flesh. Jungkook’s tongue licks into your hot mouth, making you moan.    Yet, the kiss is somehow sweet. Much too pure for someone like you.   The two of you break apart, lips wet with his spit. “I-I’m close.”   Jungkook’s strokes start to lose their rhythm. They become frantic. Frenzied. He can feel the shaking of the dryer jumping beneath you, how tight and wet you are around him.   You watch him through hooded eyes, tempted to coo at him and tell him that he can do it — encourage him that he can release his load right into your womb. But not wanting to ruin his fun moment, you instead squeeze as tight as you can.    Jungkook groans, hips jerking and he plunges deep inside your cunt to cum.    He gives two more thrusts. His entire body trembles and he realizes you’re still unfinished. Even with half a mind, he has the courtesy to lick his thumb and rub at your clit. You writhe with moans of his name, holding him close and a few seconds later, you get to where you want to be.   As you come down from your high, you pet him. “Good boy. Thanks for that.”   “Y-You’re so pretty.”   “Am I?” you hum and he nods madly.   Jungkook’s sticky breath heaves, chest rising and falling and you wrap your arms possessively around his shoulders. Whining incoherently, he understands that you’re pleading for another kiss. He happily obliges and you angle your head to deepen it. The kiss is lazier. Languid. Giving you a chance to taste him properly.   Jungkook starts to groan when you don’t pull away after thirty seconds.   He tries to part, losing oxygen. But you keep him in your tight grip. And you inhale.   It’s delicious. It fills you with a sense of euphoria, making goosebumps raise all over the back of your arms. It’s been a while since you’ve had a soul for yourself. And as it leaves his body, you feel him go limp around you.   Jungkook falls to the tiled floor, leaving a sopping mess at your center.   “Would you look at that?” A deep timbre sounds. He appears, manifesting himself across from you with the corpse in between. The corner of his thin lip is curled as if he’s impressed. His blonde hair looks white in the milky moonlight and the darkness causes his piercing brown eyes to glow. “Not too bad, peach.”   “It’s so easy, it’s not even fun.” You hop down from the dryer machine.   Taehyung’s devilish smirk grows. “That’s because you’re so naturally enticing.”   You roll your eyes.   He comes close, large hands lifting to cradle your cheeks. Taehyung kisses you without much warning — not that you need it — and he licks into your mouth, inhaling deep. He retrieves the soul you took, taking it right from your parted lips.   The two of you part and the thin strand of saliva breaks. Taehyung boops your nose. “I always knew my succubus was a talented one.”   You scoff. “Don’t act like you came here to praise me. You just wanted to collect the soul.”   “Can’t I come here for both?” He lolls his head, another smirk gracing his perfect visage that’s been sculpted by porcelain angel tears. “But it looks like you don’t need my help, so I’ll be on my way.”   Taehyung winks and takes the discarded body on the ground, disappearing with it. He vanishes as quickly as he came.   After he’s gone, you dip your hand between your messy legs.    It’s the last remnants of Jungkook and it’s salty on your palette when you lick your fingers.   //   The mattress is soft against your knees. It cushions and molds against you each time you push down. But still, your wrists strain against the hardened muscles and knots.   Yijin hums, a pleased smile on her face. “A little harder please. And oh, up there. Yes, yes. That’s the spot.”    You continue to massage her, making sure to knead your thumbs into the sweet spots. The madam of the house moans in satisfaction. If she wasn’t so annoying and if her soul wasn’t so bland to you — you would’ve taken it long ago. But well, she might be fun to have around a little longer when you start messing with her family more.    “You’re good,” she hums. “Where did you learn?”   “Here and there. My grandma had a lot of sore muscles, so naturally, I kind of picked it up.”   In reality, Taehyung makes you rub his shoulders all the time.   She looks like she’s enjoying herself, head placed to the side, eyes closed and the corners of her mouth raises. She’s melting under your touch. But even when she’s this relaxed, she still manages to yap.    “It’s been so long since I’ve been treated like this at home. I used to go to the spa often but there’s nothing like a home massage,” Yijin mumbles, “Namjoon used to do it for me all the time before we had kids and then he got busy with work, and well, it’s the reason we have this big house.”   She flips her head to the other side and you rub between her shoulder blades. “I used to be as pretty as you are.”   You keep your voice quiet and meek. “Pardon? You’re still pretty, madam.”   “You don’t need to flatter me.”   “But it’s true…?” Your voice pitches upwards as if you’re incredulous as to how she could think otherwise. “You have a maternal aura about you that I don’t have and you’re an established professional. Women can only dream of having that.”   Peering at her, you catch the way her smile sweetens.   At the same time, her husband enters the bedroom. Sighing and pulling off his tie, he places his briefcase down and moves to the minibar. Namjoon pours himself a glass of whisky and collapses into the white armchair beside the modern standing lamp, thighs spread wide and rather inviting. You look up at him, lashes fluttering in curiosity.   “What’s wrong?” Yijin opens one eye, clearly catching how stressed Namjoon is.   “I found that damn punk’s resignation letter on my desk. He’s gone.” He lifts his glass, taking a long sip of the amber liquid and letting the glass rest between his fingertips.   “Who?”   “Jungkook.”   “What?” Both of Yijin’s eyes peel back, pupils widening in shock. “How could that brat leave without warning?”   “I don’t know.” Namjoon looks to the whiskey, exhaling yet again. “After years of working for us, he upped and disappeared. I guess workers are always like that. Sohee’s been crying and throwing a tantrum. But anyway, I need to hire someone new. I don’t know who’s going to work this far from the city though.”   You continue rubbing Yijin’s back and you feel Namjoon’s gaze traveling to you from his place on the armchair. From the profile of your face, the nape of your neck, to the skin of your thighs that’s exposed from your dress being hiked up so you’re able to kneel on his mattress.   Yijin makes a noise. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Do you want a massage too? Y/N’s really amazing.”   Namjoon looks away, tearing his eyes from you. “No. I’m fine. I only need to rest a bit before I have to go back to work.”   His wife opens her eyes again and this time, she gets up. You lean back, allowing her to do so.   “Oh my goodness! Your associate is coming for dinner tonight, isn’t he? I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers and looks at you. “Can you please draw me a bath, Y/N? I have to look presentable.”   //   The business associate is Taehyung.   You couldn’t roll your eyes any harder when you see the blonde seated on the leather sofa as if he owns the place, suit and tie crisp, shoes polished. You don’t know what he’s doing or how he even set himself in their lives, but you suppose you had planted yourself in this household in dubious ways too — with his help, of course. So you don’t question it too much.   “I must say, this house is much more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.”   “That’s all thanks to my wife,” Namjoon chuckles, hands clasped together. “She has a better sense of aesthetics than I do.”   Yijin smiles. She’s dressed in another one of her rosy blouses and white skirts, polished without a hair out of place — to both play the role of the perfect wife and appeal to the handsome stranger. “Thank you. I wanted to be an interior designer a long time ago, so it was really fun to try my hand at it even if it’s not much.”   “Nonsense. It’s wonderful. Do you still want to be an interior designer now? You certainly have the skills for it.”   “Oh, no.” She bats the air with her hand. “I lost the dream when I got married and had kids. Plus, I don’t think I could ever work for anyone. It doesn’t really suit me.”   “Ah.” Taehyung leans back, all too comfortable as he is playful. “You prefer reaping the benefits of your husband and enjoying yourself? Can’t say I blame you.”   The corner of Namjoon’s mouth tilts while you approach with a bottle of wine, setting the crystal glasses down for them. “You know how women are.”   “On the contrary, they’re the more intelligent ones for letting us do all the work while they take pleasure,” Taehyung says, causing the other man to laugh and agree. You round the table to pour him a glass of wine and Taehyung looks at you with that infamous smirk, but you try to not make eye contact for long. “Thank you.”   You dip your head wordlessly.   “Oh yes.” Yijin perks up. “Thank you for recommending the company that you did. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to hire Y/N.”   “It’s not a problem at all. I’m always happy to help.” He smiles, taking the stem of the wine glass and rotating it to slosh the ruby liquid inside. “I take it she’s a good addition to the house?”   “Yes, she is.”   Taehyung exhales through his nostrils, lips adorned with a devilish smile. “I’m glad.”   You return to the kitchen unscathed, but damning Taehyung in your head for messing with your game. Though your irritation can’t last for long when Ms. Yoo hands you a wooden tray heavy with bowls and dishes. “Can you bring this up to the master’s younger brother? He’ll be having dinner in his room today.”   “Okay.”   You knock on the door. There’s a pause and after a moment, you open it.   Yoongi is in the same spot he was this morning, crouched over his desk with a red pen in hand, papers in front of him and round reading glasses perched on his nose. The curtains are drawn but the glow of the lamp gives him enough luminescence to work.   “You can leave it over there,” he mumbles and you place it on the usual spot.   The man never raises his head or pays any attention to you.   Your brow cocks and you take the tall glass, deciding to bring it to him. “Here’s some water, sir.”   And you purposely waver. The liquid sloshing on the sides and unceremoniously spills onto his lap. Yoongi jolts, arms lifting to save his papers while you sharply gasp. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!”   You fall onto your knees and begin dabbing all over his lap and crotch with your apron. Yet your antics doesn’t last for a few seconds before he’s brushing your hand away. “It’s fine. It’s just water.”   You peer up at him through your lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim.”   “I told you to leave it over there,” he grunts, casting a measly glance at you. “But it’s fine. If you have nothing else to do, please leave. I have a lot of work to get done.”   You rise to your feet and exit. He’s a harder one to crack. Those little tactics might not be enough, but you’ll get there soon enough. You’re certain of it.   “Y/N?” There’s a strangled whimper and you turn around in the dark corridor to see Sohee emerge from her room. The area underneath her eyes are reddened, nose raw. Her whole body trembles as she sniffles. The girl looks small and vulnerable, almost like a puppy.   “Is there something wrong?” you ask gently, akin to a mother cooing at her child.   Sohee’s eyes flicker up to you. “Did...Jungkook ever tell you anything before he left?”   You shake your head. “No. We were never that close. I’ve only spoken to him a few times.”   She nods. There’s a beat of silence and you lift your hand to caress her hair. The girl is startled but then eases, even leaning into your tender touch. You draw your fingers through her long, straight strands, petting her gently. “I’m sure he left for good reason. Maybe something happened or it was a family emergency. He was always close to you, right?”   Sohee nods again while choked cries come from her. “W-We were family.”   You embrace her, patting her back and she leans on your chest. “You’re not alone, Sohee. You have me now and I won’t ever leave like Jungkook did.”   She squeezes you back.   But the moment is shattered by a grating voice of her mother. “Sohee! Where are you?! Get down here and greet your dad’s friend!”    Her jaw clamps. She parts from you, rubbing her eyes.    You watch her go and she turns around to look at you. You smile at her.   //    “Your maid outfit’s cute.” He appears. A creeping shadow casted against the wall first, then flesh that stitches into the room. You’re resting on your bed, leaning against the headboard and filing your nails one at a time — the yellow glow of the desk lamp giving you barely enough light. “I didn’t get a good look last time.”   “What are you doing, Taehyung?” You blow against your index finger and finally ascend your gaze.   “Just having a little fun,” he chimes and muses that— “You’re taking a lot longer than usual.”   “Well, I’m just having some fun.”   Taehyung scoffs. “Don’t take too long.”   “You shouldn’t act like you’re busy when you’re not,” you bite back without missing a beat.   His brow cocks, smirk playing on his lips. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve disciplined you.”   Before you can react, he ambushes and pins you flat onto the bed. Taehyung hovers over you with a glint in his eyes, heavy body on top of yours, hips pressed together. He holds your wrists above your head, preventing you from squirming. But you make no attempts to do so, simply glaring at him like a petulant child. You’re neither surprised nor caught off guard. Taehyung always likes to be the one on top, in a literal and figurative sense. And truth be told, you don’t particularly mind.   His pink lips are curled and he leans down to your neck. He starts to suck into your skin, rough enough to break through and your pathetic cries only spur him on. Making him smirk against you. But your fingers find their way into his hair and you yank his head back.   Flesh coated in his saliva, a giant purple bruise is left blooming on your supple skin as the redness fades. “I told you no marks.”   “You’re going to need it, peach,” he says with a mischievous grin and then vanishes.   You’re left rolling your eyes.   //   The grandiose double doors have never been intimidating. Even when Ms. Yoo has warned you on your first day to not disturb the master working and to not approach unless necessary. As much of a brat as the five year old is, even he doesn’t come close to his father’s office.   But to you, those doors have always signified that a very fun game is waiting behind them.    Your knuckles rap against the wooden surface and you pull the golden handles without waiting for confirmation. Kim Namjoon’s seated in his leather chair behind the imposing desk, eyes flickering upwards and you smile, holding your tray higher. “It’s fruit, sir.”   “That isn’t necessary,” he says and you feign dejection, downcast eyes, shoulder slumping. He swallows hard and then beckons you over. “You can bring it here.”   You come forward and place the plate on a single empty spot on the desk not coated in file folders. You’re close enough that he catches a whiff of your scent and the hickey on your neck.   A scoff spills from Namjoon’s chest.   “You’re doing a lot of unnecessary things in my home,” he comments offhandedly, perhaps not for your ears to hear. It’s passive aggressive and you mask your smile. Namjoon looks at you. “I would prefer if you would work properly and complete your duties without doing much else.”   You feign confusion. Wide-eyed blinking. Lashes batting.   As if giving you the reason for his mention, his eyes linger at the hickey.   In a delayed manner, your hand raises to the juncture of your neck, covering the spot Taehyung made like that alone could remove it. And then, you immediately drop to the ground on your knees.   “I-I’m so sorry, sir. It...it wasn’t my fault,” you cry out, searching the floor as the volume of your voice becomes timid and shy. It isn’t hard to come up with an excuse. “J-Jungkook did it. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he cornered me in the laundry room and I..told him to stop...but…”   He slams his desk.   Hand curled into a tight fist. Making the pens on the surface jump. It’s startling and you look up at him, viewing just how upset he is. “He left the next morning and hasn’t been back…”   “So that’s why he left. Why didn’t you tell me?” Namjoon stares at you in distress. “This is very serious.”   You shake your head. “I was afraid of saying anything. I know Jungkook’s been here longer than I have, so I didn’t think anyone would believe me and I can’t lose this job, sir.” Your head tilts to look up at him, eyes gleaming through your lashes, lips pouted, still on your knees. “I’m sorry.”   The man sighs. “There’s no reason to apologize. If he ever comes back, I’ll call the police immediately. No one in this household should ever feel unsafe. I’ll promise you that.”   You nod and he helps pull you up by your arm. You stagger upwards and on weakened knees, you stumble. With agile skills Taehyung would be proud of, you land on the man’s lap. Perched on his spread thighs, your legs placed along one side, and hands securely on his shoulders. Namjoon’s steadied you as well with his own palms sprawled on the small of your waist. And your parted lips are gasping mere millimeters away from his.   It’s an intimate moment. One where your gazes lock. One where you make sure lasts three seconds to imprint into his mind.   And then true to the character you’ve created, you pull yourself away. You grab your chair and dip your head. “I’m so sorry, sir.”   Before the master of the house can get another word out, you run out the room.   The minute you’re outside, you run into Yoongi. Passing by, he cocks a brow at the way you frantically shut the doors and your breathing is laboured as if you ran a marathon.   “Something wrong?”   Your head shakes and you devilishly smile at him. “It’s nothing at all.”   //   It’s a game with these mortal men.   You know they want you — that they helplessly dream about you at night. Your words, your lips, you crawling over to them and doing whatever they ask. Showing what reality could be. But the more you let them peek without giving it to them, the deeper they fall into your trap of honey.   “What do you think?”   You place the papers down, a tender smile placed on your features. “Shouldn’t you ask your uncle who’s an editor to look over your essay instead of me?”   Sohee playfully sulks. “Yeah, but he’s always busy. I don’t want to bother him.”   “You made a few errors here and the conclusion isn’t as strong as the introduction. I think you should expand on this point into one or two more sentences. But overall it’s very well written, Sohee. You might even have a knack for writing.”   The girl nods with a grin and when you stroke her hair while telling her how proud you are, she looks up at you and leans into your touch.   Ms. Yoo enters the dining room, endeared at the sight of you and Sohee sitting together at the table and working on her homework. She’s reluctant to interrupt but does so anyways. “Y/N, the master is calling for you.”   The housekeeper never tells you for what purpose, but you have an inkling sprouted from your intuition. Swiftly, you leave and Ms. Yoo takes your place as Sohee continues on other assignments she’s able to do on her own. The pair of them are equally unsuspecting.   It’s evening and long after dinner. The sun is dipping over the horizon, crimson shades fuzzy in the sky. Everyone is preoccupied and there’s no real reason why he should be calling you.   But you don’t hesitate.   Your knuckles rap against the grandiose doors. There’s a pause and you push it open.   Inside, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace — above the mantle is the family portrait — and the man is standing and staring at the flickering flames. His face casted by the warm glow and he’s nursing a glass of whiskey. Namjoon raises his head as you push the door back to where it was, leaving it slightly parted.    “Good evening.”   “Is there something wrong, sir?”   He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking and I...realized I haven’t been as kind to you as I should’ve been. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t a safe place for you and I want to change that. I don’t want anyone in this house to be afraid.”   You know he’s referring to what you’ve accused Jungkook of doing and promptly you close the distance. Your steps are slow as your hips sway and you look at him through lidded eyes.   “Sir.” You keep your voice low. “This has always been a safe place to me, because I know you’re here.”   Your eyes locked into one another and a tense silence lingers.   Finally, Namjoon swallows hard and diverts his vision. “Would you like a drink?”   “I-Is that allowed, sir?”    “I’ll allow it.” The suited man smiles and moves to sit on his dark leather couch.    There are two couches facing one another by the fireplace with a coffee table in between, opposite of his desk and the bookshelves. A once private sanctuary meant for no one but him, yet you have an exclusive invitation.   His thighs spread as he gets comfortable and he reaches for the fancy bottle of whiskey. Namjoon pours a glass of the amber liquid. It sloshes on the side and he extends his arm.   You take it nervously as if you’ve never drank much before.   “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to.”   “It’s not that.” You smile at him through your lashes. “I’m just wondering how expensive it is.”   Namjoon scoffs lightly, but not out of malice or annoyance. It’s from endearment. “You don’t need to worry about that.”   The rim of the glass is placed between your plush lips and you take a sip. It’s bitter, but slides smoothly down.   He watches you and in the meanwhile, your eyes flicker away from him. Something catches your attention on a mahogany bookshelf, so you cross the room. You allow your knees to brush against his, the loose strands of your hair nearly skimming along his nose.   Namjoon clears his throat, holding the crystal glass casually between his fingertips. “Can I ask what kind of perfume you use?”   You twist around with another easy smile. “I don’t really use any, sir.”   Bending over in his line of vision, you look at his stacks of books and other knick-knacks on his shelf. “You have chess?”   “I do.” He places his glass down. “Do you want to play?”   You turn around with another coy smile. “Can we really?”   The darkness of the room thickens, fire crackling and sputtering in the background. The glow is dim against your profiles and casts your shadows along the wall. The game of chess has been set on the small table. You tell him you barely know how to play to which he replied he’d go easy on you. A few minutes have passed and you’ve moved a few pawns around. Yet, it’s intimate and quiet as if the room is hidden away from the rest of the house. Something you’re sure isn’t too far off.   “Are you alright, sir?” you ask in a husky murmur, pupils flickering up to him as he’s mid-way from taking another sip of his whisky. “You seemed pretty stressed a few days ago.”   Namjoon leans back into the seat. It sinks underneath his weight. His thighs are spread as you hold your knight, still debating on where to place it on the board. “I still am, but it's just the usual business stress.”   “Your wife worries a lot.”    You place the chess piece down and he leans forward again, capturing your pawn with one smooth move of his rook.   “You don’t need to try to make me feel better. I know she doesn’t care.”   “That’s not true,” you refute half-heartedly. “Why do you feel that way?”   “It’s obvious,” he mumbles and takes another pawn of yours when you move it. “My wife is more preoccupied with using my credit card and all she does all day is nag which makes it worse.”   You move your bishop across the board.   “Because of her, we have to have two live-in maids in the house at all times,” Namjoon continues. The liquor makes it easy for him to relax and let the truth spill. He’s defenseless. “Sohee doesn’t get along with her at all and Jaesun isn’t disciplined whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder why my family is like this and where it went wrong.”   The older man exhales and slides his king forward.    He waits for your next move, but you don’t go.    Your gaze is pinned on him and his eyes travel upwards to connect with yours.   “It doesn’t need to be that way, sir,” you whisper.   It’s your moment. You can feel it. And you disregard the game in favour of crawling towards him. The chess pieces knock over, some to the table and the others collide to the ground.    He has no idea you were two moves away from checkmate.   In seconds, you straddle his thighs. Namjoon’s at a loss, arms not yet touching you, but hands never pushing you off of him. His eyes have gone hazy. He’s completely entranced by you, bewitched under your spell. Vulnerable to your seduction and the wicked temptation you offer.   “What are you doing?” His breath laboured and he tries to muster sternness to no avail, as if you shouldn’t entice him with such a dangerous game.   The corner of your lip pulls into a devilish smile. “I’m doing to fulfill every single one of your fantasies, daddy.” And you kiss him. Slotting your soft lips against his chapped ones, letting them move gently. It’s a brief moment before Namjoon surges forward like a man possessed.   Namjoon’s hands grab your ass and he pushes you forward until you’re sitting directly sitting above his crotch. You whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His brows furrow, mouth parting from the pain and you steal the chance to deepen the kiss.    He struggles for control but you ultimately give it to him, feigning submission.   It’s too easy.   You roll your hips over his hardened crotch, feeling how your panties stick to your slick folds, and he grabs hold of your waist. The pair of you break away from the kiss with your arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders.   “God, you knew what you were doing this entire time, weren’t you?” Namjoon’s chest heaves against yours. “Every time you fucking bent over. Every time you tried to play coy. Such a goddamn tease.”   His fingers rub over your wet lips then down to your neck and collarbones. His hands travel to the low collar of your dress and then he tears it. The fabric rips against the threads and you whine in shock. But Namjoon never halts, undoing your bra and tossing it aside. He grabs a handful of your soft breast and pinches your nipples roughly until the bud hardens against the pad of his fingers. You sob out as he watches you through lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way your expression contorts into pleasure.   “I can see why Jeon liked you so much.”   “But I didn’t want him to touch me, daddy.” You pout at him. The thin layer of your panties and his slacks prevents you from feeling it completely, but it’s still dry fucking. “I-I only wanted you.”   “And you’re going to have me,” the man grunts and pulls aside the skirt of your uniform. His hand dips past your thin, white underwear and his fingers feel against your folds.   “Fuck,” he hotly exhales, “you’re soaked. Do you really want me that badly?”   “Yes, daddy.” Without warning, Namjoon’s index and middle finger plunges into your cunt until he’s knuckle deep. You cry out, hugging him tighter to you and he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.   “Your cunt is so tight.”   You squeeze around his prodding fingers. “Tighter than your wife’s?”   Before he can answer, you kiss him again. Your sticky tongues interlace, sloppy and obscene. You taste his spit at the back of your throat — and it’s just the way you like it.    The kiss lasts long enough that you can swallow his groan and you pull off his suit jacket. The rest of your dress pools around your hips. It becomes frantic after that, breaking apart just to rid of your clothes. He tosses your ruined underwear aside, but keeps the rest of his own attire on.   It’s some kind of power play as if you should be the only one naked and vulnerable.   Yet he’s oblivious to how you have him wrapped around your finger.   “Tell daddy.” The older man’s hand wraps around your throat gently. “Have you ever been fucked properly before?”   His slacks have been tugged down enough that his cock has sprung free and his other hand grips the base of it. The reddened tip leaks with a bead of precum and you eye how big he really is. It’s more than Jungkook’s but less than Taehyung’s.   You shake your head and lie. “No.”   Namjoon cusses.   “Is that okay?” you timidly whimper and he smirks.   “More than okay, baby. It won’t hurt too bad.”   He guides his shaft to your pulsing cunt and runs the head of his cock along the collected wetness that has stained his pants and dripped to his leather couch. Both of you lower your heads, watching as he starts pushing through your folds. Immediately, your fingers tighten on his shoulders, wrinkling his expensive white shirt that was ironed by his wife.   Namjoon shushes you. “Relax. It’s okay.”   “I-It’s too much, daddy,” you complain in a pitched voice. “It’s too big.”   His jaw ticks, fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your parted thighs. “You can take it.”   You nod and sink down on him slowly, making sure to draw it out as long as you can. And Namjoon’s head falls back. He groans and makes it balls deep inside of you.   You make sure to tremble and squeeze around him, keeping his cock at a vice grip. “Is this okay?”   “Uh-huh, sweetheart. It’s great.”   With his eyes closed, he misses your smirk.   You begin to fuck yourself onto him, feeling the pull and thrust of his big shaft dragging along your wet walls. The way your cunt stretches deliciously. Namjoon meets you half-way, hips thrusting upwards while you rock yourself against him. Your nipples are hardened and your breasts bounce in front of him. Tying the sight all together, you reach behind and pull the pins from your hair, letting it cascade down.   You know it must be a sight for sore eyes.    While you’ve never flaunted your appearance, you know you’ve been subtly altered to lure mortal men in. Your face and body are the accumulation of their fantasies. And it’s effortless to tempt them. To captivate their attention with a simple smile. You’ve looked at yourself enough times in the mirror to know that you aren't shabby too.   “Daddy, it f-feels...so good,” the words are choked out of you, sobbed as you bat your lashes.   Jungkook, the poor boy, was much more eager and sweeter. But with Namjoon, his experience is evident in his strokes. He’s rougher with the way he squeezes your ass until a handprint is left. There’s less regard with how he treats you, as if you’re just a pretty placeholder merely giving pleasure.   His hard thrusts against your cervix would hurt if not for how the pleasure overtakes you.   “You have to pull out, daddy,” you stutter. “I-I can’t get pregnant.”   Your kind can’t carry children from mortals but he doesn’t need to know that.   “I’ll do whatever I want,” Namjoon grunts, jaw clamped and brows furrowed. He sweats at his hairline. “I’ll cum where I want.”   You give a loud and exasperated moan that you hope he enjoys. “B-But it’s not right.”   “Shush. I’ll take care of you.”   You squeeze around him again, hands tight on his shoulders. Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he revels in the feeling of you rocking against him and you smirk, looking down at him. At how pathetic he’s gotten.   Just sitting on his lap and giving a simple kiss was enough to reduce him to this mess. From an established mogul in his forties into a helpless, hormonal teenage boy. In a few minutes, he’s thrown away years of marriage and loyalty for his wife for some maid’s cunt. A measly housemaid who’s supposed to be only a few years older than his own daughter.   Taehyung was right — this is fun.   At the same time, Sohee walks up the stairs while humming, hugging her textbooks to her body. She beelines straight to your room at the end of the other hall, wanting to show off how she’s finished everything and secretly hoping that you’ll gently stroke her hair like you always do.   But as she passes by her father’s office, her ears catch a high-pitched whine. She stops. On sheer instincts, her head swivels over. And through the crack, she finds her dad’s backside. She sees the way you’re on top of him, naked, riding her father. Your eyes flicker to her through the gap. She gasps.   Sohee backs away into the darkness. She turns around, a thick lump forming in her throat, her brows knitted together. But she doesn’t watch where she’s going and her mother meets her in the corridor.   “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed, Sohee.” Yijin’s voice is grating to the ears and she frowns at her daughter’s disposition. The way her downcast head and eyes search the ground. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you?”   She doesn’t mean to — but Sohee’s eyes incidentally travel back to the grandiose double doors.   And Yijin follows her line of sight.   //   “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Her screeches fill the manor. It’s always been noisy, but never solely because of an individual and certainly never at this ear screeching pitch. “How could you do this to me?!”   Yijin’s absolutely deranged. She’s throwing a fuss early morning after what she saw last night and retreated to her bedroom. She waited for him to return. Yet Namjoon never came to join her.   Now she stands at the foyer with a suitcase that Ms. Yoo packed, but she has no plans of leaving. Instead, she’s tossing porcelain vases on the ground and tugging the tablecloth off of the table. The display case is open and fragments of antiquities litter the marble floor.   Jaesun is crying hysterically at the staircase while rubbing his eyes with two tight fists. Sohee remains silent, standing at the top and looking down at her mother.   “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The woman shrieks at Namjoon who stands there motionlessly, expression blank and impassive. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be satisfied until she gets a remorseful reaction from him or tears this entire house apart. Either of which you’d be amused to see. “You selfish bastard!”   Although this was entertaining in itself. You’ve never seen her like this before. The once polished and poised woman has been diminished to this vengeful bitch that’s about to pop a vein — a version of herself that you always knew was hidden deep inside.   Ms. Yoo is the only one who comes forward and tries to put a stop to it. “Please, madam. Don’t do this,” she pleads softly, tears streaking down her own face.   Jaesun weeps. “Mommy!”   “Madam, please,” Ms. Yoo begs as if she’s trying to placate a child throwing a temper tantrum. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”   “You can’t do this to me, Namjoon!” Yijin’s hair is all in front of her face in a tangled mess. Her dress is wrinkled and she’s bare feet. Crazed — just like her husband was last night….except in different contexts.   Ms. Yoo starts to guide her away from the foyer to the front door, dragging the suitcase with her.    “Even if you divorce me, I could still get the house! Get our kids! Namjoon! Fuckin— Namjoon!”   Ms. Yoo pulls her out the door while crying and Yijin collapses at the steps as violent sobs wrack through her. The housekeeper sets the suitcase outside and looks down, hesitating.    Namjoon deadpans, “Close the door, Ms. Yoo.”   She shuts it. Fists bang against the surface for a moment before it stops, being replaced by the noise of wails. Instantly, Sohee runs upstairs, disappearing from sight. Namjoon turns away. Ms. Yoo sighs, taking Jaesun’s hand and comforting him.   The only other person is Yoongi. His gaze is darkened and he leans against the wall with arms crossed. You turn and his eyes pierce into yours. But wordlessly, you bow your head to him and go on about your day.   //   The house is finally quiet. Just the way you like it.   But it brews with a sort of intensity, a tension that doesn’t let you breathe easy. It was the calm before the final storm and your guard wasn’t going to be put down just yet.   You knock against Sohee’s bedroom door and after hearing no protests, you open it. She’s laying on her bed, covers over her head, having skipped school today which no one blamed her for. You clear your throat, speaking gently as if you were cooing a puppy, “You didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you hot chocolate, Sohee. I’ll leave it on your nightstand.”   The mug is placed down and as you turn away, the sound of rustling slows your steps. She’s come up for air, hair in a disarray and covering her face, and she calls for you, “Y/N.”   “Hmm?”   “Are…..” She hesitates and you take the invitation to sit at the edge of her bed. The girl looks up at you after a moment. “Are you going to become my new mom?”   The pause is purposeful. It makes it seem as if you’re considering it. Makes it seem as if you’re staring at her because you’re wholeheartedly endeared by her. And that nothing else matters.   To top it off, your arms reach out and you hug her. Sohee is vulnerable, small against you and she eases in your secure embrace, allowing you to hold her. You even run your fingers through her hair, caressing her gently and she softly sighs, relishing in the comfort she never received from her own mother.   In a lot of ways, you share many similarities with her.   “I’m sorry, Sohee,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean you to see that. For all this to happen. I adore you and if you want me to be your new mom, I will, but it’ll be a decision made with you.”   She nods against your shoulder and the corner of your mouth pulls into a subtle smirk.   To think she would ask such a question merely hours after her biological mother was booted out the house is both astounding and unsurprising. It’s partly from her poor relationship with the woman and how she was charmed by you moments after your first encounter. A kind of love at first sight.    Not unlike how most men succumb to your allure — yet differing from lust. Instead, Sohee has developed a familial affection towards you.   But not everyone is as welcome as she is to the new change.   “Did you have anything to do with this?” Yoongi asks you. A surprise that he’s stepped out of his bedroom for some sunlight. Or perhaps to find answers.   You hum, continuing to place the stack of books back onto the shelf in the living room. “Maybe.”   His cat-like eyes are focused, pierced into you with a kind of intensity that would make anyone sweat. But you aren’t anyone. “What are your plans? Is it the inheritance? The status? Namjoon’s money—”   “Neither.”    Finished with your task, you move to the kitchen. But Yoongi blocks the doorway, leaning against it and never moving away. You stop, allowing your bodies to press together, testing as to who will give in first. Yet, he never once yields. Wavers. You’re close enough that he can feel your hot breath against his skin and as his jaw clamps, your pupils flicker down to his pouty mouth.   Against his own will, his eyes mimic yours. They follow to your own lips. And you smirk.   It’s a heated moment and then you brush away from the sharp-witted man.   //   For a short while, there’s a mirage that the game has several winners. But the instant gratification comes with consequences and there is only one ultimate victor.   “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t work in these conditions. With the madam gone, it’s just too hard for me. I…” Ms. Yoo shakes her head tearfully, a wrinkled hand placed over her chest where her heart is. “I’ve spent decades working in this house, master Kim, and I think it’s time I retire and spend some time with my grandchildren.”   Namjoon stares out the window, unable to work, unable to move.   His frustration overwhelms him.   “I won’t force you to stay, Ms. Yoo. Sohee and Jaesun will miss you, but you’ve done a lot for my family and I. We couldn’t thank you enough for your dedication and hard work over the years.”   He is calm and she bows her head before retreating.   You catch her in the corridor and she takes your hands, squeezing them and wishing you the best of luck with a sweet smile. After Ms. Yoo leaves, you wipe your hands against your collared dress.   You knock on the grandiose doors.    “Get out.”   Disregarding his command, you enter anyway. Namjoon is disgruntled, seated behind his desk in his leather chair, a finished glass of whiskey discarded on the side. His hands are clasped together, elbows propped on the surface and he leans his head on his fingers.   “What don’t you understand? Leave!”    But you approach him until you can press your hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward.   The once powerful man established in his wealth looks up at you, dark circles deepening, the wrinkle between his brows made permanent. He stares at you as if you’re a fearsome curse, a bothersome pest, a fiend. And you have to resist the delicious smirk that tickles your lips.    “You did this to me,” he mutters, simmering in animosity. “You destroyed me.”   You round the oak furniture and plop down onto his lap. Before he can shove you off, you grab his hair from the back of his head, letting the strands thread through your fingers, and you pull.   He groans, chin lifting up.   “You were the one who made the decision,” you tell him. “It’s you who became weak. You thought about me and even now, you still want me.” The edge of your mouth tilts and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before you lean in, whispering in his ear, “You can’t stop thinking about me, can you, Namjoon?”   “You’re a vixen.”   “Oh, I’m much more than that.”   You end up sinking to your knees and taking him to the back of your throat. He cums there, the taste salty and consistency thick — a kind of bitterness that you’ve learnt to find savoury. And Namjoon cums again in your tight cunt when you’re bent over his desk and he’s pounding into you, fucking you hard enough to feel his anger and for your ass to bruise against his pelvis.   “N-Namjoon, it feels so good.”   “Shut the fuck up, slut.” He sweats at his hairline, holding your hips and jostling you around as he chases his own release. You look across the room to the family portrait above the mantle and smirk to yourself. “I-I’ll spank your cunt again.”   He couldn’t even scold you. He couldn’t blame you for ruining his marriage.   You have him wrapped around your finger.   //   The photograph captured a moment of Namjoon holding newborn Jaesun, Yijin smiling with her arm looped around Sohee who was only eleven at the time. They’re in front of the house with Ms. Yoo beside them wearing a grin. She remembers that day, the family barbecue outside, the laughter and joyous atmosphere. Yet now, Ms. Yoo only sighs to herself and packs the framed picture into her duffle bag.   “You’re still here?”    Your voice nearly startles the old woman to death. She jumps and turns around, finding you at the doorway. “Yes, I was just finishing up. I didn’t realize I had so many belongings. I guess this is what thirty years gives you.”   Ms. Yoo takes a gander around the room, what was her home, then to you. She never once notices Namjoon’s cum dripping down your thigh from your messy and puffed center that still delightfully aches.   “I’m going to miss this place.”   “Or you could always stay.” Not wanting to waste any more time, you take three strides and your mouth presses against hers. The older woman is shocked, eyes widened at your kiss, but you inhale.   She goes limp against you. Her soul taken right from her. And Ms. Yoo collapses to the ground.   You shudder at the taste, at how your guts coil inwards. It’s terribly bland.    Her soul isn’t half of what it takes to satisfy you.    Not like you’re surprised. As a succubus who’s meant to entice mortal men, male souls are the desirable ones.   You wait for Taehyung to come pick up the corpse, but he never shows up and you curse him. He always finds a way to show his face and steal the good souls away from you, satisfying his own appetite and leaving the scraps left for you. But when it comes to souls that are bland to you and therefore bland to him, suddenly he has no business manifesting himself.   You kick Ms. Yoo’s lifeless body and having no other options, you roll her heavy body with the rectangular carpet. You start sweating as you heave her up. But with enough effort, you manage to stuff her in the closet and shut the doors.   Someone will deal with that later.   //   It’s amusing. Namjoon does everything within his power to act like nothing’s changed. That nothing’s happened and he isn’t missing his wife or housekeeper in his home. He grabs onto any semblance of normalcy, perhaps to cope with the changes of the past twenty four hours.   He calls for dinner to be set at the usual time and you’re thankful Ms. Yoo made sure the fridge was stocked up before she was to leave. All you do is slap the container food into bowls and heat them in the microwave before setting the table as you usually do.   The entire family gathers around the table — Sohee, Jaesun, Namjoon and even Yoongi.   “Y/N will be joining us for dinner,” Namjoon suddenly announces as you set down the last bowl. Your brow raises and Yoongi’s eyes round but no one questions it.    Not even Jaesun who often throws tantrums. The kid merely pouts. Never once lifting his spoon of rice into his mouth, putting on a defiant act, but you don’t care. If the brat wants to starve, he can starve.   You sit down beside Namjoon, across from Yoongi and diagonal to Sohee.   It’s tense at the table, the silence suffocating those around it. But you settle in comfortably and even pass some side dishes directly into Sohee’s bowl that you know she likes. Her eyes flicker up to you and a tiny smile tugs on her face. “Thank you.”   Namjoon clears his throat and looks to his brother. “You were working on editing a science textbook, right?”   “Biology,” Yoongi answers shortly. “For grade eight students.”   “And how is that coming along?”   They continue their conversation, making some small talk and you chew in your cheek while your foot lifts underneath the table. Your leg stretches and it grazes along the leg of the man across from you.    Yoongi immediately freezes. His brown eyes pool close to black and he glares. But you don’t let up, stroking the inside of his leg as you eat and look away from him. Yoongi pushes away. You scoot yourself forward. He tries not to draw attention to himself. Asked another question, he gives half a mind to responding.    Your toes slowly travel up to his thighs and then they tickle and twitch against his crotch.   Yoongi’s breath staccatos.    No one knows that you’re playing footsies with Yoongi underneath the table. That you can feel the way he hardens against his sweatpants.    “What game do you think you’re playing?!” he harshly whispers after dinner when the two of you are away from the others. Yoongi corners you, his good looks sadly marred by his twisted expression.   You blink, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”   But the little act doesn’t faze him. You knew it wouldn’t work the second you met the man.   “I know you have something to do with Yijin leaving.”   “I didn’t do anything, Yoongi.” You grab his shoulders, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours and you grin, breath skimming along his neck. “The dominoes were already in place long before I came here. You know that too. I just needed to give it a little push,” you exhale the word and he can’t stop himself from swallowing hard. From staring at you.   He eventually musters enough self-control to push you away and leave.   You turn the corner, the darkness enveloping the corridor and bringing a sort of eeriness. But it might just be from Taehyung who you find leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s smirking. “Aren’t you having a little too much fun, peach?”   “This is the best part.” You loll your head to one side. “Sometimes playing with your food before you eat it makes it much more appetizing.”   He laughs, chuckling from his chest and the sound tinkles. “I taught you well.”   Taehyung pushes himself off the surface and as he passes by you, he taps your butt.    He disappears seconds later, leaving you on your lonesome to keep playing.   //   Everything is falling into place.   It’s like you’re playing chess without an opponent, simply arranging your pawns as you’d like on the board. But because of how effortless and simple it is, it’s easy to get bored.   One day you’re waking up to a blaring alarm clock and slaving after the whims of humans as their servant and the next, you wake beside Namjoon in the master bedroom, having taken the madam’s place. You slept on her sheets, on her pillow, beside her husband.    There’s nothing fun about it anymore once you’ve won.   You roll over to straddle Namjoon’s hips, placing his morning wood right under your center. He’s shaken awake by the movement and groans, rough hands instinctively coming to grab your ass.    “W-What time is it?” his voice is still thick with sleep and you smile devilishly, rubbing your clit through your silk slip that barely covers your nipples. Your pink cunt is still swollen from last night’s endeavours, but you think one last one ought to be enough.    You won’t miss his cock after this.   “You were dreaming about me, weren’t you, Namjoon?” you whisper and before he can respond, your hands reach out, wrapping around his neck.   He’s completely at your mercy.   The man slowly blinks awake, coming to consciousness and a staggering exhale leaves his mouth as you position the bulborous head of his shaft to your folds. He mumbles something about how insatiable you are and lightly chuckles. But Namjoon should consider himself lucky. It’s not often you let the same human fuck you three times.   He pounds into you, hips lifting off the mattress. The stretch of your pussy is rather pleasing, but with the repetitiveness, your mind wanders and your hands around his neck tighten. You cut off Namjoon’s airway and his eyes slam shut with a loud groan. You can practically feel his cock twitch inside of you.   Unfortunately, the man loses it all too soon. It’s a bit amateurish for someone as experienced and punishing as he is, but you don’t blame him. Well...only a little as you lean down and capture your mouth with Namjoon’s before inhaling sharply.   Out of the three times you spread your legs for him and the numerous times you let his cum leak out of your pussy and drip down your thighs, he only made you cum once.   It’s kind of sad. Selfish.   Once you’re done with him, he falls back.    You hum to yourself as you climb off the man’s used dick and move to the vanity across the luxurious bedroom. You freshen up and pin up your hair, allowing a few strands to frame your face. After you’re satisfied, you grab Yijin’s shawl to cover your top half and you stride down the hall to Yoongi’s door.   He’s at his desk as usual, red pen in hand, crouched over a stack of papers.   But the curtains aren’t drawn, allowing the bright sunlight through his modest room.   “Mornin’.”   He turns around, brow raised, eyeing how you’re leaning against the door frame, casually greeting him in spite of being dressed in a measly scrap of fabric. “What are you doing?”   You quirk your head. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago.”   “And what is that?”   “Hmmm, I think you know, Yoongi.” You flick a piece of dirt from underneath your fingernail. “Let’s not drag this on for any longer than we have to.”   You stay ambiguous and he maintains an impassive expression. But his stoicness has no effect to deter you when you smile and approach him slowly. “You know, I was once like you. Complacent. Quiet. A little like Sohee too, maybe even more naive than she is right now.”   “Once?”   “A long time ago,” you hum. “I was going to get married to a bad, bad man until I became liberated.”   You come close enough to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. His head tilts upwards when you tug, powerless to your enchantment. “It’s okay to give in, Yoongi,” you whisper against his skin. “It’s okay to be selfish and indulgent. You’ve done so well up to now.”   “What makes you think I’ll sleep with my brother’s mistress?” he asks in a harsher tone. “The whore that ruined his entire family.”   You laugh. “That’s not very nice.”   “But isn’t it the truth?”   “It is. But I’m supposed to be irresistible to men. Your restraint is impressive, Yoongi, but it’s only natural that you give into your primitive needs or at least be honest with yourself. You dream about me, don’t you?” The ongoing silence makes your grin widen and your eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight. “You’ve fantasized about me a lot. You want me.”   You lower yourself, hooded eyes connected with his. Your hair is messy, yet not in a disoriented way from sleeping. Yoongi smell it on you too — the sweat and musty scent. “You fucked my brother.”   “And I can fuck you too.”   You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own.    It’s different. Languid with the soft caresses of tongue, his lips not chapped but puffy. The kiss is slow and lazy. Not eager like Jungkook but not as rough as Namjoon. Yoongi sighs, savouring and truly enjoying it, and it’s something you lean into.   You match his speed and rhythm and once you pull away, his eyes are hazy.   Yoongi pants, swallowing hard. “Who...are you?”   “Secret,” you sing-song and pull him towards you. The two of you nearly fall to the floor, though his bed is close enough in his small room that you collide against the mattress. The man hovers over you and you hold his arms in a vice grip. Cocking your head to the side, you giggle. “This is fun, isn’t it?”   “You’re a heathen.”   “Not quite, but close enough.” You grin and kiss him again. It feels good to.   Not long after that, you’re beneath him and he’s bare, quiet without a single moan. His cock draws deep into you leisurely, languid rolls that’s not necessarily chasing for an end but relishing in the pleasure.   “I was never going to fuck you,” Yoongi murmurs. “Even if I wanted to.”   You pout. “Why not?”   “Because I have dignity and respect for myself.”   You scoff. “Guess you lost all that.”   “No. I still do.” His voice is husky around the edges. “But if I give you what you want, maybe I’ll understand your intentions better.”   The corner of your mouth curls and your hips lift to meet Yoongi’s. You squeeze around him just to tease. “And what do you think my intentions are?”   “I-I still don’t know yet.” He sweats, hips sped up and then keeps a constant rhythm. “Why do you do the things that you do? Why did you try to tear this house apart? Gain Sohee’s favour.” Yoongi’s brown eyes pierce into you. He’s a perceptive man. “You don’t love Namjoon. I don’t think you loved Jungkook either.”   “Jungkook?”   “He would’ve never left like that out of his own free will.”   “You’re smart,” you coo affectionately and run your hands through his fluffy hair. It’s such a shame he’s just a mortal. “I promise you’ll know by the end of this, Yoongi.”   Another minute passes and Yoongi pulls out. You watch as he pumps himself thrice and finishes on your stomach with a quiet grunt, cum painting all over your flesh. You’re about to grab his shoulder to kiss him, but he parts your thighs and lowers himself. His mouth attaches to your cunt, forcing his wet tongue inside your used hole and he eats you out, licking at the juices that leak out of you.   But he remains meticulous and careful, drawing unrestrained moans from your lungs.   “S-So good…”   Yoongi works you up until you feel hot all over your body and your hands have sunk into his head of hair, threading through the strands. As if that wasn’t enough, he sucks on your clit and inserts his index into your walls. He sinks deep and curls the finger against the perfect spot.   Your back arches and you cum all over his tongue.   He lets you ride it out against the stiff muscle and his plush lips before he’s lifting himself up, revealing all of your slick that’s coated his mouth and chin.    “Thank you,” you pant, chest heaving. You gaze at Yoongi with heavy lids and you sit up. “I’ll give you the answer to your questions. Who I am. Why I’m here.” You cradle his cheeks in your palms and you lean forward.   Yoongi’s eyes droop and he kisses you back, softly and deeply. You keep it slow too, savouring the taste of yourself on his palette and then, when the moment is right, you inhale.   His lids open slightly, feeling himself weaken. Yoongi’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, but as your kiss continues, his surroundings blurs more. He groans at the back of his throat, wanting to pull away, but without having the strength to.   The world around him darkens. His consciousness lasts three seconds afterwards. Enough to realize you’re a monster.   Yoongi’s body falls back onto the mattress.   His soul has been consumed by you and as tasty as it was, you’re a bit regretful. You pull the plush blanket up to give him some modesty and you ruffle your fingers through his bangs. “Truthfully, I liked you the best in this house.”   The sadness lasts another second before you’re humming and climbing off the bed.   The job is finally done and you roll your shoulders, walking out the room. As you do so, your exterior finally sheds of your human disguise into your true form. While your face remains the same, your lips redden and your hair becomes luscious and longer, draping your backside. The white, silk slip morphs to a dress in the blinding shade of crimson. It hugs your body, from the dip of your waist to the swell of your breasts. And at the crown of your head, two small horns manifest.   Downstairs, Taehyung is standing on the porch. He turns as you join his side and smirks. “About time you finished, peach.”   He’s been watching Jaesun. The five year old is running around the backyard underneath the sun and flinging around the toys his wealthy parents got for him. He’s completely oblivious to the situation and unquestioning to Taehyung’s presence.   Taehyung is the tamer of all brats after all.   “Didn’t you say I could take my time to have fun?”   “I think you’ve been having too much fun.”   The corner of your reddened lips pull. “I don’t think so.”   “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself though.” He lolls his head over and grabs a hold of your chin. Taehyung leans himself down to your height and comes forward for an invasive kiss.   Without warning, he licks into your mouth and you moan helplessly, completely at his mercy. Taehyung’s tongue is sticky as he tastes you, calm yet impatient. It’s a pleasant kind of intimacy as he steals your breath. But when he starts to inhale deep, you bite him.   Taehyung pulls back with a grin, the bottom of his lip split slightly.   You pout. “You should at least give me some. I worked hard for those souls, you know.”   He gives you a look. “Did you really?”   “More work than usual,” you bite back.   A black cat mewls at Jaesun. The kid swivels his head over, fascination growing as the feline hops from the fence to the grass gracefully as if inviting him to play. The cat has a short but luscious coat and its tail curls, green eyes wide. Jaesun instantly drops the ball he’s holding.   His greedy hands extend and he follows the cat behind some bushes.   There’s a flash of bright light and Jimin stretches himself out from his feline form. He cracks his bones and leans over, interrupting your conversation. “Thanks for the kid, Tae.”   Taehyung waves. “No problem, Chim.”

Sohee wakes up to a silent house.   There’s a strangeness in the air, a certain uneasy feeling in her body, but she dresses herself and continues her morning. It’s when the peace is ongoing that she searches for people, for her father first.   She screams when she discovers Namjoon on the bed lifeless. No matter how much she shakes him or calls out his name, he never moves or twitches. He doesn’t breathe.   The girl cries and runs to her uncle for help. But he, too, isn’t sleeping and isn’t resting like he appears to be. The man’s skin has gone cold, eyes shut tight, his lips pale.   She cups a hand over her mouth, silencing a sob in the eerie house and she stumbles down the steps. There’s only one person left. One person to help her. And she sees you through the back door on the porch. Standing next to a tall man.   Sohee’s confusion stops her tears while hiccups continue to wrack through her body.   “W-Who are you?”   The two of you turn at the sound of her voice.   Taehyung grins. “Oh. Nice to see you again, little girl. Remember me?”   Sohee’s eyes are swollen, cheeks stained with saltwater. Her body trembles as she grips the door frame. You coo at her, stepping forward with your arms open but she flinches. “W-What did you do to them?”   You sigh, arms dropping to your side, yet your voice remains tender. “They got what they deserved, Sohee.”   “W-W...h..at?”   “They succumbed to their primitive desires and suffered the punishment for it.”   “This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s brow cocks and he smiles at her. “You were the one who summoned me here in the first place.”   Confusion is marked across her visage — brows furrowed, mouth lopsided.    But it was Sohee that called out to you and Taehyung. She was the one who began your assignment. She was the one who invited the pair of you into her home. Practically opened the door and ushered you in desperately.   “All those nights of prayer, did you really think God would grant you such evil wishes to get rid of your family? You were praying to the devil, little girl.”   Incubi and succubi like you and Taehyung need invitations to enter an abode. Yet Sohee handed the both of you that on a silver platter. Taehyung might’ve assigned the task to you, but it was a win-win. Not only could you grant her wish, but you could reap all the benefits by stealing the souls of her family members and indulging in their lust.   “All those nights of wishing your mother would get hit by a car. That your brother would cease to exist. That your father would fail his business….”   It was a victory from the start.   You give Sohee a moment since it looks like she needs it. It’s understandably shocking. You were once in her position after all and just as surprised. But the realization seems to sink into her with the way her eyes widen. “I-I didn’t know this is what would happen!”   “You wanted an escape from your life,” you say to her in excitement. There was one more benefit to this ordeal too — just as Taehyung has you, Sohee will become yours. “This is it, sweetheart.”   If you didn’t know you would get such an endearing subordinate from all this, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of it all. But ‘subordinate’ and ‘underling’ are such unpleasant words Taehyung uses. Sohee’s more like a little puppy for you to love, mentor and show around.   “Come with us.” You extend your hand, palm open to the sky. “We came all the way here for you.”   Sohee looks at both you and him, brows furrowed, hesitation evident. “What will happen to me?”   “You want to be like me, don’t you?” You smile at her along with Taehyung who remains patient. “I’ll take care of you and so will Taehyung. What else does this place have to offer you?”   This is the true game of temptation.   No one is ever forced into making a deal with the devil. It’s a choice. And one she takes.   The girl lifts her arm, taking your hand. A bigger smile pulls on your features.    And just like that, the three of you vanish together.

[annabethy]

“don’t lie to me” + percabeth if u are up to!!!

“Don’t lie to me.” Percabeth teacher au!! <3

Annabeth couldn’t think of a better way to spend her mornings than with Percy. He was always so sweet and warm when he first woke up, making him the perfect person to snuggle up to in the middle of a New York winter.

The ride to work was no less lovely with her sitting in the passenger seat, a steaming cup of coffee that Percy had made “with love” in her right hand, and her left hand intertwined with his. Watching the snow fall in a comfortable silence was so delicate and magical, and it’s truly the best way to start her day.

As she’s walking into the school with him, hand in hand, she leans closer to him, using his arm as a buffer from the biting wind. Percy just gives her a lopsided smile, something akin to adoration in his eyes, and pulled her into his side. There weren’t many students around this early in the morning, so she doesn’t bother trying to separate herself from him. She doesn’t even know if she could because he’s acting as her personal heater, and that may be too good to give up.

“You look adorable,” Percy comments as he holds open the door to the school. “The red nose really tops off your whole look.”

Annabeth sniffles, trying to subtly wipe her nose with the hand that’s still holding a travel cup of coffee. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m being serious,” he whispers playfully, bumping her arm with his elbow and prompting her to roll her eyes fondly. He guides her through the halls of the front office, reaching for her hand and lacing them back together. “You always look pretty, but right now you look so huggable.”

She can feel the flush still on her cheeks, but she doesn’t know if it was from the cold or his kind words. Almost a year of dating and he still made her feel just as giddy as she did on day one. “I love you.”

“Couldn’t possibly love me as much as I love you,” he quips, but he presses a kiss to her temple before changing the subject. “So, I was thinking. After work, cuddles and a movie?”

“Only if we can get snacks first,” she says, biting her lip in a smile. If there’s anything she loves more than waking up next to the love of her life, it’s getting to spend Friday night with just the two of them. There were no kids to bother them or tests to grade. It was a time for the two of them to just exist with one another, and she cherished every week when she got to go home with him.

“We can stop for snacks, but then we’re watching Finding Nemo.”

“What’s with your obsession with the ocean?”

“I think clownfish are cute,” he answers, because of course he thinks clownfish are cute. “All fish are cute. That’s why I teach marine.”

Annabeth expected nothing less of him, and she decides to humor him. “Did you know I once had two goldfish and I named them Ren and Nephr?”

“Unique names,” Percy says, sidestepping a kid frantically making their way down the hall.

“They both mean kidney.”

“You would, Chase.”

“I also had a fish named Ornith.”

“That means bird,” Percy states.

“I liked the irony,” she tells him, taking a sip of her coffee. It’s still steaming in the cup, and it burns her tongue slightly. “Regardless, I think your obsession with the ocean is alarming.”

“At least I don’t go around screaming law of cosines,” Percy says, pointedly looking at her. “I didn’t even know what that was until you started crying about how stupid they were last week when you were grading papers.”

“That’s because they are stupid, I swear to god. They were all I-don’t-know-when-to-use-law-of-sines-versus-law-of-cosines like it’s hard!”

“I’m sure it’s so easy,” he says, but his laugh gives his sarcasm away. “You just have to accept that you were a fluke in the system, and no one will ever be a smart as you.”

Annabeth smacks him upside the head with her cup of coffee lightly but she’s still smiling. It’s moments like this that really get to her. She could just be herself around him, and they could tease each other but know that they love those things about each other at the same time.

She loved him.

Annabeth bites at the inside of her cheek, loving the way he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, before she slowly pops the lid of the coffee off to try and get it to cool down faster.

Percy’s arm is snug around her waist, so she doesn’t look up as she continues walking. She blows around the rim of the cup, the steam swirling up in the air. It smells mouthwateringly delicious and it’s starting to cool off, so she brings it to her lips just as they round a corner, and—

Someone slams into them, and suddenly the only thing Annabeth can register is pain.

“Shit.” The scalding coffee seeps through her shirt almost immediately, and her skin feels like it’s on fire. The cup falls from her hand, the rest of the contents splattering on the floor, but she can’t be bothered to care as she tries to break the shirt’s contact with her blistering torso.

“—you okay?”

Annabeth’s mind comes reeling back as Percy’s voice reach her ears, and she can pick up the frantic edge to it.

“Annabeth,” he prompts again, his hand sliding down her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering him, she glances to the person cowering in front of her, and her skin is on fire for a completely different reason.

Octavian stares back at her, terror clear as day on his face, and she is about to explode. This kid was always the center of something, causing problems with every single breath he takes. He had no shame, and he always had the audacity to do whatever it is he wants to do, and now he’s ruined her favorite part of the day, and she can’t breathe.

“Octavian,” she says tightly, scrunching her nose in mock politeness. “Did you maybe think it would be a good idea to check where you’re going?”

The kid stammers.

“It would be smart not to go running around the halls and bumping into people carrying hot drinks,” she says, her voice dangerously steady. “God, you’re so—” There’s so much she wants to say, to scream, at him, but even in her heightened sense of rage, she knows she can’t, so she clenches her fist hard enough for her nails to indent her skin and she pauses for a second before she storms off in the direction of her room.

She doesn’t look to make sure Percy is behind her, too busy trying to hold back rising tears, and she really doesn’t know why she feels this way. All she knows is everything was perfect, and now it’s not.

As she unlocks her classroom door, Percy’s hand is settling over the dip in her waist. She steps inside the room, and she doesn’t know what exactly she was going to do except perhaps have a meltdown, but she never got the chance because Percy wastes no time before pulling his sweater over his head and holding it out towards her.

“What are you doing?” she asks miserably, still forcing back her frustrated tears.

“Take it,” he says, gazing at her earnestly.

Annabeth bites her lip, her eyes glossing over. He was too good for her. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out. She doesn’t know how to express what she was sorry for, but she has a feeling he knows.

“Don’t be sorry.” Percy’s arms seek out the bottom of the sweater so he can help her into it. He slides it over her and once it’s on, he reaches forward to tilt her head towards him so he can give her a forehead kiss. “It was an accident.”

“Octavian was an accident,” she whimpers, dropping her head against his chest.

She doesn’t understand why she feels so upset. She just knows that she doesn’t like the hole in the pit of her stomach or the tightness of her throat.

“Why are you so sad?” Percy asks, cupping her cheeks and pouting.

“Today was going so well,” she complains, wincing away from his fingers that go to wipe her tears.

And maybe she does know why she’s so upset. Mornings were her favorite time of day because she got to be with Percy. She got to see him in ways that no one else did and listen to his words that he doesn’t say when anyone else is around. When they’re at work five days a week surrounded by children, he didn’t get to show her affection in the ways he does outside of school. Morning was her chance to see that.

Never had something interrupted those perfect moments before. Not until now.

The moment had been so perfect, so private and loving, and it was destroyed.

“You told me I looked adorable,” she says, sniffling. It was the only way she knew how to explain the torrent of emotions she was feeling. “Now I have a big coffee stain on my shirt, and I look disgusting.”

“You still look adorable.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she chides.

“I’m not lying,” he says softly. “You always look adorable.”

She just drops her forehead back against him pitifully.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” Percy says. “I tell you that all the time.”

“You’re a big fat liar.”

Percy’s lips tilt up in a smile. “I’m not. In fact, you actually look even better right now, all cute and warm in my hoodie.”

Annabeth looks down as though for the first time realizing she was wearing it. It was too big on her, but it smelled like him, the picture of a sunny day at the beach, warm on the sand.

“You’re so so so pretty, especially when you’re wearing my clothes.” Percy’s arms wrap around her squeezing tightly, and she feels secure in his embrace. “Don’t let this ruin your day. Octavian’s stupid. This isn’t new information.”

“But our morning is ruined.”

Percy squeezes her tighter, slightly swaying back and forth. “Lucky for you, it’s Friday. We can go home and pretend it’s morning again and take lots of naps.”

“And watch Finding Nemo?”

“Oh, yes. That part’s nonnegotiable.”

Annabeth’s lips pull up at that as she nestles deeper against him. “I love you.”

Percy’s response is an affirmative hum and a kiss on the top of her head.

So maybe her morning hadn’t gone quite as planned, and maybe she was overreacting just a bit, but there’s always tomorrow, and there’s always their Friday night snuggles.

As long as she has Percy, she figures everything would be alright.

[kabira]

04 | solo

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.6k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — one instance of profanity

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

“You’re being a bitch.”

Vernon closed his locker’s door with a click before turning around, looking at the ceiling in exasperation when he heard the accusatory voice. There was a tube light directly above him, brilliant and blinding right in his sight. He turned away as quickly as he had looked up, blinking back the dark spots in his stinging eyes.

He didn’t bother acknowledging Lucy before making his way down the hallway, bag slung over one shoulder. His muscles ached from the previous night’s encounter—he’d ended up swinging around for longer than usual, long after the three had to go back to the Helicarrier for their bedtime. Knowing May wouldn’t be waiting up for him back home had made him a little careless, and the exertion during gym hadn’t helped.

“Don’t you walk away from me, mister!” Luce called behind him. When she saw that he wasn’t stopping, she blew air out of her mouth in irritation before jogging to catch up. “Vernon! What is up with you?”

The hallway was mostly empty, which wasn’t that surprising. He’d had to stay back in the lab to clean up his new partner’s chemical spill, which had, of course, been blamed on him instead. The old Parker luck. “I need to get home, Luce.”

“Do you?” she asked, and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. A muscle in her jaw was working, tensing and relaxing at periodic intervals, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance. She was usually relaxed, but her current gait was constrained, like a coiled-up spring. “I saw how you nailed that new kid in gym today. You usually opt out of dodgeball, but—”

“He had it coming,” Vernon said dismissively, but his lips thinned. The new guy she was referring to was Yangyang, who did have it coming, because of his little incident in the cafeteria the day before. Maybe it was a little uncalled for, but Vernon still honestly believed he had deserved it at least a little bit. “And you’re not supposed to chew gum in the school.”

“Neither are you supposed to be mean to people for no reason, but we’re all sinners.” Luce shrugged, and he bit back a few choice words. She pushed through the door as they reached the exit, and he shielded his eyes against the hot midday sun that’s shone directly at them. “For real, though. You got him good—I’ve never seen you so hostile towards anyone save for Flash. Did Yangyang say something to you?”

For some reason, her knowing his name annoyed Vernon even further. “Did you get the answers to those questions yesterday?” he asked, switching the subject.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very funny.” The laces of her converse were untied, a band pin on the lapel of her jacket wobbly, a few strands loose from her dark ponytail. He blinked, tearing his mind away from the little details of her appearance and tried to focus on walking. Left, right, left. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, well, I had a headache last night,” he said, grateful he didn’t have to hunt for excuses. His thoughts were already sluggish. “You can ask May.”

“I meant the one about Yangyang.” She paused, and he paused with her, taking a few steps before backtracking towards her. Her eyes were downcast, brow creased thoughtfully. Unconscious little gestures he knew like the back of his hand. Then she glanced up at him, right at him, so suddenly that when her eyes met his he swayed on his feet a little. “You don’t want to tell me, do you?”

I can’t, I’m sorry. But cryptic answers never helped. The last time he had tried withholding something from her that wasn’t his Spider-Man secret—the planned surprise party, for instance—she had persevered until he accidentally let it slip. Plus, she was sharp. A couple of new students, a few matching injuries, and she’d guess those three were superheroes right away. And where would he be then?

“It’s a guy thing,” he said instead, a little white lie he hoped would do the trick. Vernon raked a hand through his hair, pressing his lips into a smile as he squinted at her. “You’re going to embarrass me in front of all these pigeons.”

“The pigeons are half-dead because of New York’s air pollution, I’m pretty sure they have more important things to worry about than some guy’s adjustment problems,” she said, resuming her walk. He waited for her to pass him before following. “Look, I know the new kids are a sudden change after—” She bit the inside of her bottom lip. “Well. After…you know.”

All of a sudden, the atmosphere turned gloomier, as if a cloud had passed overhead. “Yeah,” Vernon said thickly, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.”

Lucy glanced at him, and though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he could sense the regret in her eyes. “It must be difficult for them, too,” she said. “Joining a new school in the middle of a session, just a few weeks after…all that.” She shrugged, looking at him, and their eyes met. “There’s no harm in being decent.”

He looked away, feeling the lining of his stomach go hot-and-cold. Even a mention of the incident turned every sunny conversation into something dark and somber, even though it had been months already. The counselor/agent had tried making him open up about it as well, but he’d snapped at her, only to regret it right after. It was a difficult subject for him, especially since he felt at least partially responsible for what had happened—but he couldn’t tell Luce that without revealing more than he was supposed to.

“So you’re still trying to score an interview with Tony Stark?” he asked instead, trying to steer the conversation towards a different topic. “I still can’t believe the board’s letting you do that.”

“Honestly? I think the only reason they agreed to it is because then they won’t have to assign me to anything of real importance,” she said with a small laugh. “They think I can’t do it.”

“Can you?”

“I have my ways,” she said, a glint in her eye. “I’d tell you how, but it’s too dangerous to involve an innocent civilian in my plans.”

“Uh-huh.” He tried not to shake his head. Oh, the irony. “You don’t have to talk to Stark, you know. I’m sure there were other civilian witnesses to the Goblin incident.”

“Yeah, but their accounts have already been reported. I need a superhero for this job.” She blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes. “If not him, who else am I going to talk to? Spider-Man?”

He laughed awkwardly. “Maybe?”

“I think Stark might be easier than that.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s kind of the point of the mask.”

He looked at her in half-surprise, unsure what to feel. They had talked about Spider-Man before, of course, but only in passing. A masked vigilante wouldn’t really be central to their usual conversations. Still, he hadn’t expected her to say that. “Yeah,” he murmured, feeling oddly warm. “I guess it is.”

“Oh, look,” she said, stopping in her tracks again. Vernon raised his eyebrows, following her line of sight to a Daily Bugle billboard on the side of a tall building. “Jameson’s having a field day with those photos of the new guys.”

He took a long look at the screen, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Why would you show me that?” he mumbled. On the top right corner of the screen was a blurry picture of him with Tiger, Nova, and Iceman, looking like a perfectly normal team of superheroes fighting crime—except for the leftover webbing clinging to Nova’s costume. Distractedly, Vernon wondered what Jameson made of that little detail.

“As a sighting in Queens last night reported, it seems that Spider-Man has now deemed it fit to invite even more of his delinquent partners into this city!” the man on the screen yelled. If Vernon tried hard enough, maybe he could even see little spit bubbles form in Jameson’s salt-and-pepper moustache during the passionate rant. “With crime rates already increasing steadily ever since the arrival of this masked menace, who knows what kind of mayhem the new additions to his team will spell for New York?”

Always the charmer.

“…anyway,” Luce muttered. She was frowning at the screen, but seemed unable to look away. “Who do you think those guys are?”

“Those guys?” Vernon echoed, awkwardly running his thumb along the strap of his bag. What could he say that would arouse the least suspicion? “They seem new.”

Nailed it.

“Right,” she mumbled, looking distracted, like her mind was far away—never a good sign with this one. “But, as I was saying, I know the past month’s been hard for you. It’s been hard for me, too, but you shouldn’t take it out on a few unsuspecting newbies when they don’t deserve it.”

Vernon kissed his teeth, choosing to stay silent. The last thing he wanted right now was more impromptu therapy, but he knew that trying to dissuade Lucy from speaking would only encourage her. The best he could do was shut up and let her have it.

“You know what’s helped me deal with it?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows, wanting to get it over with. “Working. Ever since I joined the school newspaper, I’ve been able to keep myself busy. Distracted. I don’t want to sound like a mom, but maybe something like that could work out for you—like an after-school job or something.”

Oh, you have no idea. But he only shrugged, keeping his eyes on the billboard. He had been able to keep busy as Spider-Man, a well-needed distraction from the pain, but now with those three around, it wasn’t the good kind.

“Maybe,” he murmured, watching on as Jameson gesticulated violently onscreen. “We’ll see.”

|

Vernon swung the drone trapped at the end of his web in a full circle before letting go, letting it fly through the training room into a collapsed structure of another laser. The drone exploded, sparking as it crashed, crushing the circuit of the lasers in the structure beneath it.

Dusting off his hands, he turned, facing the rest of his ‘team’-mates, who stood to one side, having been watching him as he single-handedly took on the subjects of their training session. He had been going at it for about half an hour now, and it had been strangely satisfying to get to throw stuff around for the heck of it.

Nova stood leaning against the wall next to the control panel, his arms folded over his chest. “You done yet?” he asked in a bored voice.

The drone Vernon had just disabled sparked again, shooting an angry red beam across the room. Vernon clicked his modified web shooters into condensed impact mode and webbed the drone again without looking. The drone crackled once, then its light went dark.

“I am now,” he said, dropping his arm. Felix watched him with bleary eyes as he turned and headed towards the exit, which slid open with a pneumatic hiss. “And since I managed to complete the mission objective solo, I think I’m going to head home.”

“Except you didn’t.” White Tiger landed in his path, executing a perfect handspring that arched high over his head. Her reflexes were as good as his—maybe even better, but he would probably never tell her that.

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg. Despite the mask covering her features, he could sense how peeved she was through the sheer annoyance radiated by her posture. “The objective was to disable the bots without alerting the security system. You trashed the drones and crashed the system, and the power failure would have initiated a manual site-wide search. If this had been a real mission, we would have been discovered by now.”

“Except this isn’t a real mission,” he said, equally annoyed. “If it had been, I’m pretty sure I would have been able to do the job easily. Six armed drones against one spider? No competition.”

“And this was supposed to be a team effort,” she snapped. “If this had just been a solo training session, I would have had no problem with you doing what you just did. But in case you forgot, the whole point of this is to prepare us for team combat in real situations, to help us learn to work better, together. Your taking on everything alone wasn’t heroic, it was an obstruction of the purpose of this entire thing.”

She took a step back, suddenly, as if reeling from a blow, though he hadn’t even moved. The training room had gone silent—granted, it hadn’t been very noisy in the first, place, but her voice had been so loud and her words so rapid that Vernon had forgotten the silence. Now it pressed down on him, like another layer to his suit.

She dropped her arms to her sides, fingers curling in and out slightly, her claws retracting under the white gloves. “I know it’s difficult for you having to work with someone against your will,” she said, “and I know you don’t like us very much. But that’s not a good enough reason for you to throw away everything we’ve been training for. If you’re not going to be nice, at least try to be civil.”

She turned on his heel and stalked out the door. Vernon watched her go, right up until the doors slid back in place behind her.

He turned around, only to find the other two staring back at him. “Way to go,” Felix mumbled.

“You totally got schooled right there,” Yangyang said, though he didn’t sound very amused. “You know she takes this training stuff more seriously than any of us.” He shrugged; arms still folded. “Gotta be more sensitive than that.”

“Stop it,” Felix snapped at him, looking annoyed. “She only cares about this so much because it’s the only thing she’s got. You’ve got the Guardians, and I have—had—the X-Men, and probably a bunch of other mutant organizations, like the Frost Academy or something,” he added the last bit in an undertone, “but S.H.I.E.L.D.—after she lost her family, this is the only place she can turn to. That’s her one chance at making it, but this doofus is refusing to cooperate. If it were me, I’d be pretty pissed.”

Vernon narrowed his eyes at him, but couldn’t find the strength to argue. Too much about what Felix had said hit right where it hurt. Losing someone you cared about, suddenly having nobody to turn to…he understood how bad that was. But losing your entire family and being displaced from your home? He couldn’t even imagine it.

The earlier annoyance had drained from his body like an ebbing tide, leaving nothing but a hollowness and that damned guilt that seemed to follow him everywhere like an annoying ghost. Oh, well, my fault for having a conscience.

Suddenly tired, he sighed, tearing his eyes from the mutant’s and looking resignedly at a spot on the wall. As much as he would like to have a reason to properly hate his new team, he knew he couldn’t really blame them for any of this. “Where do you think she’ll go?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—” Yangyang started.

“Up top,” Felix answered, cutting him off. His irises were rings of ice, but when Vernon looked at him then, they seemed almost warm. “Take the elevator to the left. Make sure you don’t fall off the side—New York’s a long way down.”

[hamilsquadwritings]

The Flowers (Philip Hamilton Soulmate au) ~ part 1 ~

A Soulmate AU in which flowers bloom from your left ring finger, coiling up and around your body, Identical to your soulmates. They stop growing when you meet and turn white when you get together

(I decided to work on an old idea I had on my old blog @stargazelaurens and develop it properly)

Words- 2.3k

Warnings- none

Everyone has a small flower on their left ring finger, it's small with long vines and small leaves. They appear between 13 to 16.. they start off yellow, pink or blue. Over time they grow eventually entwining their vines and leaves around your finger, indentical to your soulmates. When you meet your soulmate they stop growing, if there's an age gap the youngers flowers will grow until they match their soulmates. If you get together with them the flowers turn white as a signal that you've found and fallen for your soulmate. Rarely you see someone with almost no markings except their finger, they'd found their soul mate early in life, been in school together or were the children of family friends. 

Other times you see someone with the flowers vining their way up the arm and around the shoulder and around their neck, they hadn't met their soulmate and may never. 

There's a medical procedure you can get that will halt the flowers, although it's not widely available because it's very expensive and most honestly just don't see the point.

“(Y/N) come on! You look lovely now let’s go. Your sister is meeting her ‘soulmate’ tonight” your mum says, chuckling, she puts quote marks around the word soul mate. 

She didn’t believe in them. Even though she’s married her soul mate. Your dad also didn’t believe in soul mates. He believed in marrying for acquisition rather than love. He and your mum's families were close friends growing up next door to eachother. Their fathers were both close friends who were in business together, they arranged for your parents to wed in order to take over the buisness. 

When your mother was 14 her flower appeared and with in weeks she noticed it didn't appear to be growing, like at all. This perplexed everyone.. until they realised your father's had stopped growing, he'd had his for a couple of years but honestly didn't care about having a soulmate. He'd been working around the family buisness since he was a preteen and having grown up with your mother he knew he she was a lovely girl and they'd make a happy life together. Your mother's grew to match your father's, their flowers turned white on their wedding day, everyone was shocked when it was realised, soulmates marrying? That was rarely but happened regularly. Arranged soulmates marrying? That was a first...

Your father was keen to attend this ball because they’d already chosen the boy for your sister, Philip Hamilton, the golden boy. Son of Alexander Hamilton, the treasury secretary.

You travelled with your sister and your parents to the ball, once there your parents split off from you both almost immediately to greet your fathers work colleagues which left you with your sister. On the ride over there was an almost tense atmosphere, you don't think your mum minds very much, she knows that it's easier to allow her husband to marry you and your sister off to strengthen his ties with other families. While they may not be soulmates she had every confidence that Philip Hamilton was a lovely boy who would treat your sister like a princess. 

“(Y/N) snap out of it!” Your sister says quickly “you’re staring at him…”

“(Y/N) I don’t want to do this” she sighs as you scan the crowd for Philip. You'd only spoken to him briefly during debate club, he was preparing to leave a few weeks after you joined; you'd also seen him at school when he'd made speeches at debate or during school assemblies. You were painfully shy so you'd never approached him before. You also knew what his father looked like from speeches and meetings you father had brought you to. You spot him easily, his dark curly hair bouncing as he throws his head back, laughing at something his father said. You notice the similarity between them. The way they hold themselves; proudly yet somewhat approachable. The way they both look at the pretty lady in the blue dress sandwiched between them, love and adoration engraved on their faces every time she speaks. The way-

“Sorry” you gasp quickly, looking at her, a blush forming across your cheeks

“It’s so unfair…” Your sister starts and you nod, only half listening, the green eyed boy commanding much of your attention

That damn green eyed boy, that perfect green eyed boy…

That green eyed boy you were hopelessly in love with. Such irony graced you the day your father walked in excitedly announcing happily that he’d came to an arrangement with Mr Hamilton. An arrangement that involved both your sister’s and Philip’s hands in marriage.

“Why did he chose you?” You would aloud

“I don’t know” your sister sighs “I just want to go home and see Th- oh fuck he’s coming over here. What do we do?!” She whispers frantically, feeling sick at the prospect of having to talk to him

"Uh play it cool?” You offer weakly

“Good evening ladies”

he’s standing right in front of you

“Miss L/N?” He asks he asks your sister and she nods. He break out in a grin “it’s truly an honour to meet you”

“You too, this is my sister Y/N” she says gesturing to you

“Pleasure” he smiles sweetly as he takes your hand gently and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles as he did with your sister

“Lovely to meet you” you smiles, trying your hardest not to blush

“Would you like to dance?” Philip asks your sister and she reluctantly accepts, leaving you alone in the ballroom.

“Your sister is pretty” a girly, sweet voice chimes from your side “I’m Angelica, that’s my brother Philip” she explains

“I’m (Y/N)” you smile and the pretty girl smiles back “she’s very pretty, he’s lucky”

“He is” she nods “but he’d be luckier with you” she smirks

“What?!” You say quickly, trying to hide your blush “I- i- I don’t know what you mean!”

“I heard what you said!” She says with a triumphant smirks “you like him don’t you!”

“Listen Angelica you can’t tell anyone” you say quickly “my father-”

“Arranged the whole thing?” She wonders and you nods quickly “I figured as much.. I’m sorry (Y/N), I promise I won’t tell anyone! We can still be friends through!” she promises with a sweet grin

And so you were. Over the next few weeks you grew close with Angelica. She was a year younger than you while Philip and your sister were a year older

“Y/N!” Angelica calls as she comes into your room, she often came over to your home in order to escape her younger siblings

“Hi Angelica” you smiles as you stand up, smoothing out your dress

“Are you ready to go to the gardens?” She smiles

“Actually…” You smiles softly “I’ve got a date.. My father wants me to come see a potential suitor, it’s the son of one of his business associates. I’ve seen him at an event and he seems really nice”

“That’s great (Y/N)!” She smiles happily “I’m so happy for you!”

"Thank you!” You smile, she decides she wants to help you get ready and before you know it’s. It’s time for you to meet him…

“Y/N!” You father calls “George is here!”

“Have fun!” Angelica calls as she goes off to find her brother, he's probably with your sister somewhere

“Thanks” you smile before going downstairs.

“(Y/N)” your father smiles “this is George, Mr Eacker’s son, he’ll be taking you out this afternoon"

“Pleasure to meet you miss (L/N)” George smiles as he presses a light kiss to the back of your knuckles

“The pleasure is mine” you smile graciously and curtesy as you smile at George. He’s got kind eyes and a warm smile, maybe this would go okay.. you think to yourself

“Shall we get going?” He smiles.

You spend a lovely afternoon with George. He takes you into the market and you stop to smell some pretty flowers.

“George look they-” you’re cut off with a hand placed gently over your eyes. When you turn around you find George smiling at you, his other hand holding a single red rose and a pretty daisy.

“It would look pretty in your hair… may I…?” He smiles holding the flowers out towards you

“Of course” you blush, closing your eyes.

“Beautiful” george mumbles, placing the flower in your hair and tucks the rose through the button hole of your coat

Thankyou” you smiles as he leads you to a carriage

“You must be hungry or tired?” He asks as he helps you into the carriage you nod as the carriage begins the short join the to his home. Once you get there you’re greeted by his parents. His mother is kind and pleasant bud she isn’t warm. His father, however, barely looks in your direction; just a mere nod. It becomes clear very quickly that they see you as nothing more than a business investment.

“Did our George give you a good time, y/n?” His mother ask

“Of course he did,” his father interrupt before you have a chance to answer the question “he was raised right.”

“Of course” she replies with a nod

“we went to the market and into the gardens” you smiles, trying to start a conversation, all you get is a disinterested ‘oh that’s nice dear…’ So you focus on the dinner in front of you; a delicious roast dinner.

“Would you like some more Y/N?” George asks, but again, you’re interrupted before you can answer the question.

“She’s had quite enough.” his father says “I think you should be taking her home, we’ve got much to discuss”

“Okay pa” George smiles and takes your hand gently “let’s get your home”

“Okay” you smile and put your coat on, saying good bye to his parents before filling George to the carriage.

“I had such a wonderful time today Y/N, I’d love to see you today” he smiles softly once you’re back home

“I’d like that” you smile

“Until then” he smiles, kissing your knuckles before retreating back into the carriage.

You walk up to your front door and it's opens before you can knock

"(Y/N)! You're back!" Your sister smiles happily "how did it go?"

"It was nice.." you smile, Sure George was nice enough but you couldn't shake the cold disinterest from his parents, something about them just seemed off to you. "We went to the market and.." you trailed off as Philip pops up from behind her 

"Hi (Y/N)!" He smiles sweetly 

"Hi Philip" you mumble back, you could speak to him without blushing now so that's progress.. 

"I'm going to take angelica home, I'll see you tomorrow my darling" he smiles softly, missing her cheek before he waves at your both, following angelica into the carriage

"Bye!" Angelica yells and waves from the carriage window.

Your sister sighs as she leads you back into the house. She's been pleasant to Philip over the past few weeks but she doesn't have any romantic feelings for him at all. She also hated that he was at the house around you, she knew how much you liked him. Even though you'd been out with George she could see it in your face as soon as Philip appeared moments ago. You loved him

"So how did it go with George?" She asks once you're settled in your room. 

"It was okay.." you smile and she raises her eyebrow "I mean he.. he was nice?" You say struggling to find the right words, well words that were 'hes not Philip'. "How's things going with Philip?" You ask curiously, half wanting to know and half wishing to discuss anything else

"He's sweet and everything but I just.. I think he might genuinely like me but he's so polite that who knows.." she sighs softly "it doesn't matter how he feels though, I don't like him in that way, Theo has my heart.." 

"I know" you smile sadly. You're about to continue when your mother interrupts 

"(Y/N)!" She called up the stairs "there's a friend to see you!" 

"Okay!" You call back and head down the stairs. Theodosia Buur is standing in your kitchen 

"(Y/N)!" She smiles and hugs you 

"Hi Theo" you smile hugging back "how are you?" 

"I'm good" she replies with a smile looking around realising your mum had gone back to whatever she had been doing 

"Lets go to my room" you grin, knowing shell want to see your sister

"(S/N)!" She calls happily as she follows you into the room 

"Theo!" Your sister smiles, scrambling to from your bed and throwing herself into Theodosia's arms.

Theodosia Burr was breaktaking, you'd been the one to introduce them. They fell for eachother almost instantly. Unfortunately they had to hide their relationship, not just from your parents but also the world. That's what made the whole Philip situation so awkward. Philip wasnt just not her type, he'd never be her type. 

Theodosia and your sister were soulmates, the delicate shade of purple flowers that  adorned their bodies were identical. 

The first tiny flower appeared on their left ring finger, a small vine grew from the flower, then another flower formed as it snaked it's way around the finger into the hand and around the wrist onto the arm. 

Everyone's flowers few differently, except for your soul mate, theirs grew in exactly the same way and in the same shade.

You hadn't met your soulmate yet. Pink was a common shade. Sure you'd met people who had the same colour, he'll you'd even met people with the same flowers, except one, you had a tiny bud with a second flower right under it on the palm of your hand. They stems were entwined and they both had three tint delicate leaves. 

Everyone you'd though could be your soul mate would either have the flower or the bud, one girl had both but the stem hadn't. Een entriwed and there were only 2 leaves on each. You knew the chance of finding them would be nearly impossible but you still had hope. They were out there somewhere right? 

[nimsajlove]

As a Team (III)

Brothers-AU  Ao3

Part I/II, Part IV

"I like it when the reg's are angry.", Wrecker grinned and left his place as copilot. Ahsoka raised an eyebrow and ground her teeth, the sound earning a slight twitch from Hunter from the corner of her eye. So realized what Jesse had meant hours ago. The attitude that those few words already conveyed pissed her off. "Reg? Good to know.”, she muttered and went back to her pockets. Sighing, she went down on her knees and opened the backpack, it was crammed to the brim with everything she could get from a medic. Burnes must have taken his job seriously, very well. She pushed her way down past the bandages and plasters. Warming blankets, which she had already got to know years ago, were stuck next to some hypnos. She took one out and scanned the label. Some pain relievers and medication in case of shock. Not that she could take any of this! As soon as she had thought through the thought to the end, she spotted a bundle of a few tablets and colored Hypnos tied together at the bottom. Damn it, she owed her medics something now! “Don't take it personally. We don't work with regular clones on a daily basis.", Hunter said next to her and watched as the Jedi put the medical equipment back properly. Then she turned to the other, smaller, bag. “It doesn't matter. I'm afraid of my brothers when they're angry, maybe you should be too?”, she tried to chat lightly, that everyone in the ship was watching her and also had the nerve to want to judge her brothers, pressed her on the mood. There was a big knot in her stomach and she didn't like the way it contracted every now and then.

In the second pocket she found a clean robe, a few rations, and water bottles. She could kiss the boys! If it continued like this, she would soon not have to think about anything at all. But when she pulled the robe out to throw it on, something fell from the folded fabric to the floor. Before she fully understood what it was, Wrecker had already reached for it curiously and Crosshair let out a breath that was reminiscent of a low whistle. Both looked at Ahsoka's old headdress and Wrecker turned it a little. "Wrecker...", Hunter warned and Asoka smiled, he sounded a bit like Rex when she had done something stupid again. Wrecker responded and handed the jewelry back to her, teeth clattering softly against each other. "Scared huh?", smiled Hunter and with a little roll of her eyes Ahsoka stuffed his teeth back into her pocket with the other things. The thought was very sweet and the trophy might earn her respect from Force 99, but she really liked her current clone jewelry. Whenever she saw her reflection in a helmet or mirror, it reminded her where she belonged. With her robe in hand she picked herself up again and threw on the thick, brown fabric. Immediately it enveloped her like a warm hug. "Now she looks like a Jedi!", commented Wrecker, drawing another smile and roll of her eyes from her. When it wasn't about other clones, these men had the potential to be fun people. "Thank you.", she replied, irony loud and clear in her voice. "Sorry, he just doesn't have a mental filter.", Tech announced from the front and this time she had to grin, the flight would be interesting.

Sighing, she made herself comfortable on the floor next to her bag and stretched out her legs. This would be the perfect flight to meditate a little. However, she had only enjoyed it to a limited extent before and did not believe that it would get rid of the uncomfortable tingling sensation under her skin now. Nevertheless, there was silence for a while and Ahsoka closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she noticed that this wasn't like any of the other flights at all. Nobody sat there and complained, nobody had bent over a datapad to write reports. Kriff, her reports from the past few days! She should have taken her datapad... Even if only to plan the next few hours! Maybe... With a little grunt she got up again, the irritated looks from Wrecker and Crosshair followed her on the way forward. Tech had put the ship on autopilot and seemed to be tinkering with something, she wasn't even going to try to understand what it was! Anakin had taught her a lot, but not that much either. Everything beyond doors, normal droids and small spaceships was out of her league. At least most of the time. "Tech, right?", she asked softly and leaned against the pilot's seat from behind, the clone nodded tightly and precisely. "Do you have a datapad for me?" Sighing, Tech laid his tangle of cables away and bent to one side, datapad in hand he reappeared. When he handed it to her, he eyed her curiously. "What are you going to do with it?", he asked a little suspiciously and Ahsoka had to smile. “I just want to play through my plans a little. Or is there something on it that I am not supposed to find?”, she teased and Wrecker gave a violent snort behind her. Tech continued to stare at her, then shrugged and turned back to his work. Well, then that was settled. With her slender fingers, she switched on the pad and decided, with the luck of her own, to search Tech's collection of data for her target. She found little, but it was better than nothing!

"You just didn't seem like someone who's planning long beforehand.", Hunter remarked as the Jedi sat back down on the floor. She shrugged her shoulders. “My brother had priority, I would go in there blind if I had to. And I think that getting in won't be the big problem...", she mumbled and looked at the few dates and plans in front of her. "But out will be?", Crosshair growled and Ahsoka looked up, he looked at her with a chilled look and when she got goose bumps on the back of her neck under her lekku, she gave him a challenging grin. "Scared?", she grinned broadly and showed her sharp fangs, Crosshair rolled his eyes and turned back to his weapon. Wrecker was still giggling to himself and even Hunter smiled next to her. “But so much effort for a reg? One soldier out of thousands, I just would like to point out.", Tech suddenly called from the front, he turned around a little in the chair and could watch how Ahsoka screwed up her eyes and suppressed a rumble deep in her chest.

Hell, she had a really bad grip on her emotions today! She swallowed the growl and took a deep breath, her heart beating hollow and loud in her chest. "Would you just leave one of those here?", she asked and pointed with a palm around, Tech shrugged his shoulders a little incomprehensibly and Wrecker cocked his head helplessly. However, Hunter's expression when she looked at him had tightened. He stood beside her, tense, leaning against the wall. “I don't know if I can follow completely. You are a Jedi, you have the whole Order behind you, right?", he said softly and Ahsoka almost escaped an amused snort. “My brothers never left my side, without them I wouldn't even have survived the first year. If I have a tiny chance of doing the same for Echo then I'll do it.”, she explained, and as she stared at Hunter, an unexpected lump formed in her throat. "I have to take care of them, all of them.", she pressed out and averted her gaze ashamed, tears tingling in her eyes. Damn it, she hadn't talked about Echo and his 'death' in a long time and she hadn't suspected how much it was still hurting her. The very idea that she might just have left for nothing came with such a headache that she stifled the idea in the bud. "I understand. You will get him back.”, Hunter suddenly mumbled and patted her shoulder hard and sure.

 The rest of the flight was quiet, Ahsoka didn't ask why Hunter didn't wrote any reports. She kept her thoughts to herself. Even then, when she almost had to wrestle with Wrecker over one of her rations. But the loud laugh of the massive clone made her grin too. Crosshair still didn't seem to like her much when they started to approach the planet. He stubbornly avoided her gaze. Hunter, on the other hand, seemed to be getting used to her presence, and since the conversation he had made suggestions about her plans from time to time and discussed possible enemies with her. Thanks to him, she now felt as prepared as she could be. Still, she was nervous and restless when she looked out the window and watched the storm outside. "Tech, can you get the signal from here-" A rum interrupted her and they held their breaths for two seconds, then a large head appeared in their field of vision. "What is that?", Wrecker grumbled. “A conspecific simple lizard. The locals worship these creatures because-” “Enough.”, Hunter interrupted Tech, drawing his gun. "Just get it off my ship." "Wait, maybe we should think first and then...", sighing, Ahsoka let the sentence end and ran after the clones into the open, it was no use anyway. Outside the sand pricked her eyes and her bared arms, damn it, she had left the robe inside! At least she was already wearing her backpack. She hastily drew out her lightsabers and got a quick overview. On the ship sat the, truly not pretty, lizard and growled at her with bared teeth. The clones had already opened fire when the back of her head began to tingle violently. Like Rex gave her a brotherly pat. She trusted that feeling. "Get down!", she barked and actually the others followed, just above them another flying reptile shot away and missed the Jedi by a hair's breadth. Ahsoka was immediately on her feet again, her gaze followed the attacker and his rider. If they didn't have to fight these locals, they'd be not stuck here! Maybe... "Wrecker, stand still!", she instructed harshly, the big clone looked at her with noticeable irritation. Right then her window opened. The attacker came down again, the claws already open. With one jump Ahsoka stood on Wrecker's shoulders, with another she landed on the flying reptile and snatched the reins from the rider.

 It was impressive how well the animal knew the way home. No sooner had Ahsoka relaxed the reins than it changed direction. Behind her she heard the ship start again and follow them, with a triumphant grin she glanced over her shoulder at the clones.

The flight did not last long, with short and powerful wingbeats the mount landed and Ahsoka swung down. With cries of surprise, the locals backed away from her and cocked their heads. With a grin, Ahsoka patted the reptile next to her briefly and then looked around, the clones were just about to land at the top of the basin in which the village was located. Sliding, they came down to her. "You could have warned us!" Hunter complained a few meters before he reached her and Ahsoka grinned at him. Then she turned to Tech, she wanted to get this done quickly. It wasn't sure if the Techno Union knew of their discovery and if they did, would they kill Echo? Dispose him? "You can translate, can't you?", she asked and Tech jerked his head. “What do you think I am? A protocol droid?", he muttered, but still seemed to get the right program on his glasses. “I want you to tell them about my brother. I will tell you everything you need to know and translate."

Ha, the line of pity had probably pulled! "They provide us with two scouts, they will show us the way to the city and then return home." Ahsoka nodded in agreement, that was a good deal. “Okay, that will do. The main thing is that we get to this damn city faster."

 The walk was shorter than expected. After about an hour of brisk walk, they stood on a small ledge and looked at the town in the distance. “Why do you build so high up here? There's nothing to see anyway.", Ahsoka mumbled and shook her head, somehow they would get in there. "I won’t wait for you this time, if you complain again.", Tech grumbled from behind her and astonished Ahsoka looked around at the others. "Wrecker is afraid of heights?", she asked and Wrecker shrugged his shoulders protectively. "No! I only have a problem with... gravity.", he grumbled and the hunched shoulders, the snapped apology, the hunched head. All of this reminded Ahsoka so much of all the younglings in the temple and the clones when they first realized that they were afraid. She couldn't help it, in her head Wrecker snapped like another piece of the puzzle into the picture of her family and a gentle smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "It's okay, I'll try to find an non-seethrough elevator.", she assured him jokingly and then got up. "We should go while the sandstorm can still cover us.", she urged the others to hurry and trotted ahead.

As soon as they had left the slipstream, Ahsoka had to pull the collar of her tunic up over her mouth and nose. The fine grains burned in her eyes, even when squeezed tightly together, it was hard to see anything. Sighing, she closed them. Back to her traditional training then. With a few deep breaths, she forced herself to calm down and let her mind explore the area in waves. Suddenly she realized how much life was hidden in this barren landscape. The little lights of the Techno Union were easy to see, they glowed cold and empty in front of her. But there was something else, it was practically magical. Even if it could hardly be described as alive, she knew that there was her goal. Half blind, she grabbed the wrist of the next clone behind her and dragged him behind her, the wrist too narrow to be Wreckers. Only when they were back in the shadow of the city and the wind eased a little did Ahsoka look up, open her eyes and look around. All the clones were hot on her heels, she had caught Tech and released his wrist from her grip. Then she looked around, there had to be an elevator somewhere! "Over there.", Tech nodded and was already trotting towards one of the pillars of the city, in fact it was adorned with a thickly armored door and a control panel. The group hurried after Tech with crouched heads and, grumbling, Ahsoka sought shelter from the wind behind the thick pillar. If the Techno Union thought they could keep a Jedi away with these weather conditions, then they had clearly underestimated the determination of such a person! She rubbed her bare arms with her rough fingers, the skin felt sore. As if they had been sandblasted. Terrible clothes for this planet, definitely. In addition, it was only half as warm as she had expected, the constant wind made her shiver. Had they flown in Echo and spared him that sand? What agony he had to suffer while she was moaning about such little things... "Are you done?", Hunter growled and Tech snorted, then the door slid open. "Take a look inside.", instructed Hunter Crosshair and the sniper disappeared into the dimly lit room with his weapon raised. A few seconds later his head reappeared. "Yes, thats a lift.", he commented dryly and Ahsoka grinned broadly, it actually earned her an amused shrug from the clone. Hey, he didn't hate her! Maybe this friendship wasn't lost yet? Still grinning, she pushed herself into the elevator, Wrecker hesitated. "Everything is fine Wrecker, I'll hold your hand too.", Hunter teased next to her and the massive clone snorted before squeezing into the narrow space and the doors closing.

As soon as the elevator began to move with a jerk, the grin disappeared from her face. Now the highest concentration was required, Echo's life perhaps depended on it! "Quick in and out, okay? We won't be able to hide our presence, but if we eliminate their droids quickly, they will take a while to regroup. ”Ahsoka explained to the small unit hastily and Wrecker thrust her on the shoulder enthusiastically. "I can do that!" Crosshair shook his head with a sigh, but still checked his weapon one last time. Then the doors suddenly opened and in a flash Ahsoka built herself up as a shield between the clones and droids. Wrecker didn't care, he ran past her with a loud roar and Ahsoka would lie if she said his strength hadn't impressed her a little. Hunter glided past her a little more elegantly and turned to the next opponent with less force but more precision. Tech and Crosshair rose behind her and fired over her shoulders. The shots so close to her ear hadn't frightened her for a long time now! The hangar they had arrived in was quickly emptied and when Ahsoka straightened up, Tech pulled out his datapad and switched it on. Crosshair, meanwhile, leaned forward a little and when he spoke, Ahsoka could hear his smile too. “You know, Jedi. I could get used to that.” “How nice that you like the sword and shield maneuver so much.”, she smiled back a little tense.

 At first Tech tried to catch the signal from Echo again. With every passing second, Ahsoka's impatience grew. "They seem to be interfering with my signal, seem to be well prepared.", the clone cursed and Ahsoka sighed deeply, it would take them forever to find Echo. "Leave it be Tech, I'll take care of it.", she hastily interrupted another wave of curses and Tech sighed deeply and painfully, as if Ahsoka had just stolen what he loved. Anyway, there was no time for such thoughts! Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to open up to her surroundings. She had learned from Anakin to pursue goals with the force, so she should be able to find an echo from Echo in the force. Slowly she felt her way forward, away from the hangar in which they were standing and deeper into the city. She did not dare to linger with the members of the Techno Union. They weren't Force Sensitive, but who knows... Maybe they'd notice something after all? Only a tiny light, a weak spark, made her pause. It wasn't a uniform glow like the others, more like the flickering of a small candle flame. "That way!"

[verai-marcel]

Sweet Surrender (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, Corrections AU, 18+)

Part 14 of the Corrections, the prisoner AU. Find the rest here.

Summary: With things back to normal, Arthur suggests an act that you never thought you’d try. He tells you that it’s a kind of surrender, a way to educate your body in relaxing and muscle control, and Arthur is more than willing to teach you.

Author’s Notes: This is it.

Tags: anal sex, dirty talk, D/s, consensual non-consent, name calling, slight degradation, role play, doggy style, rough sex

Word Count: 3725

AO3 link is here, sweet girl.

--------------------

For the past two weeks, things had gradually gotten back to normal after you and Arthur had a good talk and a great fuck. A few days ago, Arthur had come over for dinner, and as the two of you were wont to do, discussed sex while cooking.

***

“You willin’ to try somethin’ new?”

“What would that be?” you asked hesitatingly.

“Anal.”

You turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow.

“If you don’t want to, just say so,” he said hastily.

You sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just… I don’t know. Seems dirty.”

“‘Cause it is, sweetheart.” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

You playfully slapped his arm. “You know what I mean.”

Arthur chuckled. “I know, I know. You jus’ got to, you know, clean yerself up.”

You stopped stirring the pasta for a moment and turned to him, glaring.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain later.”

***

You had followed his directions and even watched a few videos online, educating yourself on how to be clean for this… act. You had never thought in a million years that you’d agree to taking a cock up your ass, but when you had read an interesting quote online, you were convinced that it was worth trying. 

Besides, you had your safe words. You trusted Arthur.

But part of you was still a little wary. The idea of it wasn’t revolting, but it didn’t turn you on, either. At the moment, it was a very mechanical concept, invoking neither desire nor disgust. It was just there.

When Saturday morning rolled around and Arthur came over, you had finally come up with an idea to heighten this scenario. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he entered your apartment, giving you a kiss on your forehead in greeting. You tugged on his shirt sleeve the moment he dropped his stuff off in your room.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

“Can we talk about the scenario for today?”

“Of course. What’s on yer mind?”

“I need you to force yourself on me.”

Arthur stroked his chin. “Alright. Any role in particular?”

You shrugged. “Maybe…” You trailed off, recognizing the irony in what you were about to ask him. “Could you be the prison guard and I’d be your trouble making prisoner?”

Arthur stared at you for a good long moment, his brows furrowed with confusion and his lips quirking upwards, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Are you serious, darlin’?”

You turned away, the heat of embarrassment suffusing your cheeks. “Forget I said anything,” you muttered.

“No, no, I like it, I just… never thought I’d hear you suggest it.” He put his hands on your shoulders and gently turned you back around to face him before cupping your cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to do this power play scenario, but…” He paused, blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to get too close to yer real job.”

You shrugged again. “It’s weird, I know. I can separate real life from play time. When I’m at work, I’m in work mode. When I’m home, with you? I’m all yours.”

Arthur smiled before he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Glad to hear it." He looked you up and down, heat growing in his eyes. "You want to play now?”

You nodded.

“Safe words?”

“Lemon to slow down. Cherries to stop.”

“Good girl.” He pat your ass. “Now go on. I’ll give you some time to get ready.”

***

You sat on your bed in your room, your eyes closed. This was full circle. You were the prisoner, Arthur’s prisoner.

Your lips quirked upwards.

When he came into the room, sauntering in and eyeing you like he knew exactly what you had done, you felt your insides tingle with desire. 

Yes, yes, this is what you wanted. That fire, that intense heat that threatened to take your breath away.

“Sir?”

“You know what you did.”

You looked up at him; he had thrown on a short-sleeved greyish-blue button up and tucked it into his jeans. You ignored the wrinkles on his shirt that were clearly from him shoving it into his backpack. It’d be coming off soon enough. 

Arthur stood in front of you, his hands on his belt, his hips cocked slightly. “I could keep you in here for a long time. Real long time.” The grin on his face was crude, calculating.

“Please sir, isn’t there anything I can do?” you begged, knowing your acting was crass and poor.

He reached out and held your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Pretty li’l thing like you? There’s plenty you can do.” He let go of you and undid his belt. “Use that mouth of yours, for one.” 

You reached up and unzipped his fly, reaching in to pull out his cock. He was still a little soft, and you made a small noise of enjoyment as you engulfed him in your mouth. You loved the feel of him growing from your lips and tongue working him. Pulling his jeans down just enough so you could play with his balls as you sucked him to hardness, you hummed happily.

“Enjoyin’ yerself, my sweet whore?”

“Hmmm-hmmm!” Your agreement was muffled by his cock in your mouth.

Arthur just chuckled as he took off his shirt, letting you dictate the pace as you serviced him. When you looked up at him, his length deep in your mouth, his eyes met yours, his mouth open, and all he could do was let out a shaky moan. 

“Yer too good at this,” he said as he pulled away from you. “Take off yer clothes.”

You started to pull your shirt over your head.

“Slowly.”

You slowly pulled your shirt over your head, letting each inch of your skin be revealed as you stood up and turned around, reaching for your bra clasps. You could feel his breath on your neck as he stepped forward to wrap his hand around your neck. He lay a soft kiss behind your ear before nibbling on your earlobe.

“That’s it, let me see everythin’.”

He looked over your shoulder as you let the bra slide off, your breasts revealed to his hungry gaze. Letting go of your neck, he reached around and cupped his hands around your tits, his thumb brushing against your nipples. 

You whimpered softly at his touch as you slowly untied the drawstring of your sweatpants and let them fall. Your white panties were getting soaked by how turned on you were from his touch. Feeling his hands glide down your body, you squeezed your legs together when his fingers got closer to the hem of your panties.

“Tryin’ to hide somethin’?” he growled. He gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh. He shoved a leg between yours and tapped your ankles. “Legs apart. Bend over.”

You did so, your heart beating hard at his firm command. You could hear him dropping his pants and kicking them away before he grabbed your ass and squeezed. Then his hands tore your panties away, leaving you shivering with desire. His fingers slid along your folds, circling your core, knowing what you wanted and instead teasing you mercilessly.

“So wet. That because of me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned over you, reaching around to grip your jaw. You could feel his cock nudging you open as he rocked his hips back and forth just a little bit, just enough to graze your clit, just enough to torment you. 

“Are you my little slut?”

“Y-yes sir.”

“All mine?”

“Yes!”

Arthur suddenly grabbed your hips and slammed his cock inside of you. A strangled cry escaped your throat as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you upwards, forcing your back to arch. 

“Fuck yerself on me.”

You moved your hips, reaching up to cling to his arm for balance as you impaled yourself over and over on his hard cock. He stood as solid as a wall, letting you move as you desired. When you reached down to rub your center, he grabbed your wrist.

“Did I say you could touch yerself?” He pulled out of you and pushed you back down on the bed. “Stay there,” he ordered.

You stayed still, bent over the edge of the bed as he disappeared for a few moments, returning with a tube and three anal plugs. 

“Gotta train you to be my anal slut,” he muttered as he poured some lube onto the smallest plug. He warmed it up by rubbing it around first before coating your tight ring with the viscous gel.

When the tip of the plug entered your ass, you involuntarily clenched your muscles.

He spanked you. Loudly.

“Loosen up,” he demanded.

You took a deep breath. You felt him gently rub your back with soothing circles as you gradually calmed yourself and let him work the plug into your rear passage, stretching you, getting you accustomed to the feel of something inside of you in such a naughty place.

Then you felt him pull it out, heard the lube being slathered onto something else. When he tried to push in the medium sized plug, and you whimpered.

“You want out?”

You knew he was asking you both in role and out of character. You also knew that he would want you to answer truthfully, honestly, openly.

“Please Sir, I’ll do as you say.”

“Then let me in.”

You took another deep breath, closed your eyes, and let him work the plug inside of you, relaxing your muscles as best you could, surrendering to his demanding touch.

“There ya go, good girl,” he rumbled as your body relaxed, letting him slide the plug in and out at a steady pace. After a little while, he pulled it out, coated the largest plug in lube and slowly pushed it inside of you, listening to you softly whimper. He pet your back tenderly, soothing you with shushing noises and praises as you took it all in.

“Now then,” he said as he slowly pushed his cock inside of your pussy once more. “Let’s get you all cummed out before I take that fine ass of yours.”

You moaned when Arthur covered you, reaching around to stroke your clit as he fucked you. 

“Like that, darlin’? Like bein' filled up?”

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, his fingers enslaving you with every heated touch, with every deliberate stroke against your bundle of nerves that brought you shocks of pleasure each time. He breathed on your earlobe before taking it between his lips and sucking on the delicate skin.

You moaned loudly as you came around his thick cock, your legs trembling and threatening to buckle as he kept pounding into you, letting you fall from his grasp as you finished writhing underneath him. You collapsed on the mattress as your legs gave out.

“Up on the bed,” Arthur demanded. 

You slowly crawled up onto the bed, but you were too slow for his liking. With an impatient snarl, Arthur gripped your hips and manhandled you into the middle of the bed and onto your back. You watched as he grabbed the lube, squeezed some into the palm of his hand, and began stroking his cock, his eyes dark with lust as he raised his gaze to meet yours. Then he grabbed your ankles and rested them on his shoulders before he playfully smacked your ass a few times.

“Been lookin’ forward to this,” he said with a lewd grin as he slowly removed the plug. He pressed his member against your rear opening and pushed inside.

You let out a wordless cry as he leaned over you, bending you in half as he inched his way into you. A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead onto your cheek.

“So tight,” he gritted out, controlling his pace until he was fully in your ass. He let out a long breath. “Fuck.”

“Mmm-Mr. Morgan,” you whined.

“Yes, sweet girl?”

You gave him a sly grin. “Please fuck my ass.”

A slow, eager smile grew on Arthur’s handsome face before he started to rock his hips, building up a slow, rhythmic pace, angling himself to give you the most pleasure. He let out a litany of curses followed by wordless grunts of pleasure as he took you in the dirtiest manner, unable to do anything but fuck you.

Your sounds of pleasure were nearly drowned out by the wanton moans of his own. This was the loudest you had ever heard Arthur, his deep voice rumbling, the vibrations traveling down your legs and through your body, a direct line to your center.

“Come for me,” he growled as he reached down, his thumb stroking your core. “Goin’ to fill ya up with my load 'till it runs down yer thighs when you get up.”

With a gasp and a soft cry, you came, the burst of pleasure exploding through you, up and down your body with no mercy, making you shake and roll your hips, threatening to dislodge Arthur from your tight hole. He held onto your thighs, keeping you still as he pounded furiously into you, moaning with pleasure when he finally spilled inside of you, gripping you so hard that you knew you were going to bruise later.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, catching his breath as he let your ankles slide down his arms before he grabbed them and wrapped them around his waist. He fell upon his forearms on either side of your shoulders, looked at you with a smile, drunk on the afterglow. His hands cupped your face and he leaned in for a gentle kiss. 

“Couldn’t even finish out the scene, it was that good?” you teased.

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah. Yer that good.” He slowly slid out of you and sat up on his haunches. Holding his hands out to you, he nodded towards the bathroom. “C’mon. Let’s get cleaned up. Then I’ll git you some chocolate.”

“Cherry cordials?”

“Always, darlin’.”

***

You were all cleaned up and in your lounge pants and tank top, sitting in Arthur’s lap. He had pulled on some boxers after the shower, and was feeding you a cherry cordial.

“You can’t have the whole box,” he said after you whimpered when he started to put the box away.

“I burned a lot of calories there!”

“You ain’t had lunch yet.”

You sighed and nodded, but you still eyed the box longingly as he put it on the nightstand on the other side of the bed, away from you. Then he wrapped his arms around you and held you close, humming a soft melody.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

You turned so you were straddling his lap, looking him in his beautiful eyes. “Tell me. About your old job. Before you got arrested.”

Arthur gave you an inscrutable look. “Alright. But let’s make food first.”

***

A simple open faced sandwich with bacon, eggs, and cheese sat on your plate, while Arthur sat across from you, munching on his.

You glared at him.

He looked at you, chewing his food slowly before swallowing. “Go on, eat.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented between bites. “I was head of security at a BDSM club in the city.” He waited for you to respond, to say anything, but you just stared at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. You knew this part, you had heard it during his interrogation while he was in prison. But you knew there was more, and you had waited so long for this.

“I worked there for about ten years. Dutch, he found me when I, uh, tried to steal from the club. Instead, he hired me as a bouncer. Was a small club back then, just a safe place for people with like minds to be comfortable. But it slowly grew, and we hired more people. Charles was hired as a bouncer too, but turned out he could cook pretty well, so he helped out makin’ apps fer the lounge area.”

You watched as Arthur’s eyes clouded over with memories of the past. “What was the club called?”

“Free & Brave.”

You vaguely remembered hearing about it in the news a few years back. “Was that the one that got shut down because the owner was using it as a front for illegal operations?”

The corner of Arthur’s lips quirked upwards. “Yeah, that’s the one. We had no clue he was doin’ it, not ‘till one of the newer bouncers, man named Micah, started sniffin’ around the place. Overheard him talkin’ on the phone, reportin’ suspicious activity. Turned out that guy was a rat, paid by another syndicate to wreck the operation.”

Your eyebrows raised.

“Soon as I heard, I told Charles, and we slowly got people to find new jobs, to get the hell out of there. Most people listened. Some didn’t.” He looked a little bitter when he said that, taking a deep breath before continuing. “When we finally got everyone out that we could, Charles and I left, took off to the next state over. We knew what the Van der Linde family was capable of and wanted no part of that.”

You nodded. You’re glad he got out when he did. “Why didn’t you tell the detective any of this?”

“I didn’t like him.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He got what he needed out of me. I said I didn’t know about the drugs, and I said I ain’t smart enough fer double bookkeepin’, both of which are true.”

“You’re plenty smart,” you said before finally taking a bite out of your sandwich.

Arthur just wryly smiled at you, as if he didn’t believe you. “Well anyway, Charles & I worked for a contractor for a while, did some side jobs to make some extra money, and when that asshole stole my tools and claimed they were his when I tried to steal them back… well, you know the rest.”

You did. You knew he had been sent to jail for breaking and entering, even after it was proven that the tools were his.

“So the friend you were meeting this morning?” you asked, circling back to the reason he had come over this morning instead of last night.

“He was one of the, uh, workers, at the club. He didn’t believe us at the time, but now he knows everythin’. He apologized to me and Charles, wanted to put things right between us.”

From the bitter look on his face, you had a hunch the feeling wasn’t mutual. “You don’t forgive him?”

Arthur let out a short sigh. “I forgive him, but I ain’t gonna forget what he said to us. Weren’t real kind.”

You nodded, placing a hand on Arthur’s forearm in quiet comfort.

He placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb stroking your skin, and he smiled at you. “Charles says hi, by the way.”

Grinning, you responded, “I say hi back.”

Arthur leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Got any more questions fer me, officer? Or am I free to go?”

You let go of his arm and made a shooing gesture. “You’re free to go, but don’t get into any more trouble.”

He laughed as he got up to take his empty plate along with yours to the sink.

“Arthur?” you said, watching his back as he washed the dishes.

“Hm?”

You took a deep breath. It was time to ask. You had been thinking about it for a long time, and you realized that this was what you wanted. That he was what you wanted.

“Will you… would you live together with me?”

Arthur stopped moving. The sound of the water running down the sink filled the room as the moment stretched, your heart racing, fearing that he would say no, that it was perhaps too soon, that he wouldn’t be ready.

He slowly reached out and turned off the water. Drying his hands, he came back to the table and got down on one knee in front of you.

“Arthur?” you said hesitantly, your voice cracking. Why was he down on one knee? There was no way. No way. Absolutely no way—

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet bag. “Darlin’. I want you to know that this has been the best year of my life. Bein’ with you, I feel like I’ve been given a second chance.” He opened the velvet bag and upended the contents into his hand.

Two things fell out: a dark blue lace choker, and a silver ring with a blue gemstone. He met your eyes and said your name with a gravitas you had not expected. 

“I love you. More than anythin'." He held up the choker necklace. "With this choker, I want you to be my one and only sub, forever."

Holding up the ring, he continued. "With this ring, I want you to be my sweet wife, 'til death do us part."

He then reached out and held your hand. "Will you be mine?" 

You saw him desperately trying to stay neutral, but his vulnerability was already exposed from the hopeful look in his eyes. You could break him with just a single word. He had laid out his heart so bare that it made your own heart clench with emotion. 

"You need me?" you asked quietly. 

"More than air, darlin'."

Letting out a shaky breath, you replied, "Then yes, I'll be yours."

Arthur brought your hand to his lips and gave you a gentle kiss before he slipped the ring onto your finger. Then he stood and walked around you, placing the choker around your neck. Kissing the back of your neck before coming around to face you, he lifted you to your feet and pulled you into his arms, leaning in and nuzzling your cheek. 

“You've made me so damn happy. I love you, my sweet girl."

You shared his smile, your heart blooming with love. In a way, this was what you really wanted; asking him to live with you was just a prelude to your dream, now fulfilled. You kissed his stubbled cheek before pressing your forehead to his. With a warm smile on his lips, his eyes shining with emotion, he looked at you like you were his everything. 

And he was yours.

"I love you too, Mr. Morgan."

--------------------

End Notes: That quote? It’s this: “Bliss, I learned from being sodomized, is an experience of eternity in a moment of real time. Sodomy is the ultimate sexual act of trust.” It’s from The Surrender, by Toni Bentley. 

There might be more parts with Charles & Javier later, but right now, consider the main story done. Thanks for all of your support for this series!

[yetanotherreader]

Useful—4

Genre: College AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N, slight Dean x Lisa

Summary: The school’s most popular boy wants to be friends with Y/N, out of the blue. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with her hot best friend, though.

Word Count (For the chapter): 2,627

Warnings (For the chapter): Language, self deprecative thoughts.

[For some reason, some of the tags aren’t working. I’m sorry about that.]

[[ Also I’m sorry for the no Read More thingy because it doesn’t happen on the phone app :-(]]

Useful Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Time flew by faster and in no time, it was the last week of the semester. Winter breaks were going to begin and you didn't know what to do with your life during the vacation. Lisa was going to be spending it with her family, Dean was going on a road trip with his friends and you had no plans whatsoever. You had no funds to go visit your family, overseas. You were saving for an apartment, and your parents understood. You were, in fact, surprised that they did without any clashes but again, maybe, living away from each other did mend your relationship with your family better. You missed them and, hopefully, they missed you too.

Right now, though, you were trying to figure out how you were going to survive the holidays, browsing the library for some books you could use for your time alone. Older times, you would have enjoyed it. Would get bored, might go into overthinking drives, beat yourself up for things of the past, but still somehow enjoyed the undisturbed two weeks. Now, it was different. Everything was. You were not used to being alone all the time anymore, there was a certain green eyed idiot who made sure to be around you as much as he could. The idiot you've started to dangerously feel for. He introduced you to Cas and Jo, and they were amazing people. Lisa had started spending time with you, too. It was funny. A few months ago, you had literally no one to talk to and now, you barely got to be alone.

"There you are! I've been looking for you."

"Well, I'm honored. Hey, Lis."

"Gotta say your sense of humor has worsened more," she said with a laugh, "Hey. So mom is going on a holiday with her fiancé for the new year. So had to cut the trip short. They invited me but I bailed out"

"I'm sorry," You knew Lisa and her mom's new boyfriend didn't get along all that well. The previous guy her mom was with, though, treated Lisa like her own, and she missed him. For some reason, they broke up and that was why Lisa  moved here for college from Michigan. Her mother's new fiance was a nice man, according to Lisa, but she just couldn't give him that place in her heart.

"Yeah. So, yeah, I'll be here a week earlier."

"That's cool. We can catch up on some movies then."

"And bars and parties and hot boys at the beach."

"Oh, Lord." You laughed, and she soon joined you.

"Hey Y/-" You heard Dean stop, abruptly before continuing, "H-Hey."

You looked up at him to see him looking at Lisa, only to realize it was her he actually greeted, "Um..hey, Dean."

He practically tore his gaze away from her to look at you, "Oh, hi, Y/N. You didn't tell me your friend was going to be here with you."

"Uh, you didn't tell me you were going to be coming here, Dean." You laughed awkwardly trying to cut the tension in the air.

"Oh, yeah, actually I was looking for you. Well, I was wondering if you-"

"Y/N, won't you introduce me to your friend?" Lisa chimed in, practically eye-fucking your best friend—and you hated to notice, it was coming right back at her.

"So, you don't know who I am, huh?" Dean smirked, flirting. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

It was like you weren't even there while they continued to make filthy comments and it was disgusting, you audibly groaned making your way out of the library, "God, ew."

For the rest of the day, you were supposed to be busy. You had assignments to submit before the vacations started, but it seemed like you dropped your concentration somewhere on the road. You couldn't stop wondering what Lisa and Dean were doing right then. Did they kiss? Or were they planning somethi-

You shook your head, shaking away the thoughts. They were your friends, you should be happy for them if it came to something like that. What you felt for Dean was a tiny, little crush which would fade in no time. You weren't going to make things between you two awkward by acting on it. This friendship was important to you, after a long, long while you were willing to put your trust in someone. You didn't even remember the last time you ever talked to someone like you talked to Dean. He was starting to become the closest friend you'd ever had, so yeah, you were going to be happy for him no matter who he dated.

The only thing was...you weren't.

You typed furiously on the computer, trying to ignore the insecurities that were creeping inside you little by little. Dean is going to leave you too. No one will stay. Everyone leaves. Your fingers danced across the keyboard smoothly yet faster than before as you hurried to get the work done so that you could get the hell out of the premises and take a nap. Because you deserve it. You're not worth any love. You're a disgra- You typed the last words and emailed yourself the document, not bringing anything that was going on in your mind show on your face.

"Y/N!" You stopped at the familiar voice, turning around as Lisa made her way towards you, "Guess what?"

"What?" You asked, not surprised by her happy attitude. She was always so happy, it made you wonder what was wrong with you that you couldn't be.

"You never told me you were friends with that hot snack!"

"Um.. actually. I did." You said, rolling your eyes. Obviously she wasn't paying attention.

"No…" you gave her a long look, "you did?"

Exhaling heavily, you made your way to your room, "Lis, I've had a busy day. I'm really really exhausted. Can we gush over how hot Dean is later when I've had some shut eye?"

"No, I didn't stop you to tell how hot Dean is. I mean, yes he is but I wanted to tell you he invited me to the road trip he's going on with his friends." Your eyes shot up to her face, searching for any signs of it being a joke. It wasn't. Dean, actually, did ask her. They met...like...just now?

Lisa must have gotten an idea of your discomfort 'cause her eyes saucered in realization, "oh my god...I'm so sorry, Y/N! I completely forgot about you and the plans we made. I can drop going, I'm so sorry."

"No..it's..it's okay. Really. Go enjoy your holiday. I was, anyway, going to spend my time alone before we made those plans."

She looked at you, guilty, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah.." You smiled in understanding.

"I can always ask Dean to let you tag along."

You chuckled at the irony. You were his best friend, you didn't need anyone else to ask him anything for you. And you even felt a little insulted by the statement. You could do without this favour. You could definitely do without anyone 'letting you' tag along, "Braedon, really, go. I'll be fine on my own."

She went away without another word. The pit in your stomach only seemed to grow as you did your best to drag it aside. You, somehow, managed to stop the slumping of your shoulders as you walked into your room. You changed out of your jeans into your pajamas, ready to call it a day. You made yourself a peanut butter sandwich and was done with all the chores that you settled down on the bed. Switching off the lights, you pulled the warm blanket over your head. It was then that all the thoughts you'd been pushing aside started making appearances.

Your friend 'completely forgot' about you and the plans, your best friend didn't even bother remembering that he forgot about you. It was like you didn't even exist. You knew it was stupid, in fact it was really childish to think like this. Them people have gotten their own lives which DID NOT have to revolve around you. And pretty honestly, you knew no life revolved around you, not even your own. No one would give two shits if you suddenly disappeared, including you. Still, you weren't supposed to feel this way. You weren't supposed to be so much affected because of something like this. Being left out was not something that was happening for the first time to you. But this time, it hurt a little. The thought of you getting replaced bothered a little when it shouldn't. It wasn't a crime or anything. What did you ever do to make a lasting impact in someone's life anyway so that they'd want to keep you forever?

You woke up to constant pounding on your door. Groaning, you got up to open the door.

"I was about to knock the door down, sleepyhead." Dean ruffled your hair playfully as you slapped his hand away annoyed.

"I was sleeping, asshole."

"Shocker."

You looked at him, bored, for a while before widening your eyes and pulling him inside and locking the door behind, "What the hell are you doing here? If the warden saw you, she'd rip me two."

"For a second I thought you were going to kiss me," he snickered sheepishly. "I called you to inform, you didn't pick up." He made his way inside the room, putting the box of pizza and a backpack on the couch. You scrunched up your nose at the action.

"Pizza? Why?"

"Why are you surprised?"

"It was Tuesday. Did I sleep for three fuckin' days straight?!" You said, flabbergasted for a moment until you saw Dean making the most annoyed face ever.

"Y/L/N. It is still Tuesday. Wednesday, actually. And our Friday night outs are at my place, not here where your warden is ready to eat me alive."

"Your point?"

He sighed, "We didn't spend any time together today, Y/N. I saw you earlier, you didn't look well."

You frowned before the memories made their way back, "oh…

"Well that's exactly why I was trying to sleep, Winchester." You scolded, trying to not sound too cold.

"What is it?"

"What?" You turned away from him, walking to your bed, Dean following suit.

"What's wrong? And don't give me there's-nothing-wrong-i'm-okay shit. Tell me." He sat himself beside you as you crawled under the blanket to the other end.

"There's nothing wrong, I'm okay." Dean rolled his eyes as you pulled the covers over your head.

"You know I hate it when you do what I tell you not to."

"Then don't tell me what to do." Your voice came out muffled, as you replied back sharply. He sighed.

When she walked out of the library, groaning as Lisa and him flirted, Dean had noticed. He thought it was just the playful best friend reaction seeing them two flirt with each other, so he let it pass. Later that day, he went to meet Y/N and saw her working on the computer. She would look normal to anyone around there, but Dean had secretly picked up on her habit of doing her work extra smooth when she's stressed. Her shoulders were tensed and eyes sharp. Yep. She was definitely bothered. What he was about to tell her would have to wait, first he needed to know what was bothering her. He decided to talk to her after his class, but by the time his class was over, Y/N was already out of the campus.

"I never got to tell you why I came to talk to you this morning."

"Oh, you came to talk to me? Didn't think I was so lucky." Was that what it was all about? Was she... jealous? But why would she be jealous? She was so darn confusing, it frustrated him sometimes.

"You need to talk to me, Y/N. What's going on?" He said, pulling her blanket to him before she pulled it back.

"Nothing is going on Dean, really. It's nothing. I'm just tired is all."

"And grumpy?"

"And grumpy."

"I need you to know no one is going to take your place, sweetheart." He felt her stiffen just a bit, not enough to be noticed but enough to be noticed by him.

"Stop thinking you're that important to me, Winchester. You're not." He flinched. He knew Y/N didn't mean that, it was just her defence mechanism with some extra sass but it still painfully tug his heart a little bit. She made a lot such comments, mostly playfully, with that serious face but playfully. Maybe it wasn't the comment but the fact that she was hurt that was bothering him? He wouldn't know. One thing he knew, though, was whatever was bothering her, he needed to make her smile. Maybe she noticed his sudden pause because she immediately spoke up, "Sorry. It came out harsher than I intended."

"S'okay. So you're not gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

"Nothing is bothering me Winchester."

"Whatever you say, Y/L/N." He gave up. It bothered him that she had still not opened up to him even when they'd been 'best friends' for so long. Every time he thought she would, she would close off and change the topic. She still was the mystery girl he met at the beginning of the college, a mystery he didn't know how to figure out "So, you coming?"

"Where?"

"The road trip?

"So Lisa did that after all."

"Lisa did what?"

"Nothing. And well, I've got some work so I can't come."

"Yeah I know what work you got. Come on, Y/N. Be easy on yourself sometimes. It's gonna be fun."

"But-"

"Great. So it's a 2 weeks long trip. Pack accordingly and now we have that pizza." He stood up before she could protest and got the pizza.

"How many times are you going to watch this show, Dean? Don't you get bored?" You said taking your third slice.

"As many times as I please, babe. It's Dr. Sexy M.D, it never gets boring." He said casually, thankfully missing the pink that dusted your cheeks at the nickname in the dark.

After a couple more episodes, you were starting to doze off, and so was Dean, "Alright, let's sleep. We have classes tomorrow.

"There's no morning class. Just one more epi." He said, clutching the remote in his hands, like a child, "please?"

"No." He pouted at your response, defeated.

"Okie." He said letting out a small yawn. Sleepy Dean was always adorable, "So it's settled that you're coming with us?"

She paused for a moment before shrugging slightly.

"I guess...yes," he smiled cheekily as she said that, "but, why did you want me there all of a sudden?"

"Because I want you there? It's gonna be fun. I've heard girls need their girl-friends on these tours for some 'girl-company' thing. I invited Lisa, so-"

He stopped abruptly as she stood up and made her way out of the room, "I'll go and throw these boxes, you change in here."

"- that you could get some company." He whispered mostly to himself. What the hell just happened? He shook his head, too sleepy to think about it right now and stripped out of his clothes into his pajamas.

Obviously. There it was. The reason he wanted you there, it's all here. It's because he didn't want Lisa to be alone around people she didn't know. You stood by the sink and chuckled to yourself, feeling a sting in the back of your eyes. Wow.

"Same old easily replaceable Y/N." You whispered.

-------

Chapter 5

A/N: alright. I know I know. I'm a terrible author who do not care about her readers but it's not that. I'm really, genuinely sorry. Life's been really rollercoastery and I've been dealing with stuffs lately. I promise I'll be better next time. And if you could take out a minute of your day and pray for me and a lot of people who need it, please, I'll be really grateful. They say prayers are powerful and I think I can do with them a bit.

Also, please don't do something wrong with yourself. You're worth every effort you make for a better life. Each minute of your life counts, just make sure you keep yourself and others as happy as you can. Be kind to you and others, I'm rooting for you. ❤️

And show some kindness to the animals too, they deserve it. ❤️

.

.

Tags for useful:

 @fandoms-fiend @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @itsjaybro16 @mml232 @blablatiti @stilltoomuchafangirl @bat-shark-repellant @bluebell-24 @shortwinchester @always-money-in-the-banana-stand @ima-be-a-mongoose @soullessbabee @infinityspacesuniverse @vicmc624 @roonyxx @fandoms-fiend @slythermyg

[rinusagitora]

The gray comes with you.

Fandom: BLEACH

Characters: Toushirou Hitsugaya, Rangiku Matsumoto

Pairings: HitsuKarin

Words: 1.4k

Summary: Alternate Universe. Ghost!AU. Chapter 1/?, updated on Sundays. WARNINGS- explicit violence;  Toushirou Hitsugaya hasn't lived an easy life. High school is no easier, as Toushirou is being hunted by violent bullies.

AO3

The screech of his alarm clock would open his funeral.

He groaned as he blindly ran a hand over his nightstand in search of his cell. As soon as he was upright, he felt the charge accumulated over his nine hour slumber slough off like water down the drain. It never ceased to amaze him how he stayed on his feet every morning when he was overcome by such a spell.

He opened his music app, played an upbeat pop album to hopefully wake him and cure the dread he woke with every morning with its contagious energy, and then bravely exited the confines of his bedroom.

His home was eerily empty. Momo began to leave earlier and earlier over the course of the last few weeks. She wasn’t home much, but when she was, she locked herself in her room until she left again in the early hours of the morning. His grandmother was a busy editor despite her age. That was alright, of course, but the house was made of early birds and it was surreal when not a thing stirred, like he didn’t belong.

He brushed his teeth, combed his air, quickly tired of his stupid music and tried to find something with more interesting sound, and he left home with a warm Hot Pocket in hand and a creepy podcast in his earbuds. His podcasts were like his friends, the only ones who spoke to him outside of what school required. And he didn’t mind it. Podcasts were only corny, they never made him limp.

The same couldn’t be said for his classmates.

Every morning, when the clock on the face of his school’s exterior appeared over the houses, he felt nauseous. His head turned side to side to scan for company.

The reason he lived most of his academic experience alone was his appearance. His hair was pale, his eyes were unearthly blue-green. The only thing that looked normal about him was his tan. Otherwise, he looked like a wraith. His classmates were unanimously suspicious of him. When he wasn’t ostracized, he wasn’t just picked on, he was often left injured.

He wondered if the omen was the misery it would cause his childhood, or something more sinister he was blind to.

“Hey, Freak-tsugaya!”

His concern was in the present.

He broke into a run for the school entrance. Bazzard and Cang Du, though meatheads, were expert predators. And he was prey, he had little option aside from running.

He rushed through the open front doors and ran head-first into Cang Du’s elbow. He heard the collision, he dropped like a brick to the floor, and stars exploded in his vision as his head landed on the hard tile. 

“Don’t you know to answer when I’m trynna talk to you, freak?” Bazzard asked as he writhed. “Where’ve your manners gone? Do we needa teach you some?”

His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as Bazzard raised his fist. He rolled onto his hands and pushed himself up. Cang Du grabbed him by his neck. He was slammed into the shoe lockers four times. Pain did not capture how it felt: like he was beat against a curb corner instead of thin metal. He spat in Cang Du's eye and kicked him in the groin. Cang Du doubled over with a quiet grunt. When he turned to run, Bazzard grabbed him by his white hair and yanked him to the ground again. His face was stomped on. Blood flooded his mouth, he turned onto his side and spat out his front teeth and blood and mucus.

“What the hell are you sons of bitches doing!?”

Laughter followed in the wake of Bazzard and Cang Du. He cracked his eyes open to meet Rangiku’s grimace.

“Oh geez, they did quite a number on you,” Rangiku winced. She pulled him onto his feet and held him up by his waist. “Kotetsu-san is in today. Let’s get you patched up, kid. You poor bastard.”

He grasped Rangiku’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he told her.

“Me too,” Rangiku replied. “I think you lost some teeth.”

“They’re back there,” he said. “Those two are getting ballsier. I haven’t had any teeth knocked out before.” His tongue ran over the holes in his gums and the cut over his lip. He hoped he didn’t need stitches. He knew better than to hold his breath, though.

“Hitsugaya-kun, we should go to the police. They’re getting out of hand. I won’t be able to swoop in to save you someday, and that may be the day they end up maiming you. Or worse,” Rangiku warned him.

He would have frowned if his face didn’t ache so. He was already such a lonesome boy, Momo and his grandmother knew that. They had their own lives to grapple with and he knew his tribulations only put more stress on them. He couldn’t continue to tax them anymore. “Investigations are lengthy,” he lied, “I understand what you’re telling me, but I can’t do that to my family, Matsumoto.”

Rangiku frowned but said nothing more. He sat on a plastic chair upon entrance into the nurse’s office. The head nurse cursed as she turned around to greet them. He was passed a washrag to catch the blood that poured off his chin onto his top. His uniform was beyond salvaging by that time.

“Can I get a new shirt? I can’t go to class like this,” he asked. 

“You want a new shirt? Hitsugaya-kun, you should be going to the hospital. You need stitches!” Isane scoffed.

“I know you’re trained to handle minor injuries, Kotetsu. Let’s not make a big deal out of this. I just tripped.”

“And got cut that bad?” Isane retorted.

“Shit, I’m not exactly a tumbler.”

Isane’s eyes rolled. “Watch your language. I’ll wash your mouth out with chili peppers.”

“Now you’re only giving me incentive to act even more improper. Momo used to make the best stuffed chili peppers.” He missed his sister’s cooking…. “A-anyways, I would appreciate it if you stitched me up. I’ve got a quiz this morning I can’t miss.” 

“Alright, but I won’t like it.” Isane said. He watched as she prepped topical sanitation and sutures. Rangiku returned with a new shirt for him. He unbuttoned his soiled top and handed it to Rangiku in a bunch. He still oozed blood from the cut across his lips, so he chose to remain topless until he was sewn shut. At least his uniform slacks were a void for stains.

“I hope your sister’s doing well,” Isane said. “The last we met she was acting strangely. She was skittish, and she kept giving me different explanations for her black eye. Do you know anything, Hitsugaya-kun?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t figure out why Isane tried to carry on a conversation when he couldn’t move his face, but he would just be thankful someone took notice of his sister’s behavior too.

Isane made quick work of his face. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional.

“Take an ibuprofen as prescribed on the bottle, clean the seams with isopropyl alcohol. See me again in about a month and a half so I can take those out. And don’t pick at them,” Isane instructed as he licked up the seam on the inside of his lip.

He thanked Isane and then he buttoned up his borrowed shirt. It was enormous on his tiny frame, but it was worn and comfortable so he supposed it didn’t matter.

“There’s an assembly this morning, Hitsugaya,” Rangiku told him as they left the nurse’s office. “Take a wild guess what it’s about.”

“Bullying again?”

“Bullseye,” she replied. The irony didn’t escape him. “You can crash in the faculty room until classes start.”

“I’m surprised the headmaster thinks it’ll do anything,” he snorted. “Who am I kidding? I’m totally unsurprised by bureaucracy’s naive belief that team spirit and making victims shake hands with their victimizers will fix everything. What a bunch of soft bastards.”

Rangiku smiled sympathetically. “My thoughts exactly. You poor thing.”

He sat on the couch in the staff lounge alone. Rangiku had to supervise the hallways, and that was fine by him. He only realized how exhausted he was when he sunk into the gaudy-patterned cushions. He was too tired to occupy his time with mobile games or homework or even his thoughts. He was sore, he felt like he decayed in that place, like his flesh melted off his bones and his juices seeped into the floor. High school was built to enable the strong and murder the weak. He couldn’t tell who he hated more: the entire establishment, or his feeble self.

Later he peeled himself from the couch and made it to class without any fuss from his schoolmates. He lamely stared at the zigzagged hairline of the girl in front of him until homeroom began. He hoped his lumps wouldn’t interfere with his notes….

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

10 Months or So Since I Realized

Ao3 link

Summary: Logan does not have a crush. That would just be absurd. Besides, heroes don't fall for their villains. It's simply not proper. Warnings: Fighting (no serious injuries though), swearing, mostly just oblivious gays being oblivious, this is a superhero AU, this is like 12000 words long which is 10000 too many Pairings: Romantic analogical + creativisleep, platonic losleep + prinxiety

It was a nice day. No clouds in the sky, only blue stretching as far as the eye could see. The weather was warm, and the occasional breeze was cool, and the streets were filled with people enjoying the sights.

And Logan was getting a little sick of it.

He knew- just knew- there was going to be a hit today. All the information he had collected from his and Tempest's last dozen fights suggested he preferred to attack on nice days, when the spots he targeted would be as empty as possible, people rushed out into the sunshine. The irony of the sentiment wasn't lost on him.

But so far, that's all the day had been. Sunshine. No clouds, no storms, no rain. Not even a flash of fire somewhere. The day seemed entirely normal.

Logan sighed and slumped against the nearest building, giving his feet a break. They were tired of what had now been two hours worth of walking, unable to simply glide around as he preferred to do when he was in 'uniform.' He was starting to regret going the civilian look-out route, but it was the best way to keep an eye out without letting Tempest know he was watching.

"Aw, pouty because your boyfriend hasn't shown up yet?"

Remy did not have this foresight.

He was in costume, somehow managing to completely stand out without hiding his identity even close to decently- a crop top made of Kevlar that Logan knew was black despite the fact it was currently shining like a rainbow, matching short-shorts, knee-high boots and a long sequined cape that was never not fluttering behind him; all topped off with a pair of sunglasses that he pretended counted as a mask.

It was the worst super outfit Logan had ever seen, and he was constantly and personally offended by its existence. Remy's response to his complaints was to smirk and ask him how he was supposed pick up cuties if his suit wasn't inherently gay and excessively useless.

Logan just raised an unamused eyebrow at Remy as he approached. "I am not pouting. And I am not waiting for my boyfriend."

"Sure you aren't." Remy said in an infuriatingly knowing voice. "That's why you're wasting a pretty lil' Saturday wandering back alleyways and waiting for him to show his cute, masked face. Not waiting on him at alllllllll."

"Do you have a point?"

Remy collapsed against the wall across from Logan, grinning. "Nah, babes. Just trying to make conversation."

"Then stop."

"Cold, Lo, cold."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Do you have anything useful to tell me?"

Remy pressed a finger to his lips, as if in thought, before he pointed it at Logan. "Highlighter would do wonders for your cheekbones."

"That is not useful."

"It is if you're ever going to actually catch yourself a villain."

Logan's cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink. "I do not see how using make-up would make me would like to capture any enemy of mine."

"Don't play dumb with me, hun, you're too smart to make it believable." Remy responded. "Except when it comes to this, I guess, since your every choice so far has just been plain stupid."

"Rich words coming from someone just inviting to be stabbed in the stomach." Logan shot back.

"This debate is not about outfit choices and you know it." Remy paused and looked thoughtful. "Though, really, yours could do with some sprucing up, a few embellishments at least-"

"My suit is fully functional and needs no improvements." Logan said, looking distrustfully at Remy's.

"Fully functional, yes; pretty, says 'date me;' no."

Logan sighed. "I think you're forgetting what we're doing here."

"Waiting for your boyfriend?"

Logan jerked his hand in Remy's direction, the puddle of old rainwater a few feet away from him jumping out of place to splatter the glittery hero. Remy put up his arms on instinct, looking at them in annoyance before glancing back at Logan.

"Seriously?"

Logan just shrugged. "You deserved it."

"That doesn't mean you had to do it!"

"No, it doesn't." Logan smirked. "But I wanted to."

Remy shook off his arms while shaking his head. "I’m ashamed, Lo- you're supposed to be the responsible half of this duo."

"Short of flooding an apartment complex without my suit on, nothing I do will ever make you the responsible one of the two of us."

Remy pouted. "I hate that you're right."

"I'm always right."

"Oh, you think you're so smart." Remy whined. "Well, guess what! I know something you don't!"

"Like?" Logan asked, only partly paying attention to his dramatic counterpart.

"I saw Burning Prince near Downtown bank." Remy said in self-satisfaction. "So I know where Tempest is going to strike next!"

Logan's attention rejoined the conversation in a flash. "You what?!" Logan yelled in disbelief, already taking off his glasses. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

"There's more drama when we arrive halfway through the robbery." Remy answered.

Logan shook his head. "This is why I was meant to work alone." He muttered, pulling his glasses case out of his pocket and ignoring as Remy went on to defend himself. He swapped his normal glasses for his superhero ones- dark blue frames, much thicker than his usual pair.

He slipped them on, giving them a second to turn on as he glanced skywards. The blue sky was still there, but off to the side, in the direction of Downtown bank, Logan could see the beginning of a storm cloud cluster forming. The heist had begun.

"Am I good to go?" He asked Remy, eyes still on the clouds.

Remy tsked lightly at being interrupted mid-sentence (not that Logan noticed that), watching in bored interest as the glasses's holographic illusions set into place, turning Logan's civilian clothes into a sea green outfit, the shimmering effect of the hologram just looking like waves across all his skin, since even in a costume he could make look like whatever he wanted Logan chose to be a bore.

"No, you're awful, and need serious fashion advice." Remy answered honestly. Logan just nodded, knowing what it really meant.

Ignoring the sight ache as he did so, Logan broke out in a run towards the bank, only paying enough attention to the blissfully unaware families around him to ensure he wouldn't run into them. Remy was beside him, still talking, but Logan wasn't focused on him, too busy looking for- there.

Any illusion Remy might have been using to keep them hidden from civilians evaporated at the same time the fire hydrant burst, people glancing over in shock at the sudden stream of water only to watch it immediately begin to twist towards the two revealed supers, slipping under their feet until they were no longer running.

The stream of water continued to climb upwards until they were high enough that Logan could fully see the bank, the storm clouds looming over it looking just as ominous as their source. Logan continued them forwards as Remy crouched down, running his fingers through the water and twisting its clear, faintly blue colour into rainbows. He smiled up at Logan.

"Step one to getting that Boi- helpfully and constantly remind him you are very gay."

Logan just rolled his eyes and focused on getting them to the crime scene.

At first glance, the place looked like a mini disaster had occurred- vendor carts near the bank were upturned, small fires burned in the corners where the rain didn't reach, and everything else was drenched.

Logan, however, knew that the fires were harmless, the damages minimum, and the rain only helpful for him. Neither Burning Prince nor Tempest were that type of villain.

They were just dramatic.

Logan brought him and Remy down at the base of the bank's steps, letting the water that had carried them over rushing away, knowing it would soon be mixed in with the continuously pouring down artificial rain. With barely a thought, the water fell around him, sliding off the air above him as if he was sporting an umbrella, helpfully landing right on top of Remy's head.

Remy spluttered in annoyance, and Logan ignored him as he quickly mounted the steps. Even with the roar of the storm in his ears, Logan could easily hear the sounds of bickering from within the bank, alongside the crackle of a fire being started and a quick splash of it being put right back out.

With those indicators, Logan wasn't surprised by the scene he found when he stepped inside the bank.

Unlike the exterior, the inside of the building was almost perfectly maintained despite the villains' presence, a small scorched spot in the middle of the floor covered in a small puddle the only real blemish. There was a group of civilians and bank tellers huddled in one corner of the room, but only a few of them looked worried. Throughout their roughly a year and a half of terrorizing the city, neither Tempest nor Burning Prince had ever been the cause behind a civilian injury or death. They were thieves; annoying thieves, but just thieves.

The men themselves were idling next to the telling stations, caught in the middle of bickering with each other over some matter or another. Their hands were empty, indicating they hadn't moved onto actually raiding the vaults yet.

Good. Maybe Remy's incessant need for drama wouldn't completely screw thi-

"I do hate being ignored." Remy declared, walking up next to Logan and planting his elbow on Logan's shoulder, smiling in the direction of the now alerted villains. "Hiya sweeties. Miss me? Oh, don't answer that- I know you did."

Whelp. There the element of surprise went.

Burning Prince was the first to respond, grinning as he said, "My dearest Spectra, those who do not miss you are simply not worth knowing."

"Princey dear, for a villain you are awfully honest."

"I could not lie to such beauty."

Logan rolled his eyes, gaze darting to Tempest, who met his look with one of equal done-ness. The shared look only lasted a moment, however, Logan's vision immediately refocusing on their two idiots of partners when he realized what he was doing.

Villains and heroes do not exchange 'looks.' It was poor form.

"If you two are done conversing, I do believe we have a crime to settle?" Logan said in exasperation, unaffected by the annoyed glares he got from both Burning Prince and Remy, whom he swatted off his shoulder as well.

"Unless it's the crime of being too damn hot, babes, I don't really care." Remy said, blowing a kiss at Burning Prince with a wink. Logan hit his arm.

"If it is, then I think your partner's playing on the wrong side of the law, Naughty." Burning Prince added. Logan glared at the awful nickname.

"Pump the brakes, princey, or we're going to walk away from this without so much as a dime." Tempest finally spoke, voice loud and booming. Logan recognized the exaggerated tone- Tempest was wearing a voice modifier.

Logan wasn't quite sure if he hated or loved it, and he decided that the answer to that question was entirely his own business and not important to the current situation.

"You're no fun, Temp." Burning complained, but he still took a step back, once more falling in line beside his criminal partner

"We're not here for fun." Tempest reminded him pointedly. "We're here for cash."

"I don't see why we can't have both."

"Because your idea of fun wants us to not have the cash- remember?"

"Ah, come now doll, I can be reasonable." Remy spoke up. "We can all walk away from this right now- me and the eternal flame over there arm in arm, and if you two could agree to get over yourselves and accept you're oh-so-very g-"

There was a sudden bubble of water in front of Remy's mouth, causing him to splutter halfway through his sentence. Logan rubbed his temple.

"I apologize for my partner." He said, still looking down. "I have no defense for him aside from the fact that he's an absolute dumbass."

"The pain's mutual." Tempest said by way of accepting his apology, and Logan didn't need to look up to know that he was eyeing Burning with similar disappointment.

He probably should have looked up, however.

Only a moment had passed in-between Tempest responding and Logan looking up, but that had apparently been all the time the villain needed. Burning was still in his spot, but he was currently focused on making a flaming heart at Remy, who was helpfully doing nothing but watching him.

Logan frowned when he realized Tempest was missing, looking over at his (useless) partner. "Spectra." He said, warningly. "Where's Tempest?"

Remy waved a dismissive hand. "Vaults, probably."

Logan groaned before he started to run after Tempest, throwing over his shoulder, "I'm going to fire you as my partner!"

"Prince Charring's got you covered!"

Logan glanced back just long enough to pull in a rush of rain front outside, splashing through both Burning Prince and Remy, effectively putting out Burning's fires.

He only took a little bit of guilty satisfaction in their cries of indignation.

He reached the vault quickly, finding the heavy metal door bent inwards, looking as if it had been slammed with a strong gust of wind. Logan didn't think too hard on the exacts of it as he quickly climbed past it, slipping in the gap that had been created by the destruction.

Tempest had his back to Logan, scooping money into a bag he must have produced from one of the many pockets hidden within his large, ragged cloak; itself was currently being spun about by the winds that were whipping around in the vault, money flowing into it from the already broken open drawers.

This time lacking the incapable-of-being-silent Remy, Logan silently approached Tempest from behind, a trail of water streaming in next to him as he went. He was careful to avoid the scrap on the floor and the money still flying past him, the water darting alongside him to avoid wetting the paper and alerting Tempest he was there.

He had made it almost the entire way without a misstep, within arm's reach of Tempest, when he slipped up. Eyes focused on his target, Logan missed the front of a fallen drawer on the ground, stepping on it without even realizing until it was too late.

Logan's foot slipped out from underneath him faster than he could react, his other quickly following. Focused on the, sadly, not new discovery that he couldn't fly, his water crashed to the ground, splashing across scattered money.

Logan only acknowledged that fact to register with it that he would not only be falling over right in front of his archenemy (and not boyfriend, crush, or any iteration otherwise), but he would also be getting his clothes wet, which was really just annoying.

However, Logan was pleasantly surprised to find that neither of those things were going to be an issue for him.

Given the reason for this, though, was that Tempest had caught him mid-fall, it seemed Logan had a whole new problem to deal with.

Logan wasn't one hundred percent sure what the unspoken etiquette around villains catching their heroes was, but he was fairly certain Tempest wasn't following it. Villains and heroes fought and took every chance they could to beat the other. This was one of those chances, even if it was in Tempest's favor.

So why he was just... holding Logan, one arm around his waist and the other looped behind his shoulders, not moving aside from staring at the nearly fallen hero with eyes that were wide in shock, whether from the fact that he had caught his hero or from the fact that he had caught Logan unclear, seemed... not right.

Of course, maybe Logan didn't have the grounds to speak here, given he wasn't exactly making any moves to change their current situation. Not that it would have been that hard- his feet were still mostly on the ground, Tempest's grip wasn't that tight- but for some reason Logan found he just... couldn't move.

The moment continued to last, much longer than it had any right to, before Logan finally pulled together enough of his senses to get out of Tempest's hold, almost easier than he would have liked to simply plant his feet firmly on the ground and push away. He only stumbled back a step or two, managing to not fall over as he finally regained proper footing.

Tempest didn't respond for a second, simply watching Logan before he finally coughed, the sound his modifier produced as he cleared his throat scratchy and grating.

"Rude."

"...Rude?" Logan repeated, uncertainly.

"Yeah. Rude." Tempest replied, looking awkward. "I mean... I just, y'know, caught you, no need to pull away like I'm fire- that's my partner's thing."

Logan blinked at him. "I uh-" He figured he should point out that Tempest was a villain. Why would he not push away? "I'm sorry." He said instead.

Tempest nodded. "No harm no foul."

"Uh. Yeah." This was... weird. Should they get back to fighting? Seemed out of place now.

They continued to idle across from each other in almost dead silence, the only sound now coming from the barely audible exchanges from their partners back in the other room. It took another minute to pass before it was Logan's turn to awkwardly clear his throat.

"Should we, uh... are you still going to steal the money?"

Tempest looked down at the loose cash still on the ground. "I guess I should." He said, sounding as if he was getting around to an annoying household chore and nothing more.

"You really shouldn't." Logan responded.

"I guess you would say that, huh." Tempest agreed, looking back up at Logan and tilting his head, more curiously than viciously adding, "Hero."

"I would." Logan replied, trying to sound offended and only sounding half-convincing. "Villain."

Tempest's response was to let the silence stretch once more, scratching at the back of his neck for a moment before he crouched down and started to pick up more money. Logan fidgeted for a minute before turning around and heading back outside the vault.

It just felt wrong to attack Tempest like that. He wasn't even using his powers at the moment. Logan figured the vault was secure enough that Tempest would have to leave it through the door to make his escape, so until then he would just... wait.

Logan wasn't sure how long had passed with him just standing around in the hallway just outside the vault, kicking at nothing and refusing to glance back into vault while Tempest worked, before Remy and Burning came walking down the hall. They were chatting, rather friendly like if Logan said so himself, but... well... it wasn't like he was doing much better in that field.

They stopped, however, when they saw him.

Remy raised an eyebrow high enough to clear the top of his shades. "Uh. Naut. My dude. Shouldn't you be fighting Tempest?"

Logan shrugged helplessly. "Theoretically, yes."

Burning frowned. "And the thing stopping your theoretical dreams from being reality is...?"

"Uh... nothing."

"Then you aren't fighting him because...?"

Logan crossed his arms defensively. "Why aren't you two fighting, then? You are also enemies, are you not?"

"Oh, trust me, babes, we've been fighting." Remy assured him, not even bothering to cover his smirk. "Lots of fighting. Been fighting for at least ten minutes. What else could we have possibly been doing?"

"Yeah. Because that sure is a mark of battle." Logan deadpanned, focused on the smudge of light pink on one of Burning's cheeks and the side of his mouth that looked oddly similar to the shade Remy was wearing.

"Battles can go in many different directions." Burning said vaguely.

"Just go help Tempest do his thing."

"You mean his steal-y thing?" Remy asked. "Aren't you supposed to be against them doing that?"

"You're supposed to be against it too, and yet here we are."

"Touché." Remy conceded before patting Burning on the back. "Well. You heard the man, darlin'. Go help your partner commit crimes while me and my good guy partner just... let you do that, I guess."

Burning shrugged. "Free money works for me." He said, happily slipping past Logan and into the vault. Remy watched him go with a smile before he turned his attention back to Logan.

"What the literal fuck is going on?"

"Language." Logan replied passively.

Remy crossed his arms. "Hun. Come on. I thought you were into this whole 'don’t let the bad guys steal the money' thing."

"I'm not letting them steal any money!" Logan defended. "Just... letting them think they have a chance to steal some money."

"And why are we letting them do that?"

Logan looked down and kicked at more air. "No reason?"

"You don't even sound a little convincing." Remy said disappointedly. "Try again."

Logan looked back up, glaring at Remy. "You will ridicule me for it."

"I ridicule you for everything." Remy countered. "So get over yourself and just tell me already."

Logan sighed. "While I was trying to sneak up on Tempest, I may have slipped."

"Real coordinated of you."

Logan half-heartedly shot water in Remy's face. Remy easily ducked it. "This is what I meant."

"You knew this was coming. Stop stalling."

"...After I slipped, I may not have hit the ground."

"So, what, you caught yourself?" Remy asked, frowning in confusion. "What does this have to do with you letting tall, dark, and cunning in there get away with-"

"I didn't catch myself, no." Logan said. Remy continued to look confused, waiting for Logan to go on. When he didn't, however, the confusion quickly morphed- first into thoughtfulness, than realization, than worst of all-

"Tempest caught you!" Remy exclaimed, loud enough Logan worried the man himself heard him. "You fell over and Tempest caught you like the gay villain hero of your dreams-"

More in a panic than anything, Logan threw more water at Remy, this time stopping him mid-sentence. He glanced hurriedly back at the vault, happy to find no one emerging before he turned back to Remy.

"He's going to hear you if you maintain that volume!" Logan said in an angry whisper. Remy just grinned at him.

"And if he does?" He asked, teasingly, raising his voice as he continued, "What are you EVER going to do if TEMPEST hears me talking about how much you LO-"

Logan only slightly regretted that the next splash of water knocked Remy over.

"You are behaving like a child." Logan scolded. Remy just looked up at him, tilting his sunglasses down on his nose to fully expose Logan to his Stare.

"Oh, I'm the one behaving like a child?" Remy asked. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm not the one awkwardly hiding out on my crush because I don't know how to ask him out."

Logan sighed, leaning against a pillar and sliding down on it so that he was sitting dejectedly in front of Remy. "He's my enemy, Remy, and a villain."

"...So?"

"So, I can't just 'ask him out.' That would go against common sense, logical reasoning, the law,"

"Ah, who cares about the law!"

"Us, Rem, we care about the law."

Remy waved a dismissive hand. "Don't focus on that. We stop the occasional crime- doesn't mean we always have to uphold it or anything."

"As civilians we do."

"We'll just pretend we're not civilians, then."

"You can't just-" Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "The law aside, it still is a poor and unwise decision. I am not known for making those types of decisions."

"Then get some personality." Remy said, ignoring the look of outrage that Logan gave him. "Be unique. Live a little. Kiss a cutie."

"Oh, yes, because kissing really wins battles." Logan responded sarcastically.

"You never know."

Logan rolled his eyes. "How many battles have you won by making out, then?"

Remy's response was to just smile faux innocently at Logan.

"...Answer the question, Remy."

"Honey, I have the feeling that you don't want me too."

"You are, quite literally, impossible."

"It's part of my charm." Remy replied nonchalantly. "And you know what your charm is?"

"Don't-"

"Being direct, honest, and gay-forward." Remy said, ignoring Logan. "It's what makes you cute and what saves you despite the fashion disaster that is your suit. But if you're busy being oblivious and not asking out sweeties when it's pretty clear they like you too, you're not going to have anything going for you."

Logan looked up sharply from where he had become focused on his shoe. "How would you know anything about whether or not Tempest likes me?"

"I have eyes, babes, that's all I need to know." Remy answered. "Plus, me and Burning do... fight... a lot."

"Do you normally have lengthy conversations about your partners’ possible crushes when fighting?"

"It helps when our partners are so clearly fucking gay for each other." Remy said. He raised a hand at his side, twitching his fingers as two rainbow figures came to light, looking eerily similar to Tempest and Logan. The figures set about moving in a circle, watching each other as they went.

"Oh, Remy, I just hate that Tempest! That's why I'm always staking out his most robbed businesses, waiting to get another chance to fight him!" Remy mimicked Logan's voice as the figures got closer together. "Oh, Burning Prince, I just can't stand that Nauticus! Watch as he becomes the only hero I'll stick around and fight instead of just storming away!" This time the fake voice was deeper, meant to sound like Tempest. The figures got even closer.

"I think your point has been made." Logan said.

Remy continued anyways. "Oh, look how we hate each other! So much! Now watch as I catch the falling hero and don't kill him, or even knock him out so I can get away! Watch as I allow the villain to fill his pockets with cash before I try and capture him!" The figures of light were together now, light arms wrapped around each other as Remy grinned.

"So much hatred! Clearly only hatred! So this will mean nothing but anger-" The heads leaned together, and-

Logan reached forward and waved his hand through the light illusion, refusing to stop until Remy's grin dropped and he let the figures dissipate.

"Five year old." Logan said as he pointed accusingly at Remy.

"Coward." Remy returned in the same tone.

"I am not a coward." Logan returned, trying not to sound too childish.

"Then go ask Tempting Tempest back there out already."

"No."

"Listen, Lo, you ether have to ask him out or accept your title of 'coward' and live with it." Remy said, crossing his arms. "One or the other."

"And if I do neither?" Logan asked.

Remy smirked. "Then I'll tattle on you."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh hun you absolutely know I would."

Logan huffed. "Why do I even associate myself with you?"

"Because you have no choice; we've been over this." Remy said. "Now, are you gonna go tell Tempy you like-like him or am I going to?"

Logan looked away from Remy, still frustrated. "I will... attempt to tell him... that... when we fight next."

"Not gonna lie, sweetheart, but that was pathetic." Remy said, reaching out to sympathetically pat Logan's knee. "But that's alright. You're trying! And that's what matters."

"I hate you."

"Shhhh. Don't ruin this moment with hatred."

Logan shook his head and turned to look back at the vault door, happy to find the dented gap in it still open and lacking in any exiting villains. "How long do you think we will have to wait?"

Remy shrugged. "However long it takes them to scoop up all the money, I guess. It's not like they have much else to do in there."

"I suppose." Logan agreed, turning back towards Remy to rest his head on his knees, ready to deal with at least another five minutes of Remy's teasing while the villain duo collected their stolen goods.

This, however, was not what the villain duo was doing.

Instead, Tempest and Burning Prince were sitting and standing, respectively, Burning watching his partner with a mockingly sad look in his eyes. Tempest was ignoring him, toeing a puddle of water on the ground.

"I expect more from you, Virge." Roman berated lightly, getting Virgil to glance at him briefly before going back to the puddle. "You're supposed to be the big, strong, deep-voiced, handsome villain! Made to woo the hero and show him the beauty of the dark side! And look at you now." Roman gestured at Virgil, as if there was someone else in the room he was being presented to. "You're just sad."

Virgil finger-gunned at Roman. "You know it."

"That's not something to be proud of." Roman responded. "And take off your mask. That voice sounds nice against enemies but right now it just sound stupid."

Virgil pulled down his mask, revealing a frown to match his glare. "You're the one who suggested I use it at all."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Yeah, to sound cooler and more attractive." Roman said. "AKA to be used against Naughty, who is currently not here. And would you like to remind me, again, why he's chilling in the hallway instead of trying to lock us up?"

Virgil sighed in exasperation. "Because I caught him-"

Roman nodded and spoke with him, "Because you caught him and then you both collectively told your brain cells to take a flying leap. And now the two of you are avoiding each other by any means necessary, apparently including by not doing your jobs."

"I'm doing my job!"

Roman looked meaningfully around Virgil, at the piles of uncollected money on the floor. "Oh, yeah, I can really see that."

Virgil crossed his arms. "It's not like you're doing your job either, princey."

"That's because I already dealt with my gay disaster side, Death Wish for Cutie." Roman answered him. "You, on the other hand-"

"-Am dealing with it fine, given my crush is on a hero who wants to throw me in jail." Virgil cut him off snappily.

Roman looked at Virgil disbelievingly. "Please tell me you don't really think that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, boy you are more of a lost cause than I thought." Roman said, tone a mix of awe and bewilderment. "Especially considering the boy you think wants you tossed in jail is currently doing absolutely nothing to make those wishes come true, despite how easy it would be to lock up your sadly-pining ass right now."

"..I'm sure he's busy with something... hero-y." Virgil explained away, waving his hand pointlessly. "How would I know? I just steal crap."

"Naughty right now is about as busy as I was fifteen minutes ago while you too were gaily swooning."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You were distracting Spectra, weren't you? Hence making you busy?"

Roman smirked. "Distracting Spectra? Yes. Busy? Only in the barest of terms."

"But weren't you two-" Virgil stopped as Roman craned his neck, pretending to look casual as he gave Virgil a good view of the pink smudges on his cheek. Virgil sighed. "I can't believe you."

Roman's smirk just grew. "You had to have seen it coming. I'm hot, he's hot, we're not complete fools- unlike our partners apparently- you actually thought I liked causing mayhem in the park because it meant a lot of people were around and not because it's a real nice place to walk hand in hand," Roman trailed off with a knowing look at Virgil. "This was almost as obvious as you and Nicely Naughty pining over each other for the last few months."

"You're an awful criminal."

Roman scoffed. "I am the illegal owner of the prettiest boy in the world's heart, thank you very much."

Virgil looked Roman dead in the eye. "Illegal?"

Roman frowned for a moment in annoyance. "Alright, alright! I am very much so the rightful owner of that heart." He didn't react for a moment before breaking out in a grin, falling down into a sitting position so he could be more at Virgil's level as he added, "And I am not ashamed of that! I am in love! And you could be too!"

Virgil held Roman's gaze for a moment before he sighed and looked down. "It doesn't work like that, Ro, you know that."

"It can if you want it to." Roman responded, scooting closer to Virgil. "How do you think me and Spectra got together?"

"Gay telepathy." Virgil deadpanned.

"Close." Roman replied. "Considering gay telepathy- and, you know, basic observational skills- are what told me Spectra would, in fact, like us to suddenly stop fighting and kiss instead. But you know what helped?"

"Magic."

"Communication." Roman corrected, poking Virgil's chest with each syllable. "We flirted and we made it fairly obvious we were very gay and very gay for each other. Now, you and Nauticus on the other hand-"

"Aw, you used his full name."

Roman looked at Virgil, unamused, before continuing, "You two seem to be under the impression that communicating in any form will immediately lead to your deaths."

"Stranger things have happened." Virgil pointed out.

"Yeah. Like you two not already being a thing." Roman responded, leaning back from Virgil to cross his arms. "It's just embarrassing at this point."

"If it's so embarrassing, then, why don't you take care of it?" Virgil asked, tone mocking.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Listen, if you're inviting me to try out polyamory, I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm not tempted."

"Great. Take the problem off my hands for me."

Roman paused for a second, as if seriously considering it, before shaking his head. "Nah. Too easy for you. Cruel, too, to steal the man who's clearly destined to be your soulmate. Even if he is criminally cute for a hero."

"I'm getting mixed signals from you here." Virgil said. "You don't want to steal him, and yet you think he's just so cute-"

"One only needs eyes for that realization, Gloomy-two shoes." Roman said, cutting Virgil off. "Just like they only need half a brain cell to realize you two were meant to be together. Me and Spectra are gay enough to make do with the two of us, don't you worry."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Then what do you suggest me and Nauticus do, huh?"

"Like I said- communication!" Roman said, quickly spelling out the word in flame in the air. "Flirt with him! Tell him he has cute hair! Wax poetic about his eyes! Yell 'I like you let's have lunch sometime' at him! Do literally anything because the tension will kill me otherwise!"

"All good ideas, but consider: that's a whole lot of effort and socializing." Virgil pointed out. "So is it really worth it?"

"Some people are worth socializing for." Roman responded, voice more genuine than it should have been for such a cheesy line.

Virgil let it sink in for a moment, looking at Roman with a thoughtful expression, before he broke out into a smug grin. "You totally stole that from Frozen and you know it."

"I am a thief after all." Roman responded cockily. "And it's an amazing point I'm not letting you discredit just because the wording came from a movie with a talking snowman."

"But what if I don't want to acknowledge the point?"

"If you don't acknowledge it, I'll just tell him myself."

Virgil sat up at that, looking at Roman in angered shock. "You can't."

"Can and will." Roman returned. "I mean, if I handle the communication bit, all your problems are solved, aren't they?"

"They are most certain not!" Virgil responded. "You'll be," Virgil waved his hands at Roman, searching for a word before he settled on, "you. And that's not the impression I'm looking to give him!"

"Looks like you have two choices, then." Roman said, tone sugary sweet. "Either talk to him yourself, and finally get on with the beautiful romance you two clearly have been wanting to cultivate, or have me talk to him, and see that romance bloom instead in embarrassment. Your call, stormcloud."

Virgil glared at him. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Then start fighting with tornados." Roman suggested. "And no avoiding this. Pick a side or I'll go off and pick for you."

"Alright, alright! I'll tell him myself if you'll chill out!"

"Impossible."

"Put yourself out."

Roman grumpily frowned as the fire that had briefly overtaken his entire form vanished once more. "You're no fun."

"I get like this when I'm forced into awkward situations via embarrassment blackmail."

"Don't worry about 'awkward-' simply let yourself go to the true love of the moment, and you'll find your every word a breeze!"

Virgil just blinked at Roman. "You really need to calm down." He raised a hand in a stop gesture. "Start singing and I will start using tornados right here and right now."

Roman huffed. "Killjoy." He muttered before grabbing Virgil's arm, pulling the other villain up with him as he stood. Virgil stumbled as he got up, looking in confused annoyance at Roman as he reclaimed his balance. "I've decided we're doing this now." Roman said in answer to the silent question.

Virgil's eyes widened. "Now?!"

Roman nodded. "Yep. Now. Both because you're boring and because I miss looking at Spectra. Fill your pockets with as much cash as you want because you're about to go good!" Roman paused. "Unless Naughty's gonna go bad..."

"I don't think that's what's important right now." Virgil pointed out, half-heartedly shoving a few more bucks in his cloak.

"It's important to me, though." Roman protested as he moved towards the vault door. "I may soon be out of a job! Though, I suppose, I could always just become whatever you and Naughty don't become- I'm certain I could get Spectra to join me."

"As if you two would get anything accomplished, for good or bad." Virgil scoffed.

"Oh, definitely not." Roman agreed with a grin. "But we would be working together... spending time together... probably moving in together..."

Virgil side-eyed Roman. "Are you doing this for me and Nauticus or for you and Spectra?"

"Why can't it be both?"

Virgil laughed. "You're so gay."

"If you are just figuring this out now, we need to have a long discussion about how I failed to constantly project gay vibes at all times."

Virgil just chuckled as he paused in front of the twisted vault door, stopping for a second just to peak out. Through the gap, he could see the sitting back of Nauticus watching Spectra as the rainbow super paced in front of him, clearly ranting about something or another. He sighed as Roman came to stand slightly behind him.

"This is going to go horribly, isn't it?"

"You and Naughty, actually talking?" Roman whistled. "Yeah. Somehow going to be even more of a flaming mess than I am. But it'll all add up."

"It better." Virgil responded, the hint of a possible threat falling flat against the fact that he, deep down, in a place where Roman could never find it actually existed, truly hoped it went well.

And if it didn't, well, he was sure it wouldn't be that hard to start living inside of a tornado.

With that cheery thought in mind, Virgil pulled his mask back on and stepped out of the vault.

~~

"If the cute guy asks to kiss you! You! Say! Yes!"

Logan sighed. "Remy, I think I know that much at least."

Remy paused for a moment in his pacing to look disbelievingly at Logan. "Do ya, babes, do ya really?"

"I'm bad at initiation, not at saying yes."

"Other important thing to remember then- if the cute guy is cute! Ask him! To kiss you!"

"I refuse."

"Don't make me ask for you."

"Remy!"

Remy opened his mouth to respond before his attention was caught by something behind Logan, expression quickly shifting into a smirk. "Finally decided to make a reappearance, darling?"

Logan scrambled to his feet, turning too quickly and nearly falling over as he moved to watch Tempest and Burning come to approach him and Remy, Tempest looking awkwardly everywhere that wasn't at Logan, Burning looking directly at Remy.

"There's only so long I can resist the call of your eternally enticing beauty, my dearest Spectra." Burning replied, grinning right back.

"We also do have to eventually leave this place." Tempest pointed out, voice sullen.

"Unimportant." Burning dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Unlike the colourful light of my life-"

"Tempest, for the love of all science, either hand over the money or start a fight or something to shut your partner up." Logan spoke up, receiving two annoyed glances along with one faintly amused one from the only person in the room who really mattered.

"Why would I hand over the money?" Tempest asked, voice booming. "It's not like you can make me."

Logan rolled his eyes as he stretched his fingers, all the nearby water rising as he did so. Flirting, crushes- they were out of his comfort zone. But this? This he could do.

"Your line's clichéd." Logan pointed out before smirking. "So, to return cliché for cliché- watch me."

The water metaphorically (and literally) at Logan's fingertips rushed at Tempest, swirling around the other man's legs and pulling him up, flipping him upside down. Money rained out of his cloak as it hung around him. Tempest crossed his arms and stared in amused annoyance at Logan.

"Really?" He asked. "This is the best you can do?"

"What's the point of doing my 'best' and exerting so much more effort when I could just do this instead?" Logan replied, smirk only growing as he shook the water and, by extension, Tempest a bit. "Besides, I will admit this is... funner than my best."

Tempest rolled his eyes, an odd look when he was wrong-side up, before twirling one of his fingers. Logan barely had a chance to register the action before he felt his feet being lifted up from beneath him, his clothes whipping around him and his technical illusion flickering. Logan glanced down to confirm his suspicions before looking back at Tempest, the villain now the one smirking.

"Tornado?" Loan asked, crossing his arms as well. "Inside? Doesn't that seem a little extreme to you?"

"Blame the Burning Man over there- not me." Tempest defended, nodding his head in Burning Prince's direction. "Burning Man who is... doing a great job at fighting his supposed worst enemy."

Logan glanced over as well, sighing in disappointed-but-not-surprised as he realized Remy and Burning were doing little more than standing a few feet apart from each other, poorly stifling laughs at their supers' predicament.

"Shouldn't you two be fighting each other right now?" Logan asked. "You know, as opposing sides and all."

"But fighting take so much effort!" Burning complained. "Standing and watching you two, though... that's easy."

"Pretend for at least five minutes you're a good villain, please." Tempest said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just to humor me."

"Oxymoron." Logan pointed out. The tornado ruffled his hair in response.

Burning leaned his head back and sighed, long, loud, and dramatically before he finally said, "Fiiiiiiiine. I suppose I can put in effort."

Burning turned to Remy, lamely flicking his hand in Remy's direction, sending a small wave of fire at the hero. The streak of flame didn't even get within a foot of Remy, though he did stumble backwards a few steps and feign injury by clutching his chest.

"I've been burned!" Remy exclaimed, almost sounding realistically pained before he smirked, winking at Burning before continuing, "Burned by the heat of your good looks."

Burning grinned. "And how do you retaliate, my dearest, most daring hero?"

"I plan to blind you, my wickedly stunning villain." Remy responded, blowing a kiss at Burning that came with a light show of rainbow hearts. The light was too weak to truly burn his eyes, however, instead just passing through his head harmlessly.

So Burning, of course, reacted as if he'd been viciously murdered.

He pressed his hands over his eyes, feigning true blindness, stumbling forward and back as if his balance had been completely thrown off, groaning dramatically as he went. Finally, he stumbled far enough forward as to bump into Remy, grabbing randomly at him and managing to grab the hero's wrist.

"If I'm going down," Burning started loudly, one hand still over his eyes even as he held onto Remy, "I'm taking you with me!"

With that declaration, Burning let his legs buckle, falling over and easily tugging Remy over. It helped that Remy didn't seem to be offering any resistance to the weight pulling him downwards. Remy collapsed next to Burning, weightlessly falling on top of his chest as well.

"...Is that it?" Tempest asked after a moment, Burning and Remy not moving from their spot slumped on the ground.

"It is." Burning confirmed. "Because we are dead now."

"Didn't you hear him say he's taking me down with him, babes?" Remy asked, leaning more onto Burning's chest as if to prove his point. "What did you think that meant?"

"It looks like it means you two sitting out the battle to cuddle each other and watch instead of help contribute." Logan answered.

"Impossible." Remy responded as he pressed his head into the crook of Burning's neck.

"I'm wounded you'd think that lowly of me." Burning added as he looped an arm over Remy's shoulders.

Logan hung his head as well as he could. "I need a new partner." He muttered.

Tempest nodded, hair bouncing funnily beneath him with the action. "Maybe we should just do away with the whole concept of having one. We clearly work better alone."

"You should be each other's partner!"

Twin glares met Remy's remark, the hero rolling his eyes in response. "I'm just stating the obvious, geez. So much hate."

"...As simple and arguably logical as it would be for two newly sidekick-less supers to simply team up, there is the small matter of us being on opposite sides of this battle." Logan said after a moment, ignoring when Remy glared at him as he skillfully avoided his true point. "It doesn't make any sense for a hero and a villain to team up."

"It does if you look past your teams and instead recognize you two are clearly in lo-"

"And that's enough of that!" Tempest suddenly declared, cutting Burning off. He rolled his shoulders, a burst of wind exploding around him and throwing Logan's water aside before twisting and lowering him down to the ground, once more on his feet. He looked up at Logan, tilting his head with a smirk.

"Gonna come down and fight me like a real hero?" He taunted. "Or are you ready to give up and accept you can't defeat me anyways?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Please." He said, sounding already tired with Tempest's antics. "You wish I'd accept this defeat now. It's your only chance of winning, after all."

As he spoke, Logan kicked his legs, the water Tempest had thrown off rushing up to surround him as he did, giving him the momentum he needed to flip out of the tornado. He landed with a satisfying click of the heels of his shoes hitting the ground cleanly, his water rushing to splay about him.

What could he say? There was only so long you could know Remy without picking up a bit of his flare.

"You rely too much on theatrics." Tempest scolded, flicking his wrist uninterestedly, the tornado dissipating in response. "These battles are built on skill, Nauticus, not showmanship."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "That voice modifier isn't just for show, then?"

"Of course not." Tempest responded, tone sly as he began to walk, not approaching Logan yet, just circling. "It does distract you, does it not?"

"Only with how annoying it is." Logan said as he began walking as well, eyes remaining on his opponent. He heard low 'ooh's and 'ahhh's in the background alongside what sounded suspiciously like popcorn being popped, but he opted to ignore what he knew was simply their 'dead' sidekicks settling in for the show.

"Oh, I'm sure that's the only reason." Tempest replied, voice almost what Logan would describe as a purr. If Logan was being honest, it was a purr... but for the sake of him having a chance to win this fight, he didn't feel like being entirely honest.

"I couldn't fathom another." Logan said, feigning naivety. "Unless there's a reaction you're going after?"

Tempest's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at that, though the look in his eyes was certainly not annoyed. Before Logan had a decent chance to try and decipher what it was, however, it was gone, once more replaced with easy confidence.

"Enough stalling." He said, tone more inviting than the words suggested they ought to be. "Are we going to fight or not?”

Logan's response came in a sudden rush of water, the streams that had been flowing steadily and almost lazily about him surging at Tempest as soon as the words were out of his mouth. They slammed into the villain hard enough to throw him across the room, Tempest's feet skidding across the ground at the last second to save him from being rammed into the wall.

"I think we are." Logan answered belatedly with a smirk.

Tempest rolled his eyes. "I bet you think you're clever too, huh?" He asked, throwing out a bolt of lightning in Logan's direction as he did.

Logan dodged it with ease. "Oh, extremely."

"His ego's also bigger than the Great Pyramids!" Remy helpfully chipped in from the sidelines.

"I don't doubt that." Tempest offhandedly responded as he sent more bolts at Logan, a thundercloud forming above his head and getting progressively angrier as he went.

"It's not my fault that I know I am incredibly cool." Logan defended, water rushing back up under him to shoot him above a larger bolt of lightning, the stream of water bending over and behind Tempest to briefly get him out of range of follow-up attacks. "Or that I take pride in that fact."

"That's a little cocky, don't you think?" Tempest teased as he spun on his heel, forcing Logan to swerve hard to the left to avoid another strike.

Using the momentum from his dodge, Logan swung around the space between him and Tempest, the water supporting him even as he ended up functionally sideways right next to Tempest, grinning despite the horrible danger this move was putting him in so close to his opponent.

"I can afford to be a little cocky." Logan answered, Tempest turning to face him with an amused look in his eye as he raised an eyebrow. Then he shrugged the shoulder nearest Logan and a gust of wind slammed into him, spending him spiraling backwards.

"You could afford to be a little more cautious, too." Tempest told him as Logan bounced off one of the bank's support beams, the hit not nearly as hard as it should have been. The only true explanation for that, of course, was that Tempest hadn't given all he got into that breeze, but that was ridiculous.

Right?

Logan shook off the thought as he hit the ground, pushing himself back onto his feet almost immediately. Deal with the fight first, worry about how hard each side was fighting second.

"Caution doesn't win battles." Logan said as he made a slashing motion with his arm, a solid wave of water following along it until it knocked Tempest's feet out from under him. As the villain hit the ground, the storm above his head scattered, his concentration on it lost.

"You won't survive them without any." Tempest matched from his spot on the floor, not bothering to stand up as he slammed his palms against the ground. A crack of thunder rang out, quickly followed by a swirl of dark clouds forming above the space between the two of them, flashes of lightning sparking within them.

Logan sighed. "What's the point of the mini one if you can just make a bigger one at will?"

"Dramatics, mostly." Tempest answered as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his pants as the storm continued to grow. "Gives my enemies a false sense of security, too."

Logan looked up at the cloud, tilting his head to the side as he contemplated it. "What do you plan to do, then? The battle's not very sporting if you just shock me here and now."

"We're not trying to be sporting, are we?" Tempest asked.

Logan looked back at Tempest, head still tilted in thought, another smirk creeping onto his face. "I suppose not." He agreed before raising an arm. It was slower than his other attacks, more calculated, even as the stream of water came up with it just as quickly, rounding itself off into a rope-like shape, shooting at Tempest and splashing against one of Tempest's arms.

It didn't settle afterwards, however, the water looping around his wrist and securing itself like an actual rope.

Tempest looked down at it in mild interest. He tugged the secured hand away, surprise joining the interest when he found the water rope refused to release him, not even allowing him to move his arm back an inch.

"And what's this?" Tempest asked, gaze moving back up to focus on Logan. "Scared I'm going to run away? Enjoy my company that much?"

"I know you'd miss mine too much to voluntarily run." Logan answered smoothly as the other end of the water rope rose up to him, wrapping around one of his own wrists to match Tempest. "I'm just ensuring my safety."

"Your safety?" Tempest repeated, glancing up at the thunderstorm, a look of understanding flashing over his face before he looked back down, chuckling. "I hate to break it to ya, Aquaman, but my own lightning can't hurt me. I would have figured you already knew that, what with your extreme cleverness and all."

"That's because you'd stop it first, right?" Logan asked, not waiting for confirmation as he continued, "The lightning would hit me, and then you'd stop it before it completed traveling down to you?"

"If that's what you want to think, sure." Tempest answered non-committedly.

Logan's smirk only grew as he yanked his wrist towards him, the force of the water increasing as it spooled backwards, Tempest's eyes widening as he stumbled forwards, unable to stop himself until he crashed right into Logan. Logan's free arm snaked around Tempest's waist in a heartbeat.

"There." He breathed, the water rope collapsing to the ground as it became useless. "You hit me, you'll hit us both. Even you can't stop that in time."

Tempest didn't respond immediately, his voice distorter making an odd, strangled sound instead. Logan raised an eyebrow, confused, looking closer at his enemy, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Tempest's eyes were still wide, and the tops of his cheeks were beginning to turn a bright red. For a moment, Logan was still confused, trying to piece together the evidence as he saw it, trying to figure out why Tempest was acting strangely. They were still just fighting, after all, the only thing that had changed was-

Oh.

Oh.

Realization hitting him like a freight train, Logan felt his confidence melt away in an instant, being replaced by panic. If he was going to be specific, gay panic.

Here he was, holding his sworn enemy, a villain who just happened to be his crush, right against him and refusing to let him go while the other turned redder than a fire truck. Logan couldn't figure out if he was in Heaven, Hell, or both.

Both sounded about right.

The knowledge of what was going on, however, didn't give Logan the collected wits to use it anyway, leaving the two of them in panicked, flustered silence. Sadly not for the first time, Logan wished he had a more concealing 'mask-' if his cheeks starting to burn were any indication, he was pretty sure he was looking just as red as Tempest by now.

The silence was eventually broken by Tempest, the villain awkwardly clearing his throat before saying, "Uh. Outstanding move, Nauticus."

Logan rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "It was simply logical." He replied, tone sounding stiff, even for him.

"Yeah, well... ah... you know I wasn't actually going to just.... strike you down like that, right?" Tempest asked, cringing at his own words, the deep, distorted voice sounding wrong with the hesitation.

"I... may have suspected as much." Logan admitted before hastily clearing his throat, adding on, "But still. Better safe than sorry?"

"I thought you were against being cautious."

"You may have had a point when you said a bit of caution never hurt anyone." Logan conceded slowly. "Though, I suppose if you have no plans to strike me down, this is unnecessary caution..."

Before he had a chance to try and pull away, however, one of Tempest's hands shot out and grabbed onto Logan's upper arm, stopping the super from moving. "Y-you never know." He offered, shakily, weakly, though his grip on Logan was anything but. "I could... I could change my mind."

"...I see." Logan said. "So... there is... a significant chance of me coming to harm if I leave this... embrace?"

"I guess it depends on how badly you want to escape this... embrace." Tempest answered, glancing at Logan hesitantly. "I suppose if you really... if you really hated it you'd... you'd be too fast to hit, getting out of it."

"Well, that seems like a... risky risk." Logan responded, not currently in possession of enough brain cells to be upset at the awful wording. "Staying put, on the other hand, seems... safer. Smarter."

Tempest nodded. "Yep. That's, uh, that's real logical."

"Thank you. I do pride myself on my logic." Logan replied, still sounding awkward.

They lapsed into silence once more, the stormcloud above head no longer crackling with energy, a reminder of the lack of weight to Tempest's threats.

But Logan was sure that it could become lightning filled once more quicker than he could avoid it. That was definitely why he still wasn't letting go of Tempest. It was just the smart thing to do.

"Y'know... we do have to end this battle eventually." Logan said after the silence had stretched for a good three minutes, neither of them seeming particularly inclined to continue doing anything other than standing quietly much too close together for sworn enemies who weren't actively fighting at the moment.

"Who's going to make us?" Tempest asked quickly, looking at Logan before quickly looking down as he did. "We could do this all day. No one can get close to us."

"Unless we want them too." Logan added, also immediately looking away from his enemy as he did. "No one can get close to us unless we want them too."

"So what does that..." Tempest paused, tone uncertain, eyes still angled away from Logan, "What does that say about us?"

"About the fact that we are within a proximity that would be considered to be close by the majority of people?" Logan clarified, Tempest nodding his head a bit in confirmation before he continued, "I suppose that says... we want to be close to each other right now."

"Right now? Just... just right now?" Tempest asked, finally looking at Logan again, the expression in his eyes torn between hope and fear.

"I... don't know." Logan responded. "Is this just right now?"

"That's not an answer."

"May I assume, then, that you don't have one either?"

"I-" Tempest stopped to take a breath and let out a long sigh. "We're enemies."

"Yes."

"Villain and hero."

"Accurate."

"We shouldn't want to be close unless one of us is taking the other out."

"That hasn't seemed to stop our partners." Logan pointed out, glancing over at Remy and Burning to reinforce the point, only to find the sidekicks no longer where they had been. Logan didn't have a chance to think much on it, however, attention drawn back to Tempest by the villain chuckling.

"Our partners are idiots."

"And we're not?"

"Don't say that!" Tempest said, voice suddenly vehement. It shrunk almost immediately after the outburst, Tempest sighing before he went on, "I've been fighting you too long for that bullshit, Naut'. You've got strategy and reasoning and good moves and somehow you're witty even in the middle of the battle. If you're an idiot I'm a fucking unicorn."

"I don't know, Tempest; unique and enchanting? You might just be a unicorn."

Tempest looked at Logan in outrage. "This is what I mean! Witty! We're not even fighting right now you cheater-"

"I thought we were still fighting?"

"I think it's pretty clear we're not." Tempest deadpanned.

"Physically? No." Logan acknowledged, the arm he had around Tempest tightening a bit, not to add more weight to his point so much as he just wanted to. "But there are other ways to fight."

"And how are we fighting now?"

"Words." Logan answered. "I think we're fighting with words that need to be said."

"I'm not that good with words." Tempest said, almost sounding petulant. "Actual fighting is easier."

"Actual fighting isn't getting us anywhere."

Tempest huffed. "Then what is going to get us somewhere?"

"I think you know."

"I-" Tempest stopped, looking upwards, as if he were questioning everything that had gotten him up to that point, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Logan raised an eyebrow in confusion as Tempest looked back down, staring him dead in the eye as he said, "Virgil."

"Virgil?"

"My name's Virgil."

"Why are you-"

"Because it's a lot easier to tell bigger secrets when you start with small stupid ones." Virgil said dismissively, plunging onwards, as if stopping for too long might steal his nerve, "So, my name's Virgil, when I got annoyed in school I'd blow people's papers out of their hands, I made it rain every year on the day of my school's track meet so I didn't have to participate, and... and I think you're more stunning than starlight."

Logan sucked in a breath at the confession, recovering quickly if only because Virgil was still watching him, worry quickly seeping onto his face as he waited for Logan to properly react.

"I..." Logan stopped, took a breath, continued, "My name's Logan, I once minorly flooded my college to get finals pushed back a few more days, I've committed tax fraud just to prove I could without being caught, and I've never met a man more impressive than you."

Now it was Virgil's turn to pause, eyes widening a bit, almost as in surprise, processing what Logan had said before he randomly blurted out, "Ten months."

"...Ten months?"

"That's how long- we're just telling secrets and stuff so I figured- that's how long I've, uh..." Virgil smiled, sheepishly, "How long I've liked you."

"Oh." Logan responded. "Ten months... that was... that was the Westside mall robbery, right?"

Virgil nodded. "We were fighting in the center, around the huge fountain they had. Burning and Spectra were 'fighting' too, and a blast of fire came in our direction on accident. You had seen it coming, but I was distracted, in the way, and you- you grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way."

Virgil stopped and Logan closed his eyes, the image still vivid in his mind. He had reacted on instinct, pulling Tempest almost to his chest as the fire nearly set the villain's cloak aflame.

"You pushed me away right after , telling me I should be more careful, practice basic observational skills... I don't know." Virgil laughed nervously, "I don't know why you suddenly seemed so damn cute, with your askew glasses and ruffled-from-fighting hair and the concern you were trying to hide behind scolding, but you did." Virgil gave Logan a small smile. "Still do."

"Even villains don't deserve to be burned." Logan said, explaining away his actions that day, trying to ignore Virgil's last remark, as if that would extinguish the fires in his own cheeks. "And you really weren't paying enough attention to your surroundings."

"I was distracted by the thing of beauty in front of me." Virgil replied, much too smoothly in Logan's opinion. "But enough about that. Your turn. When did you fall for me?"

"Nine and a half months." Logan answered without hesitation. Before Virgil could say anything, he added, "Our next fight. Cherry bank."

"...Well that's interesting." Virgil said vaguely.

"I blame you entirely for it." Logan said in his defense. "You were acting different. Pulling punches and replacing them with more quips. Less long-distance attacks, waiting til I got closer to make a move. And you kept- you kept looking at me, in a way I'm embarrassed to admit I didn't understand at the time, but it was... nice." Logan chuckled. "I guess... to be a bit romantic, I guess you were so in love with me I fell right after you."

"That's.... that's so sappy." Virgil lightly hit his head against Logan's shoulder. "You can't just say stuff like that, you dork."

"You had that new mask, too." Logan continued despite Virgil's turmoil. "It showed more of your face. And you were just... you were gorgeous. Always have been."

"I-" Virgil made a strangled noise that he tried to pass off as a cough. "Burning told me I should wear that instead, said the voice would sound 'cooler' and 'more darkly charming.' You weren't supposed to- you weren't supposed to care about my face."

"An impossible thing to expect from me." Logan told him.

"Well I see that now!" Virgil exclaimed in exasperation, huffing in a manner that might have been convincingly annoyed if he didn't sound so fond as he continued, "Please tell me the voice change wasn't entirely stupid?"

"Your modified voice was... nice, I'll admit." Logan said, smiling gently, "But your real one sounds so much prettier."

"How would you know? You haven't heard my voice in months."

"You don't forget the sound of angels that easily." Logan replied easily, Virgil somehow turning redder as he went on, "Though I suppose it would be nice to hear it again. I do miss it..."

Virgil stared at him in bewilderment before he scoffed, reaching his free hand up to pull off the mask, its simple black design hiding bits of metal and wire behind it. Virgil dropped the mask as soon as it was off, letting it hit and ground and skid away from them without a glance at it.

"Happy?" He asked, the difference in his voice immediately evident- without the distorter, Virgil's voice was quieter, still rough but not nearly as deep. "You cute sweet stupidly pretty dork?"

"Beautiful." Logan responded, ignoring that it didn't answer Virgil's question, raising his free hand to cup Virgil's chin, thumb gently running across Virgil's cheek.

"You're so sappy." Virgil said in a huff, his own hand coming up to catch Logan's when his thumb drifted dangerously close to running over the villain's now exposed mouth. "And I'm starting to suspect you didn't just want to hear my voice. I think you had an ulterior motive for getting me to take my lips-covering mask off."

"Maybe I did." Logan responded, smiling slyly.

"Don't lie to me."

"Alright- I did." Logan admitted. "Would you care for me to tell you what it is? Or would you prefer I show you?"

Virgil's grip on Logan's arm loosened only so that his hand could slide further up, snaking around the back of his neck, fingers already threading into his hair and pulling Logan closer to him. "Show me."

Logan gladly did.

~~

"Do you think they've kissed yet?"

Remy shrugged non-committedly. "It's been about five minutes now. By my count, that either means they've kissed and are finally admitting they're both lovesick disaster gays... or they killed each other to avoid having to deal with the issue. Both options are equally likely."

Roman sighed as he flopped back down next to Remy, tired of pacing. "I hope it's kissing. I think the tension between them could survive the grave, and I don't want to have to deal with oblivious pining ghosts."

"It'd be a waste of our skills if they died, too." Remy pointed out. "Honestly. I've almost put more effort into getting their relationship to exist than I have in my own."

"Same." Roman said, tone melodramatic as he pressed the back of his hand to his head, letting his head sag backwards. "I've been so busy convincing Virgil he and Naughty are meant to be, I've criminally ignored my own most stunning, sparkling, brilliant love!"

Remy smirked and kissed Roman's temple. "Don't worry, darling, you're pretty enough to get a pass."

Roman sighed anyways, draping his arms over Remy's shoulders and letting his chin fall upon Remy's shoulder. "I don't deserve a pass! Especially when there are so many wonders I can speak of- my love's breathtaking beauty, my love's unmatchable wit, my love's truly perfect personality-"

"Save it for later, my dashing Prince." Remy said gently. "We're still technically on lookout."

Roman glanced over the edge of the roof, looking down at the front of the bank, where there was still no sign of their partners leaving the bank. "No one there." He informed Remy. "Now let me woo you as you deserve!"

"I already have all that I deserve and more with the most charming man the universe has ever seen beside me, sweetheart." Remy responded, a blush rising in Roman's cheeks. "And if we miss our partners coming out, we miss prime teasing time."

"Just because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it." Roman huffed.

"Yeah, but think about how sweet it'll be to finally rub it in their face that we were right and their stupid pining was just as pointless as we said it was."

"It will be sweet." Roman admitted before groaning. "I mean, come on! It's been going on for months! I didn't think they could be that oblivious! Even we weren't like that, and we're, like, a hundred times gayer than they are!"

"That's the problem!" Remy responded. "Instead of just letting go of their braincells and giving into the gay, they kept them and got all thoughtful and anxious about it."

Roman shook his head. "It's shameful. Though they somehow missed the fact that we've been dating for over a year, so maybe they really are just that oblivious."

"It's a mix, babes." Remy told him. "They're so damn lucky to have such great wingmen. They never would have gotten anywhere without us."

"They really wouldn't have." Roman agreed. He let the silence stretch for a moment before asking, "What do you think they'll do now? Assuming they're not dead, I doubt one of them won't manage to convert the other. I don't know about Lo, but Virgil's already too much of a softie to be a real villain. He'll probably flip."

"Logan likes being good." Remy answered. "He doesn't mind rule-breaking, but he likes to pretend he's fully on the side of the law."

Roman nodded before smirking. "Guess that means I'm going good too. Though good is so boring..."

Remy smirked at Roman. "What are you saying, my burning heart? Do you not want to follow your partner into a life of rule-abiding-ness?"

"I've always been more inclined to the dark side, myself." Roman answered, a little ball of fire briefly dancing between his fingers. "I shine better in it."

"Love, you shine beautifully everywhere."

"Still." Roman said. "I think I will remain a villain. It's more fun, anyways. Which brings up a very important question..." Roman moved from beside Remy, sliding down to kneel in front of him. He pulled a wide, thin box from his pocket, offering it to Remy and popping open the lid to reveal two matching necklaces, the designs rainbows made of flames, the colours on them changing and almost flickering as they shifted in the light.

"Remy, will you be my partner in crime?" He asked, grinning before Remy even answered.

"Oh, when you make crime look so good, how could I ever say no?" Remy responded easily, allowing Roman to slip the necklace over his head before he put on his own. He gently ran a finger over the slightly raised surface of the necklace.

"Who do you think's more doomed with these new teams- us or them?" Roman asked jokingly as he once more moved beside Remy, wrapping his arms around Remy ]and resting against him.

"Oh, us, definitely." Remy said immediately. "But we're going to look absolutely fabulous while we're at it, so we're still the overall winners."

Roman grinned. "I've been a winner ever since I met you, rainbow light of my life."

"And I a victor as long as I have loved you, the fire within my soul."

Roman lifted his head a bit and leaned closer towards Remy. "And you know what winners deserve?"

"Hmm?"

"Kisses." Roman said, smile only growing. "I think we deserve lots and lots of kisses."

Remy smiled back. "I'm inclined to agree." He responded, leaning forward as well to meet Roman's lips with his own.

Not too far beneath them, all storm clouds dissipated and all water sloshed uselessly on the ground, the two supers remained happily held against each other, still sharing their first kiss.

They did have ten months worth of pining to make up for, after all- and, at the moment, all the time in the world to do so.

[stars-and-rose]

What is this feeling?(hint, it’s not loathing)

First things first: I am working on the superhero au! I'm about 3k words in the first chapter. But I found @thelowlysatsuma 's prompt-thingy, and well, I have the impulse control of a chicken nugget.

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality if you squint

Summary: Even since Virgil moved into his new apartment, he's heard his next-door neighbor sing Broadway songs. Then, he does the unspeakable- he joins in on his neighbor's duet.

Word Count: 1,559

Trigger Warnings: Cursing

Virgil threw the door to his apartment open, tossing off his bag as he shut the door behind him. His apartment still smelled like cinnamon, a nod to the previous owner. Virgil has just moved into the apartment a few weeks back, and the smell still hadn’t faded.

Oh well. It could have been worse.

Virgil picked up the bag from the floor, taking out the new paintbrushes he’d bought, along with a few new watercolors. Things were looking up for him, honestly- he was so glad he took up his brother's offer.

Virgil's older brother and his newly wedded husband had opened up their own bookstore and needed at least one other employee to help run the place before opening. Virgil had agreed to take the position and had moved cross country to New York City to help them open. The place had become a booming success (Virgil swore it was because his brother-in-law sold his baked goods at the store along with the books), and that led Virgil to be able to replace some of his older supplies and buy some new ones as well.

The dark-haired boy slipped off his work-shirt and settled into an old sweatshirt that was already decorated with paint stains. Brushing off old papers and a bottle of black nail polish (which reminded him that he needed to repaint his chipping nails) from his desk, Virgil grabbed a fresh piece of paper and started sketching his latest commission.

Then he heard the singing.

Even though Virgil had lived in the apartment for a few weeks now, he still hadn’t met any other his neighbors. However, the owner of the apartment on his left had made his presence known. Virgil hadn’t met him face-to-face, but he’d heard the man sing. At least once a day, Virgil’s neighbor burst into song, singing Broadway show tunes as he did whatever he was doing, and the apartment walls didn’t do much to mute the sound. Virgil would have complained, but his neighbor was a crazy talented singer. Who was Virgil to deny himself a free concert?

Today, the man was singing a song Virgil knew well. His senior year in high school, the school performed the show Wicked, and the president of the drama club had practically begged Virgil to paint the sets. Virgil had agreed and often painted while the cast was practicing. The songs had ingrained themselves into Virgil's head, and he could remember them word for word to this day.

Including "What is this Feeling?" which was what his neighbor was belting out.

The man was currently singing, "Unusually and exceedingly peculiar

And altogether quite impossible to describe..."

As the other man held out Galinda's line, Virgil couldn't help himself. He sang Elphaba's response, "Blonde."

Virgil heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the wall. Oh shit, had Virgil ruined the other man's song? Then, he heard the man continue, "What is this Feeling, So sudden and new?"

Well, Virgil was obligated now. He dropped his pencil and looked at the wall between him and his surprise new duet partner. "I felt the moment, I laid eyes on you."

"My pulse is rushing!"

"My head is reeling!"

"My face is flushing!"

"What is this feeling?" Virgil's voice mixed with his neighbor's, and to Virgil's surprise, they actually sounded good together.

"Fervid as a Flame, Does it have a name?

Yes! Loathing! Unadulterated Loathing!"

"For your face!" Virgil could practically hear the smile in the other's voice.

"Your voice." Virgil couldn't help but let a grin of his own form on his face as he responses

"Your clothing!" Virgil joined back in, singing along to his partner's "Let's just say, I loathe it all!"

The two continued the song, Virgil singing Elphaba's part and his neighbor singing Galinda's. During the part that required it, they sang in unison on the student's part. There was something magical about the moment, randomly bursting into song like they were actually in a Broadway show themselves.

Then the magic was shattered.

It was right before the climax of the song, and Virgil and his duet partner both went for the higher harmony, Virgil surprising himself by his ability to hit the note. Abruptly, his neighbor stopped singing, and yelled, "Galinda absolutely sings the top harmony on that you bastard!"

Honestly, Virgil was so startled by the sudden change of noise, he didn't even register himself screaming back, "In your dreams asshat!"

Virgil heard loud footsteps echoing from his neighbor's apartment. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. That had been surprisingly fun, but it was over now. Virgil was about to go back to the commission when he heard knocking booming from his door.

Virgil sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. He opened his door, surprised to see a guy bout his age standing there. Just as Virgil was going to ask who the hell the guy was, the stranger waved his phone around, saying, “I have the lyric video pulled up right here, let me in so I can prove you wrong!”

Oh. So he was Virgil neighbor/mystery duet partner.

Virgil, feeling a weird mix of annoyance, self-righteousness, and amusement, shot back, “Come in then, and prepare to eat your words.”

The two of them sat down at Virgil's tiny kitchen table. Virgil's neighbor set his phone between them. As he started the video, both he and Virgil stared at the phone like it was the only thing that mattered. Virgil's apartment was filled with "What is this feeling" for the second time that day.

Both boys kept their attention on the sound, waiting for the exact line in the song. When it came, Virgil triumphantly shouted, "Ha! It's not Galinda, suck it!"

His neighbor crossed his arms. "Well, Elphaba doesn't sing it either so you can eat my ass."

Virgil snorted. "It was the fucking ensemble. We're both dumbasses."

For some reason, that sent the boy across from him to giggles, and soon enough, Virgil was laughing alongside him.

When he finally stopped, Virgil took a moment to study his neighbor. The first thing he noticed was that the guy was freaking blond; the irony was making Virgil want to start laughing again. His neighbor had soft green eyes, and he was definitely wearing eyeliner. And possibly lipgloss, but Virgil was going to resist temptation and avoid staring at the other's lips. The boy's honey skin was dotted with freckles, and he had a pencil thrown half-hazardly behind his ear. A loose red sweatshirt hung off his right shoulder, revealing what Virgil assumed was a tattoo peeking out from under the fabric.

In short, the guy was really fucking hot.

While Virgil was looking over the guy, it seemed the other was doing the same, a faint red brushing against his cheeks. "You know, I never got your name."

"I'm Virgil, you are?"

"The name's Roman." The boy drummed his fingers on the table, displaying his red painted nails. "Now, Virgil... I think there's a three o'clock showing of Wicked this Friday."

Virgil arched an eyebrow and prayed his cheeks didn't heat up, "Are you asking me on a date?"

"I mean, yeah, you're pretty cute and you gotta be an interesting person if you randomly join into a duet, and I'm probably overstepping because I have no idea if you're single or gay, but hey, gotta risk it for the biscuit, right?"

Virgil stared at him and then burst into laughter. The other boy crossed his arms, looking mildly embarrassed. Virgil took a shaky breath, attempting to stop laughing long enough to respond. “How is it humanly possible to talk that fast?"

Roman huffed, "I talk as fast as I think."

"Clearly. But lucky for you, I'm both free on Friday and extremely gay."

Roman visibly brightened; he gave Virgil a smile that could have powered the entirety of New York. "Is that your way of saying yes?"

Virgil shrugged, “My brother says I need to get out more, and luckily for me, a really hot boy just rolled in and asked me out, so yeah, why not?"

The blond continued to beam, leaning over the table and grabbing Virgil's hand. He flinched at the sudden contact, but the other had warm hands, much warmer than Virgil’s own, so Virgil didn't pull away. He was simply stealing Romans heat, that was all.

Then, Virgil almost choked because Roman pulled his hand up to his lips and kissed it like he was a prince out of a fairytale. Virgil's ears flamed as the other boy dropped his hand. "It's settled then. I'll come around at two on Friday?"

By some miracle, Virgil was able to keep himself put together. "Sounds good, Prince Charming."

Wait a hot second, what did he just say?

Roman laughed, but Virgil caught the red on his cheeks becoming more vibrant. He stood, stretching, and grinned at Virgil. "Alright then, see you in two days, My Dark-Eyed Beauty."

And with that, Virgil was alone in his apartment, the door slowly swinging shut. He honestly couldn't move; he just stared down at his hand, at the faint kiss printed there. (It seemed Roman was indeed wearing lip gloss).

"Dark-Eyed Beauty? Nice reference." Virgil muttered, before reaching for his phone. His fingers flew, typing a familiar number. It took two rings for the line to connect. "Lo, holy shit, you aren't going to fucking believe this."

(i highkey want to write a sequel because a) Wicked date!!! sounds adorable, emily write that down. b) cute married couple logicality??? and c) purely so I can describe Virgil the way I described Roman-)

[nureyevv]

I decided to go ahead and indulge in a Jupeter Coffee Shop AU

 Chapter One Preview:

“Mistah Steel,” said Rita, stripping off her apron, “you better not ‘forget’ about movie night again this week. I know you didn’t miss all my texts last Saturday. Duke Rose’s new video is comin’ out and I am not gonna be happy if I’ve gotta wait on ya.”

Juno barely suppressed a groan. The white light of the back room made it hard to ignore the look on her face. He wouldn’t be getting any sympathy.

 He couldn’t stand the shows Rita watched, but she was right. He couldn’t skip out on her two weeks in a row. Leaning against the sink piled with dishes, he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” he droned, casting a glance towards the door leading to the cafe. It looked as if they were starting to hit a rush.

“You’d better!” she said, hand on her hip.

Juno rolled his eyes. “What I better do is get back on the floor. Jet probably needs support.”

Rita followed his gaze to the front room where a small line of people was forming, leaving Jet unable to step away to make orders. 

“Well what are ya standin’ around here for!” she exclaimed.

“We were having a conversation!”

“Oh, Mistah Steel, you really need to learn when babblin’ on is appropriate. Go on and help him out! I’m headin’ home anyways.”

Juno sputtered for a moment, trying to point out the irony that she was telling him to quit talking. When she didn’t seem to care, he gave up on arguing and decided to go save Jet from the small stack of orders piling up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Rita,” he said, before pushing through the door into the cafe.

The coffee shop where he and Rita worked, The Carte Blanche, was a small store, with a comfortable sitting area and a warm color palette. It was owned by a woman named Buddy Aurinko who only trusted her store to a select group of people. Juno had somehow found himself included in that group. Thankfully, their small staff was sufficient for running the place while still having enough customers to stay in business. 

Located just outside the city, Carte Blanche got most of its customers from those traveling through their little town on the way to their jobs in Hyperion. Aside from those rushes, orders were manageable throughout the rest of the day, usually consisting of a few regulars every now and then. 

It was Friday evening and, now that Rita was off, they were down to their closing crew. Tonight, it was Jet and himself, which meant it would be an efficient, but somewhat dull few hours. Jet was a great coworker and an overall decent guy, but he wasn’t much for small talk.

The towering man gave him a nod from the cash register as Juno slid into bar. A year on the job made Juno pretty well accustomed to working with an espresso machine. Even though he didn’t drink much other than black coffee, he was comfortable making just about whatever sugar filled drink showed up on a ticket. 

Juno didn’t waste any time. He immediately started steaming milk for his first drink and pulling espresso shots. Pumping a bit of syrup into the cup he left it on the bar and began prepping the next order.

He went on like that for a few minutes, not paying attention to much else as he worked. When he finally caught up with their minor rush he allowed himself to slow his pace. He reached for the final sticker and slapped it on the cup.

Coffee with cream. That was easy enough. 

After topping the steaming cup off with  a bit of milk and sliding a sleeve on to help with the heat, he moved to the call-out counter. 

“Perseus,” he announced to the room, “Medium coffee.”

“Ah, I believe that’s mine,” said a voice from his right. Seated at the counter with a silver laptop was a dark haired man in glasses. 

The man looked well groomed, although that wasn’t unusual. They had plenty of business people come through the store, but that was usually in the morning. Besides, the way he was set up didn’t make it seem like he was going anywhere soon. 

After getting a proper look at him, Juno realized he recognized the guy. 

He didn’t show up often enough to be considered a regular-- in fact he’d only been to the cafe a handful of times-- but what Juno lacked in customer service skills he made up for in memory. 

Remembering faces had been a key part of his old job. Now, it was just another odd habit he had yet to kick. Although, he would admit his taking notice of this man in particular may have been credited, in part, to his being generally attractive. 

But, of course, that wasn’t enough to keep Juno from opening his big mouth. 

Handing over the drink, he raised an eyebrow at the man. 

“Do you always choose weird aliases?” he wondered aloud. 

The other man-- apparently going by Perseus today-- nearly choked on hot coffee. 

[anistarrose]

Don’t Hang Up Yet, I’m Not Done (TAZ Balance AU)

Summary: Tres Horny Boys have the Red Robe’s phone number, continued. This time, Merle and Taako make some calls.

Warnings: Dissociation

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979621/chapters/45066238

A sequel to this fic, which was in turn inspired by this art by @mspainttaz!

***

The next call Barry gets is in the late afternoon several weeks later, and once again, something tells him exactly who’s going to be on the other end of the line before he even moves to pick it up.

(Then again, it’s barely been an hour since he gave Merle that cryptic nod, so it’s not exactly difficult to guess the reason for the call.)

“You saved my kids,” Merle whispers, sounding dumbstruck even now. “Why?”

“I — I just — why wouldn’t I? I had the power to stop innocent people from getting hurt. Of course I saved them.”

“Well, that’s real altruistic of you,” Merle murmurs. Bit by bit, his normal enthusiasm creeps back into his voice as he continues: “Not sure how you’re supposed to reconcile that worldview with making the Relics, though. Too bad I can’t cast Zone of Truth over the stone, ha!”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame,” Barry replies. “Anyways, you need to teach your kids to be more careful. Odds are I won’t be around during the next… freak accident.”

“Yeah, their passive perception stinks,” Merle agrees with a sad laugh. “Or at least Mookie’s does, as much as I love the little fireball. Mavis is a bright little thing when she’s not busy looking after her brother — she reads at a college level, you know! Probably gonna make a hell of a wizard one day!”

“Give it to me like you would under Zone of Truth, Merle — did you call me just to brag about your kids?”

“Don’t tell my boss,” Merle answers in a hushed whisper. “I’ll get my employee phone plan revoked!”

Barry struggles to stifle a laugh. “Merle Hightower Highchurch, calling up the enemy to have a friendly chat? What would the Director think?”

Merle laughs too, the irony lost on him. “You know, you’re a much better conversationalist today than you were the first couple times we met. What’s up with that?”

“Uh… I dunno, social anxiety? How’s life on the moon treating you?”

“It’s got its perks. Apparently the gravity is low enough up there that my spinal cord decompressed, so now I’m a millimeter taller — and trust me, I know it doesn’t sound like much, but we dwarves have to take what we can get!”

“I can imagine.” An idea occurs to Barry — it’s a long shot, but worth a try. “How about the gnomes — are there any gnomes up there? How are they doing with the gravity situation?”

“Well, Leon doesn’t ‘like’ me or ‘the crew I hang with’ so I don’t really talk to him. And Davenport, well…”

Barry very nearly short-circuits his Stone of Farspeech as sparks of magic course through his form and down his sleeves. “What about Davenport? How is he?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Barry gets a bad feeling that he came across as a little too invested in Davenport’s well-being.

His fears are confirmed when Merle asks: “What, do you know him?”

“Just heard the name in passing,” Barry lies. “Never met him, but most names from the Bureau that I hear in passing end up belonging to pretty important people. What’s his — what does he do for your operation up there?”

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it before, but — if we could make this our little ‘Truth Zone’ here, for just a second — I’m not really sure why Lucretia hired him in the first place. All he can say is his own name, and he always seems kinda anxious about one thing or another — again, I never know what, since he can’t really talk.”

Barry doesn’t know how to reply.

“Damn good at cards, though! You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a good game of yooker these days — or even chess, for that matter. You play either?”

“No.” Barry’s pretty sure that Merle and Davenport are the only people in the planar-verse who know how to play the game they’ve dubbed “yooker.” And he doesn’t even want to think about that chess remark.

“Darn. Well, I should probably get going — I can’t miss karaoke night with the boys. We’ve been trying all month to get Lucretia to join us, and she finally let it slip that she hasn’t got anything going on this evening!”

“Oh. Well, uh… don’t let me keep you from that, then. Nice talking to you.”

After he switches his stone off, Barry adds in a whisper: “Wish I could join you.”

***

“Sup, Little Red Riding Robe?”

“Don’t call me that,” the Red Robe groans. From the other end of the line, Taako hears the faint rustling of papers — his call must have interrupted something. He doesn’t feel too bad about it, though.

“What, would you rather be the Big Bad Wolf?” Taako asks. “I thought I was doing you a solid and painting you in a sympathetic light!”

“You know what, fine. Little Red Riding Robe it is,” the Red Robe replies. The hostility in his voice begins to dissipate as he goes on. “Tell me, Taako — is this just another prank call?”

Taako chuckles. “Oh, you wish. See, I stumbled across a piece of info that might just interest you…”

He pauses, waiting to see how the Red Robe reacts, but he’s met with silence.

“I’ve got your number, Riding Robe, idiomatically and literally. So this afternoon I took a quick vacay to the Stone of Farspeech service provider’s offices, cast a few Charm Person spells, and figured out just what name that number was registered to. Pretty clever, huh?”

It might just be Taako’s imagination, but it feels like the silence grows a little more tense.

“Now tell me, who’s this Sildar Hallwinter guy?” he asks. “Is that an alias, or did you just mug a dude and take his phone?”

The Red Robe chuckles. “Huh. That’s some genuinely impressive sleuthing — then again, I should’ve expected as much from you, Taako.”

“Well, uh, to tell you the truth… it was technically Angus’s idea — you ever hear about him? The boy detective? Little snoop was going through my dresser and found the paper I jotted down your number on, and dragged me into this quest to track down your true identity.”

“And does he think this case has been cracked wide open by this new info?”

“No. He’s pretty sure Hallwinter isn’t your real name — and don’t tell him I said this, but I trust him on that one-hundred percent. He’s pretty good with this stuff.”

“What did you really call me about if you’re so sure, then?”

What if she’s just gone?

“Well, I —”

Who?

“I…”

I can’t remember her face, Taako!

Whose face?!

Please, Taako, just kill me!

“Taako? Taako, are you with me?”

He doesn’t feel like he’s with anyone. Even lying on his bed, beneath a pile of heavy blankets he doesn’t remember arranging, he still can’t stop shivering. He’s so cold, and so, so alone.

He clutches the Umbra Staff close to his chest, close to his heart. It’s the only warm thing he can feel.

“Please, Taako, can you say something?” the disembodied voice continues. It sounds like it’s trying very hard to stay calm, and mostly succeeding. “Tell me what’s happening? I have Merle and Magnus’s numbers — I can call them if you need someone to come help —”

It also sounds very familiar, but trying to place it makes Taako feel like he’s teetering over the edge of a void, about to lose his balance and plunge into darkness.

“W-who is this?”

“It’s me, Taako, it’s… it’s the Red Robe.”

Taako’s eyes finally land on the Stone of Farspeech at the corner of his bed, and hesitantly extends a hand towards it. It’s not quite as warm as the Umbra Staff — but it’s certainly not cold, either. He pulls it closer, wrapping his fingers around it.

The Red Robe lets out a short, sad chuckle, which the speaker garbles a little bit. “There are some who call me Little Red Riding Robe. Or Sildar Hallwinter.”

“Sh-shit.” Their earlier conversation returns to Taako quickly, as he tries to sit up in bed. His teeth are still chattering slightly when he tries to speak. “I — I dunno what just happened. I just b-blacked out —”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s not your fault.” There’s a pause. “Hey, do you think you can you tell me a little more about Angus? He seems like a bright kid —”

“He is. B-been picking up magic real fast too. He’s a nosy little shit who never stops asking questions to all two dozen of his adoptive moon parents and I’m so glad Lucretia hired him.”

“He was right about Sildar Hallwinter being an alias, you know. Did he say what tipped him off?”

“He’s got contacts in the police force planetside like you wouldn’t believe. There was hardly anything in any of their files about Sildar, so we talked to Johann and he told us that name never got fed to the Voidfish. From there, Angus just figured that no real person would have that little info about them floating around.”

“Huh. That makes sense. Did Merle and Magnus come along for this adventure, or was it just the two of you?”

“Nah, Magnus was hanging with Carey and Merle was napping. I could hear him snoring from a room away.”

“What about the Director? I’m assuming you didn’t mention this to her?”

“Oh, hell no. She’d throw us straight in the brig if she ever learned how long we’ve had your number without telling her.”

“Yeah, I figured. I trust Merle and Magnus are doing well?”

“Yeah, they’re… well, actually… okay, look. I probably shouldn’t be telling you of all people about this, but something’s been off about Magnus lately. I thought I was imagining it at first, but now I’m pretty sure he’s trying to avoid the Director — which is actually kinda hard these days, since she’s been overseeing our training more and more. And he’s been really awkward around Johann, too. I’ve never seen him like this, and… I’m kinda worried.”

The Red Robe goes silent for a moment. “Well… what happened in Refuge must have been hard on him. I’m sure he’ll feel better soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s pretty tough…” Part of Taako feels guilty for revealing so much to the Red Robe, but part of him doesn’t want to hang up. Magnus and Merle are already fast asleep — what if he blacks out again, and no one’s on the phone to talk him out of it?

Then again… is that what the Red Robe is aiming for? To gain Taako’s trust, and act so supportive that Taako can’t help but reveal sensitive information during a late-night, emotionally vulnerable ramble?

No, Barry wouldn’t do that. If he wants information, it’s just because he’s worried about you.

“Well, this has been a great chat, Riding Robe,” Taako says with an exaggerated yawn. “But I’ve got to get to bed. You never know if tomorrow will end up being a long day of saving the world.”

“You do that,” the Red Robe tells him. “And remember, you can always call me back if you need to.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. G’night.”

***

Magnus’s body is gone, and it’s Barry’s fault.

(Strictly speaking, it’s the fault of the Animus Bell. It taunts him even now, tucked safely away in the possession of the Reclaimers, calling to him and promising to ensure his family survives when the Hunger comes. To bring Lup back from whatever worse-than-undeath fate she met. But Barry recognizes enough of his own voice in his Relic to know that it’s lying.)

Barry made the bell, he put it out into a world that was not his own, and both that world and his family paid dearly.

I’m going to find a way to get your body back, Magnus. I promise.

“I think we deserve some answers from you,” Magnus slowly declares, still holding his detached mannequin arm in his remaining hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem angry — just tired.

Oh Magnus, you don’t know the half of it, Barry thinks. He doesn’t say anything, but he nods to Magnus and then holds out his hand, creating an illusory Stone of Farspeech in his skeletal palm.

And one by one, without exchanging any words between each other, the three Reclaimers hand their stones over — first Magnus, slowly and solemnly; then Merle, with a guilty look on his face; and finally Taako, hesitant as he begins to raise his hand but resolute by the time he plucks the stone from his ear.

Barry flicks his hand, and the devices shatter.

“I’ll buy you new ones soon,” he promises. “But let’s get you those answers first.”