#it is a bit slow though since i guess the story will be spread out over three books

[libraryleopard]

Adult Greek myth retelling focused on Penelope in the years during which Odysseus was gone from Ithaca

As Penelope tries to keep the peace between suitors and keep Ithaca from falling into a civil war, events in Mycenae threaten to undo her efforts

Narrated in a very snarky fashion by Hera, queen of the gods

First in a planned trilogy focusing on the women of Greek mythology

[warping-realities]

Sister's New Boyfriend - Redux

This story is a collab with the amazing @johnbrand! Hope you enjoy, guys!

"C'mon, bro, didn't you miss this?" Scott teased, while his massive size 13 foot plopped on the coffee table in front of me.

"Cut it out, Scott," I whispered, knowing my sister was about to summon us to the kitchen any minute.

"Why should I, Jap?" Scott smirked arrogantly. "We both know you want it."

I held back the blush threatening to color my face. "That's not true."

"It's been what, seven or eight years since high school?" Scott's smirk morphed into an exaggerated grimace. "Surely you haven't forgotten about me, have ya, Jap? And all the good times we had together?"

Unfortunately, I hadn't forgotten Scott, or the "good times" he was referring to. The constant bullying; the harassment, the slurs, and even some straight-up abuse sessions. It was painful to reflect on, us being the same age and yet emotionally assaulted by a guy who was twice my size. Since those years, the gym and my therapist had helped me overcome those vulnerable moments. Even though I'd struggled to find a relationship, I was stronger now; a fighter well-supported by a network.

"Luckily for you, I've moved on, and don't call me that! Me and your girlfriend are both Korean," I shot back, eyeing Scott.

"I don't think you have moved on," Scott's smirk returned. "Otherwise, you would've bailed the second you saw me."

I never expected Scott to be my sister's new boyfriend. The guy she had been bragging about for months, this "kind, sensible, and loyal" being who had corrupted her life to the point of being all she talked about. I never would've imagined my sister - my highly educated older sister - would end up with the malevolent jock who had destroyed my self-esteem all those years ago. And after brief introductions, in which I realized I was still physically smaller than my former tormentor, I quickly felt the impending danger of the situation.

"I'm not abandoning my sister," I retorted.

"You won't be abandoning your orders either," Scott replied, a bit to my confusion. Scott apparently had dropped out of college, but become a fitness influencer in the years since, raking in massive financial figures. It was hard not to reflect on the fact that even without a degree, Scott had still come out on top. "Stop lying to yourself, buddy."

Instead of another indirect defense, I felt a slow warmth settling into my bones. My frustration ebbed away as a peaceful, almost artificial calm spread. My usual concerns were smoothing out, something Scott immediately recognized.

"Yes, that's right, buddy." Again, the word sent a pleasant heat through my entire body, tingling my toes and making the corners of my mouth twitch into the beginnings of a dopey smile. "Looks like those years apart didn't weaken my conditioning on you, huh?"

I knew better than to respond. In therapy, I thought I had discussed all my doubts about Scott. Every memory I managed to recover had been thoroughly investigated, scrutinized, and then analyzed to create a plan for my future proceedings. But it wasn't until that moment, in my sister's living room, reunited with my high school bully, that I realized I had only covered half of the relationship Scott had created for us. The memories my therapist and I had discussed were only the ones Scott had allowed me to remember.

"No, sir," I replied, the title suddenly seeming appropriate. "Not at all. I still masturbate to your magnificence at least twice a week, like you commanded, sir."

My eyes widened as Scott's smile turned sinister; this truth laid bare between us.

"What, you didn't think I'd just let you go after graduation, did you?" Scott's words cut deep, my shame finally flushing my face. "Guess my hypnosis was better than I thought back then. I like to keep all my boys on a leash, in case they become useful to me again."

Before I could respond, Scott snapped his fingers and pointed to his foot. Immediately, I was on my knees before him, my nose inhaling his divine scent and my tongue tracing the sacred valleys of his sole. Each breath sent another wave of adoration through me, the submissive alter ego Scott had created for me in high school overriding all the defenses I had built since then.

"Who'd have thought one of them would end up my brother-in-law?" Scott mused. Even as my former life and independence were rapidly evaporating, his arrogant victory brought a single tear to my eye.

"I thought I'd give the news!" My sister called from the kitchen, finally joining the conversation, but apparently oblivious to what was truly transpiring. "Dinner will be ready in a minute!"

"Thank you, dear," Scott called back, before pinning his eyes directly on me. "Hope you're ready to be an uncle too, buddy."

This revelation momentarily snapped me back to consciousness. "What... no, that's impossible!"

"Oh but it is, Jap! You're gonna be Uncle to little Scott Jr. And that got me thinking. Your sister's become the perfect woman with my help. But a boy needs male role models in his life, the right male role models. Just the thought of something happening to me and Scott Jr. having someone like you as an example... no way. So as much as I've enjoyed reminiscing about our time in school and taking great pleasure in putting you back in your place again, it's time for a change, Jap... congrats, you're getting a promotion!"

"What? I... I don't understand..."

"I can't have a fucking faggot, foot-sucking, cock-gobbling piece of shit as an example for my son if I'm not around, Jap. I need someone more like me. It'll be hard to part with such a docile servant, but it's necessary! Look at me!"

And I looked... looked into those cruel eyes and felt the malice within them would be far greater than any before. Foreseeing what could be my total obliteration, I prepared to flee... but my sister... my nephew! I would have to resist... I would resist!

"Great, I always did love seeing that defiant look in your eyes, Jap, loved watching it succumb to worship and obedience... ah, don't fool yourself, those things will still be there, even greater, for they'll be sincere, but the challenge won't go away... no, it'll grow, become a self-confidence bordering on what some would call arrogance! But only those beneath us, and for you, there'll be only one above, me, Jap!"

"No... no... my name not..." I needed to cling to something, to who I was and not what Scott was trying to make me.

"Jap, it's your nickname... always has been... you don't give a shit where your ancestors are from... you're American and damn proud of it... and if some dumbass leftist tries to say anything, you either laugh at their idiocy or beat their ass... right, Jap?"

"I... I... no... I'm a... a proud..."

"Yes, a damn proud American."

"That... just a nickname... it's a nickname..."

"It's funny!"

"Funny... yeah... haha" I found myself agreeing, though inside I screamed that it wasn't right, even as my memories of time spent in Seoul during my childhood before moving to America began to blur... I... had never left the US, had I? And so what if my grandparents came from somewhere else... no... no...

"Jap, focus on me! I want you to go back to the day we first met, I have no idea when it was, but you'll certainly remember and tell me!"

"It was... in high school... gym class... I'd just moved from... where?"

"Doesn't matter, it was some American town... now what happened in that class?"

"D-dodge ball... you..."

"Ah yes, now I remember... you refused to play! And when the coach made you, I had to teach you a lesson. Know it was your fault, Jap, if you'd just shown a little grit from the start... nah... you were too good a target! But... you're shaking, man, what the fuck?!"

"I... I... I don't like remembering that..." that was one of my most hated memories, the start of my torment.

"I get it, buddy! But you... you could like it... I'm just wondering if that day you'd shown a little more machismo, things could've been different... I might've seen a bro instead of a... buddy. Ha! Probably not, but lucky for you I like your sister and she's gonna be the mother of my son so... let's just imagine that day instead of taking the first steps to becoming my buddy, you took the first steps to becoming not just my bro, but my best bro, someone worthy of caring for little Scott Jr if I'm not around!"

"What...?" What new brand of insanity was this?

"Let's go back to that day, Jap. But this time I want you to remember it correctly because on that day, you weren't a sniveling crybaby like you recall, quite the opposite. You showed up with a chip on your shoulder and challenged me! You got your ass kicked, sure, but you fought back, even managed to hit a few of my buddies, not me of course. After that, I had to teach a lesson, you remember what happened in the locker room?"

"I... no..." That hadn't happened... none of that... or had it?

"I beat the shit out of you, Jap, and along with it, gave you your nickname. You got pissed, tried to fight back, got your ass kicked some more... but in doing so, you earned something important to me and you, my respect."

"I... respect?"

"Yeah, respect, bro!" Scott replied with a grin, as if he knew very well what having his respect would change in my life, and I could feel it too, something shifting within me, alien, different...

"Of course you were still a scrawny little fucker, but you were my scrawny little fuck, my feisty little mutt, and not so little for long, am I right? 4 years of training and when necessary, a few performance-enhancing drugs made all the difference, didn't they? Soon you were almost as big as me. Course, for some things to come in, others gotta go, right? For every hour in the gym, one less studying, every party moment one less dedicated to the arts, but who cares about that, not my brother Jap, certainly!"

"I... I..." I could remember what he was talking about, hours in the gym sculpting muscle, sports teams at school, boozing with the guys, and... pranks... yeah, pranks on the nerds... the same ones who did my homework... no! No! I did my homework! I went to... "...college..."

"What about college?"

"I went... college!"

"Of course not! With our grades, bro? Never! But who needs college when you've got a body and charm like ours? You're the top salesman after me at my dad's car lot, charm and a smile getting us through, and a few sleepovers with the female clientele on the side, of course!"

"But you're with my sister now!”

"So? What she doesn't know won't hurt her, you're always saying that, bro!"

"I... no, no!" I needed to protect her from him, not this, never this!

"Yes, Jap! It was you who insisted I meet her, that I put her in her place, the annoying sister who tried to diminish you just because she went to college, who nagged you just because you were one of the guys, who never cared about academic success! You practically begged me to fix her!"

"I... I." Yes, no, protect her!!! But that's what he did, isn't it? He put her in the hands of the person he most admired, his best friend, and ensured she was... correctee! There was a place for the man and a place for the woman, and she was better with a man by her side, and so what if he sometimes strayed? A man has his needs, he himself... he had his needs... so why was Scott talking about him sleeping with clients... women...?

"Scott, I'm grateful for what you've done, you're my best friend, the only one I let call me that stupid nickname... but I... this can't be right... me sleeping... with women? You know I'm gay!"

"Again with that, Jap? We've had this conversation before. So let me reinforce one last time: you're not gay, never were! You confused the admiration you have for me, the true idolatry of my person, with homosexuality, you're not and have never been gay, the trail of women you've conquered is the biggest proof of that, isn't it?"

"I... no... NO!" The little that remained of my original self mustered one last defiant act, Scott wasn't taking this last thing from me.

"Ah but yes, you're exactly like me, Jap, identical in almost every way, always have been, always will be. You know why? Because the alternative to being my bro is being my buddy... being humiliated, crawling at my feet? Is that what you want, bro? Because I can arrange it!"

"I... I..." What more could I do? "I'm your bro, Scott."

"That's my bro!" He responded with a grin, as everything around me became a whirlwind and I felt myself change, become the man Scott wanted me to be, the last vestiges of my original self consumed in a wave of arrogance, masculinity, and power, and in the end... in the end, even that part of me liked what happened, for deep down, a more primal, animalistic part of the old me had always wanted this. Curiously, Scott himself changed before my eyes as I changed before him, becoming even larger, stronger, more handsome and dangerous, I knew this was happening because he had me, an almost-him to make him even more than he was, one feeding the other. Knowing this made me smile.

“And to think that when my sister told me she had a new boyfriend I thought I was going to have to find a way to get rid of a wimp. I'm glad that won't be necessary.”

"Me to, bro! So, Jap. What do you say about being the godfather of your sister son.?” Said Scott, smiling after repositioning himself.

“Fuck my sister, I’ll be the godfather of my best bro son!”

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Prologue

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Prologue: Troublesome "Friends"

Summary: Saiki gives everyone the rundown on his "bothers," including (L/N) (Y/N).

Mouse Note: Welcome to A Not-So-Disastrous Romance! I am very excited to share this story with everyone, even if this fandom is very old. Truth be told, I wrote 11 chapters like three years ago, so the first few chapters don't have the level of writing I have now, but I ended up finishing this story and wanted to share it. For another point, I know that people view Saiki as asexual and sometimes aromantic, but I feel an affinity for him being asexual but demi-romantic, so I play it slow-burn. That being said, terrible beginning writing aside, I really hope everyone enjoys. Let me know what you think, commenting helps me keep writing, and I love interacting with people! Welcome to the story!

Quick Key: "Hello" -Saiki speaking telepathically Hello -Saiki thinking "Hello" -regular people talking out loud Hello -regular people thinking

            Saiki teleported to the roof to avoid Teruhashi and Nendou. One was troublesome enough. Two was insupportable.

            “Where’s Saiki? Huh? What’s going?” wondered Teruhashi, confused.

            I teleported without thinking. Saiki looked down at the crowd below him. People around me didn’t seem to notice me, but naturally, Teruhashi thinks something is strange. Well, Teruhashi, just think I was an illusion and forget about it.

            “Nendou!” remarked the pretty blue-haired girl upon seeing him.

            “Oh, wow, Teruhashi!” squeaked Nendou, blushing.

            “Have you seen Saiki?” asked Teruhashi.

            “What? My pal? No, I haven’t.” Nendou was too startled to think.

            N-no way…did he disappear? thought Teruhashi, Is it possible that I was the one seeing an illusion? She recalled what she had assumed of Saiki: “You’re so much in love with me that you see illusions of me, huh?” A light blush spread across her face. Don’t tell me I’m…No! I can’t be… She clutched her heart. Oh, no…What’re these feelings? Is it possible…that I fell in love…with Saiki?

            Oh, wow, thought Saiki as he deadpanned. This is not how he wanted things to go.

            He sighed and teleported to a nearby, empty alleyway. Sighing, he decided to go for a coffee jelly. With the new problem he had just acquired, Saiki decided he might as well enjoy a little bit of peace. He walked quickly in the opposite direction of Nendou and Teruhashi, even if it took him on a long route to Café Mami. For once in his life, he was lucky and didn’t bump into anyone on the way there. His luck ran out, however, as soon as he entered.

            “Saiki!” called a teenager with (H/C) hair and (E/C) eyes. They were grinning and waving.

            He couldn’t avoid them now; it would draw attention to him for being rude. He sighed and sat down across from them.

            This is (Y/N) (L/N). They’re another troublesome person who complicates my life. They even call me their friend and insist I use their first name. The worst part is I can’t read their mind. They aren’t dumb like Nendou, though. Do you see those earrings?

            (Y/N) had simple, metallic studs in their ears.

            They’re made of germanium, which apparently keeps me from seeing through them with my X-ray vision or hearing their thoughts with my telepathy.

            He had only realized this after he saw them during school and on the weekends and the only thing that was the same between the outfits was their earrings. Saiki wished he could get his hands on some germanium. Hearing everybody’s thoughts was tiring. That being said, (Y/N) being unreadable was…disconcerting.

            “Nice to see you, Saiki. Are you here for your usual coffee jelly?” asked (Y/N) cheerfully.

            The pink-haired psychic nodded. Yare yare…Why do I hang out with you?

            “Oh!” They brightened. “I guess since you’re kind of like my guest right now, I should treat you!”

            Saiki’s eyes widened in excitement. Ah, I remember now. (Y/N) treated him to, well, treats. That made them more tolerable than other people.

            Seeing his expression, (Y/N) laughed. They knew what he was excited for. “You’re more excited to see the coffee jelly than to see your friend.” They didn’t mind, though. They knew Saiki wasn’t one for being open or friendly, but they’d spent enough time with him to know he’d just leave if he really didn’t like him.

            He wanted to say that they weren’t friends, but even he had to admit, he thought they were pretty tolerable compared to most of the people who crowded around him. Sure, their bright optimism was sometimes exhausting to Saiki, but for the most part, they were pretty low-maintenance and understood he was an extreme introvert and liked time to himself. Plus, although they were energetic at times, but they understood when things were too much for Saiki. And, to be completely honest, he didn’t mind getting to be around someone he couldn’t hear the thoughts of. He could act like a relatively normal person.

            Saiki would never say all that, though. No way. No, the only thing he’d say was, “Coffee jelly is really good.”

            “Can’t argue with that,” admitted (Y/N).

            Their server, who coincidentally was Mera (probably trying to make money as usual), approached their table. She took their orders and headed to the kitchen to alert the chefs.

            “You look more annoyed than usual, what happened?” asked (Y/N).

            Saiki sighed. They unfortunately pay attention to me and can read parts of my emotions. It’s weird. Maybe they’re an empath. “I ran into Teruhashi.”

            (Y/N) laughed. “The only guy immune to her charms.”

            “She brings too much attention.”

            “You’re friends with Nendou and Kaidou. A bit of attention is inevitable,” teased (Y/N), leaning on their hand and grinning.

            “They’re not my friends.”

            “Uhuh, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” chirped (Y/N).

            Mera brought their orders. Luckily, she hadn’t stolen a bite from either of the coffee jellies.

            “Mmmm,” hummed (Y/N) and Saiki contentedly at the taste.

            Peaceful relaxation with (Y/N). Just the way I like it. Saiki sighed happily.

Taglist:

@elaemae

@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

@melovepurple

@sleep-7372

@w0mank1sser

@geminigengar

@noodleryworld

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 5

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you’re finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off… Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You’ve accepted the fact that romance isn’t for you, under any circumstances. You won’t risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you’ll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: SMUT, sexting, i guess a little bit of exhibitionism? not really but if we're splitting hairs, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, COMPLICATED FEELINGS! MEN NAMED KEVIN! YIJEONG?????

✧ WORDCOUNT: 7.4k (jesus christ)

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: TAKE A BITE 5 IS HERE!!!!!!!!! this chapter was ALMOST written in a planet fitness, but it wasn't. this chapter is also almost ENTIRELY smut, but the smut is important to the plot so leave me alone! i'm sorry to inform those of you that wanted more of yoongi's brain that this chapter is entirely reader pov, but there's a reason for that and i promise yoongi will be back before this story is complete <3

Chapter 5: I Think I Need Your Help

Next time can’t come soon enough.

Since Friday night, you’ve been alternating between being super proud of yourself for being direct and asking for what you want, and being equally repulsed by yourself for the way getting what you want has made you act. 

You’ve seen Yoongi once since the night in his studio, when he was coming home after pulling an all-nighter and you were on your way out to work, like two goddamn ships passing in the night.

You were in that barely functional state post-waking up where you were shocked you were even able to get your shoes on the correct feet before walking out the door, and the mere sight of him in a short-sleeved white t-shirt had you pausing where you stood and taking a looooong look. You’re that desperate. 

And he knows it, too. Exhausted as he looked, your blatant staring didn’t go unnoticed. Mercifully, though, Yoongi didn’t say anything. Just shook his head at you knowingly, smirking to himself as he pushed his front door open and stepped inside, presumably to go crash for a few hours.

You thought, foolishly, that a byproduct of your friends-with-benefits arrangement would be an ability to relax, loosen up a little bit so you’re able to be more productive during office hours. Don’t people say that about sex? That it clears the head? Well, those people have clearly never had Min Yoongi’s head between their legs.

You are decidedly not clear headed. You are wired, wanting, finding yourself zoning out in the middle of newsroom meetings thinking about Yoongi’s hands spreading your thighs, his lips wrapped around your clit, the way he groaned into your pussy. It’s fucking distracting.

You’ve never been like this before with anyone you’ve slept with. Sex with your ex had been good, even great sometimes, but you never really thought about it until it was happening. With Yoongi, you can’t seem to think about anything else.

Meanwhile, Yoongi has been busy, on a completely different sleep schedule from you all week. He’d given you fair warning before you left his studio Friday night, wobbly-legged and fucked out. He’s working on a very important track for an upcoming artist’s debut album, he’d told you. It’s due at the end of the day Friday, and he probably won’t have time for any… extracurriculars until it’s done. 

No big deal, you’d said! Dumb bitch.

It doesn’t help in the slightest that, as you’d hoped, nothing has really changed between you and Yoongi, aside from occasional suggestive texts (mostly initiated by your horny ass!!!!!!) exchanged throughout the day, sprinkled within normal conversation. No, Yoongi has continued to be himself: sweet, considerate, kind of nerdy. Sending you links to articles he finds interesting, or funny videos, or songs that he’s had on repeat. It is driving you insane.

On Thursday afternoon, you snap.

You open your phone on your lunch break to find that Yoongi has sent you not one, not two, but three devastatingly cute cat videos, and has provided his own commentary on them.

So, obviously, you text back with what you think is the only appropriate response to that kind of behavior. 

[12:14] You: i am begging you to put your cock inside me before i lose my mind

It is by far the most direct you’ve been since Friday night, far exceeding the coy flirtation you usually go for. You place your phone face-down on your desk with a shaky hand, staring down at your sad little salad. Lunch seems impossible now, what with your heartbeat thrumming in your ears and all.

Your phone buzzes not even a minute later, twice. Which stands to reason. You wanted Yoongi’s attention, and now you’ve got it. You take a deep breath through your nose and turn your phone back over.

[12:15] Yoongi: You’re begging, huh?

[12:15] Yoongi: You’re at work, baby. Can’t focus? Need it that bad?

Um. Yes, yes you do. And the way that you can practically hear his voice right now, in your ear, teasing. Fuck. Not helping.

You pick up your phone, hiding yourself behind the monitor at your desk so nobody in the office can see how flushed you’ve become all of a sudden. You’re on your lunch, and they should mind their damn business.

[12:16] You: yes

[12:17] Yoongi: You know I can’t help you until I’m done with my track.

That’s pretty much the response you expected, but you can’t help feeling frustrated about it anyway. He can’t take a break for an hour? You’d even settle for thirty minutes!

[12:18] You: i think you can and you’re just making me wait to be an asshole

[12:18] You: which is really dumb because i can just come to your studio tonight when i get off of work and you can take a break

[12:19] You: let me ride you in your chair

[12:19] You: fuck. you don’t even have to stop working yoongi

You’re acting desperate, you know that. You know how you sound. But you are desperate, can’t help it. Yoongi opened the floodgates to over three years of pent-up sexual frustration with his stupid tongue, and now it’s his fucking responsibility to deal with it.

You watch as the bubble pops up to indicate that he’s typing, and then disappears, then reappears again. Ha. Maybe you actually got him.

[12:22] Yoongi: If you think calling me names is gonna get you what you want, you’ve got another thing coming.

[12:22] Yoongi: You can come to the studio tonight if you really want to. But I can guarantee that you’re not getting my cock.

[12:23] Yoongi: Except maybe in that fucking mouth to give it something better to do than complain.

Holy shit maybe not!

[12:23] You: oh my god

You had a feeling, of course, that Yoongi liked being in control, that he liked to guide. He had coaxed your desires out of you so sweetly Friday night, letting you tell him what you wanted, but how he did it was his choice. But this is more than guiding. He’s telling you what’s going to happen if you come over. You shift in your chair, your thighs clenching.

[12:24] Yoongi: Hey. Tell me if this is okay, Y/N.

You can practically hear the words in his voice, soft, like when he asked you to stay when Seokjin came over to cook. The stark difference between this and the texts immediately before are almost enough to make your head spin. He’s giving you an out if you’re not into this. But you are into it.

[12:24] You: yeah

[12:24] You: yes. it’s okay

[12:25] Yoongi: I need you to tell me if I say or do something you don’t like, okay? No matter what.

[12:25] You: i will

[12:25] Yoongi: Good girl.

God. Being this turned on at work feels like a crime.

[12:26] Yoongi: I’m not trying to be mean, baby. I already told you, I’m dying to fuck you. I wasn’t just saying that.

[12:27] Yoongi: But when I fuck you, I want to be able to take my time.

[12:27] Yoongi: Wanna have you in my bed and not in my studio, first of all. All spread out for me so I can see all of you.

[12:28] Yoongi: Wanna taste you again. I can’t stop thinking about how good you taste, fuck. I didn’t take it slow enough last time, didn’t get to savor it, but I’m gonna fix that. Gonna make you come with my tongue again before you even get my cock, get you nice and wet for me.

[12:29] Yoongi: Not that it takes much. Bet you’re wet right now, aren’t you? Just from this?

Oh, he’s so mean. Your thighs clench again and you chew on your bottom lip as you type, hyperaware of the way the thin fabric of your panties clings to your sex. It feels so dirty, knowing that in a few minutes you’ll have to work like this. You’ll have to talk to your colleagues like this, pretend like nothing’s amiss. You’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t turn you on even more.

[12:29] You: yeah. god, yoongi. i am

[12:30] Yoongi: Yeah. I know, baby. It’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you when I can. Gonna make you feel so good. You sounded so sweet when you came for me last time. Can’t wait to hear what kind of pretty noises you’ll make when I get to have you properly.

[12:31] Yoongi: Fuck, Y/N. If you think I don’t wish I was with you right this second you’re insane. Been dreaming about your pussy. But I wanna do this the right way.

You believe him. Even through your phone, you can feel it—that raw honesty that Yoongi always gives you. He’s been agonizing over this just as much as you have. It makes you feel a little bad, honestly, that you so wantonly distracted him like this, when he’s been working so hard this week. Maybe part of you wanted to get back at him for denying you what you wanted on Friday, but now, you realize that you’re glad he did. You want all of that, too. Everything he said, every word of it. Just because this is casual doesn’t mean you have to rush.

Maybe it’s time for you to give him a little honesty of your own.

[12:32] You: i want that too

[12:32] You: shit i have to go back to work soon but i promise i’m not trying to rush this i just…

[12:32] You: really, really want you

[12:33] Yoongi: I want you too.

[12:33] Yoongi: Soon, okay? Really really soon if I can help it.

You look up from your phone when the chime of an Outlook notification snaps you out of your bubble, directing your attention to an email from your boss. With a longsuffering sigh, you click it open. He wants to talk to you as soon as you’re available, and your salad isn’t going to eat itself, so you resign yourself to letting Yoongi get back to work.

[12:35] You: soon

[12:35] You: go back to work. that grammy isn’t gonna win itself

[12:36] Yoongi: Lmfao. Go back to work, she says, as if she didn’t just give me the most persistent boner of my life unprovoked.

[12:36] You: motivation!

[12:36] Yoongi: Motivation for me to do more inappropriate shit in my place of business, maybe. But it’s a lot sadder when I’m by myself.

[12:37] You: wowwwww pics or it didn’t happen

[12:37] Yoongi: YOU go back to work, pervert.

You do. Begrudgingly.

You quickly type an email to your boss, just a cursory, ‘There are fifteen minutes left in my lunch, and then I’ll be there. Thanks Kevin!’ Afterwards, you scarf down your lunch. And you finally watch those cat videos Yoongi sent you, which effectively tamps down your horny high enough for you not to feel icky about meeting with your boss. 

★ ★ ★

Fifteen minutes later on the dot, you’re knocking on Kevin’s door.

You like your boss well enough. As much as one can like their boss, maybe, give or take a bad day. Kevin is nice, but his name is stupid, and he certainly doesn’t live up to your expectations of what a music journalism editor would be like when you first applied to Look Here Magazine.

Foolishly, you expected someone straight out of Almost Famous: young, wears band t-shirts beneath blazers, a chainsmoker, a little bit sleazy, with music knowledge to put Nardwuar to shame. Instead, what you got is a mostly-bald, clean-cut, mid-forties guy who wears khakis most days of the week and says things like ‘circle back’ and ‘best practice.’ He’s competent, sure, and you need him to like you, absolutely, but he does make your job feel a little less cool. But who knows! Maybe Kevin rocks out on the weekends. You certainly don’t, so who are you to judge?

Kevin waves you in, and before you even have the chance to sit down, he’s dropping a bomb on you that makes you feel like your legs are going to give out beneath you.

“You’re taking charge on the Yijeong profile piece,” he says flippantly as peers over his glasses at his monitor, typing without pause.

There’s absolutely no way you just heard that right. Yijeong's profile was assigned already, to a reporter who has been at Look Here a lot longer than you. You tell Kevin as much, as if he wasn’t in the newsroom when the piece was pitched in the first place.

“Sora didn’t have enough bandwidth to juggle the profile and the reunion tour coverage, and that’s going to be on the cover,” Kevin says, without even a passing glance to you. As if he isn’t altering the trajectory of your career over a scheduling conflict. “It’s all you, kid.”

“I don’t have the contacts,” you blurt out, having mercy on your poor, wobbly legs as you sit down.

“Ask Sora for the contacts.”

“Don’t you want someone more experienced for this? Connected?”

It’s not that you don’t want it. Writing a profile on someone like Jang Yijeong is a dream come true for someone as green as you are. It may not be the cover article, but the headline will be written on the cover, and so far you’ve only written the puff pieces that readers likely use to pad outgoing mail. If you do this right, there’s a chance of less puff pieces and more real journalism.

It’s the if that scares you. Jang Yijeong has rebranded his entire career from being an idol to being a producer, so he’s technically considered an up-and-coming artist where Look Here is concerned. Nobody has heard his name in a few years, and a piece on him by a publication like Look Here could make him the most sought after producer in the country, if he plays it right. 

But Yijeong has also been in the music industry for a long time. He’s been interviewed by countless reporters. He’s media trained. Good media training is a death sentence for profiles, which are supposed to dig deep into the subject. Trust is everything in this kind of situation, and if Look Here sends a rookie like you to interview Jang Yijeong without the proper connections, without someone to vouch for you, he will show up to the interview with a script in hand. The profile will be a dud and your career will pay the price.

Sighing, Kevin finally stops typing, looking at you for the first time since you walked into his office. You shift in your seat, trying to make yourself look less fucking terrified.

“Look, I could hand it off to someone else, but you’ve been doing a good job these past couple of weeks. In your interview, you told me you’re most interested in writing features. That you’re good at it. I’m throwing you a bone,” he says, and you take a shaky breath. “Take the piece. Don’t try to reinvent the wheel. You’ve written profiles before, you know what to do. Just ask good questions, don’t be stiff, and you’ll be fine.”

Kevin’s phone rings, and his attention is stolen again as he picks it up to answer it without a second thought. “Talk to Sora, and then take the day out in the field tomorrow to see what kind of background you can dig up,” he says, waving you out with the same indifference he waved you in with. You scramble to stand up, rushing to leave.

“Deadline is Wednesday!” he calls as you shut the door behind you, taking a moment to catch your breath before you try to find Sora.

Holy shit.

You have work to do.

★ ★ ★

You spend your entire day on Friday pounding pavement, milking all of Sora’s sources for what they’re worth, but you don’t learn any information about Jang Yijeong that you can’t find on his Wikipedia page.

You don’t give up easily, though. No, you plan to put your investigative reporting skills to good use, via a healthy session of social media stalking. You can find out a lot about someone from what they post on X and Instagram, after all. You have to reach out to Yijeong’s label to schedule an interview as soon as possible, and if you have to get your hard hitting questions based off of what you can glean from a meal he photographed in 2013, so be it.

It’s ten at night by the time you flop onto your bed, phone in hand, ready to pull an all-nighter and plunge yourself into the rabbit hole that is Jang Yijeong’s social media. Pepper hops up with you, curling up on your stomach and purring contentedly as you start scrolling.

Nearly two hours and ten possible interview questions later, your phone buzzes in your hand. It’s Yoongi.

[11:47] Yoongi: Are you coming over or not?

Oh, fuck. It’s Friday. Meaning Yoongi is done with his track.

You’d almost forgotten how horny you’d been for the past week, completely absorbed in your assignment. It stands to reason that as soon as Yoongi is free, you’re suddenly swamped with work of your own. But, of course, it all comes rushing back just from a text.

Whatever! You’ve been at it for hours, anyway. You deserve a break.

[11:49] You: when did you get home?

[11:49] Yoongi: About half an hour ago.

[11:50] You: hmmmm… did you take a shower?

[11:50] Yoongi: Obviously. I’ve been in the studio for most of the week. I’m not an animal.

You snort to yourself, which scares the shit out of Pepper after your complete silence for the past two hours. You’re suddenly proud that you had the foresight to take a shower of your own when you got home from interrogating people all day, although this wasn’t on your mind at the time. 

[11:50] You: leave the door open?

[11:51] Yoongi: Will do.

You very carefully nudge Pepper off of your stomach, giving yourself a cursory glance in your mirror once you’re up. You make sure that your hair looks good at least, but your clothes don’t matter as much. It’s not like they’ll be on for long anyway.

Satisfied with what you see, you make your way through your apartment, grabbing your keys to lock your door on your way out.

Maybe it’s the workload that was dumped on you yesterday, but you feel much more level headed about this than you thought you would. It’s like your body has finally caught up with your brain, and you can recognize this part of your relationship with Yoongi for what it actually is: stress relief. You’ll go to his apartment, he’ll give it to you so good, and then you’ll go back to work and he won’t care because, like he told you before, he gets it. You’re giddy just thinking about it.

Walking into Yoongi’s apartment isn’t daunting, nor is locking the door behind you. Nor is finding him on his couch and climbing into his lap without even a hello, crushing your lips to his the way you’ve spent all week dreaming about.

Yoongi makes a surprised noise against your mouth, his hands hovering at your waist, but he quickly melts into the kiss, letting you take the lead for a moment as his hands find their place, pulling you closer. It’s only when you tease the seam of his lips with your tongue, silently requesting entry that he pulls back, forcing you to breathe.

“Hi,” he says, clearly amused by your enthusiasm.

“Hi,” you parrot back, grinning.

His hands slip from your waist to your hips as he looks you over, toying with the fabric of your sleep shorts. “Remember what we talked about yesterday?” You hum coyly, guiding his hand under the hem, which makes him huff, shaking his head with a smirk. “Wanting to do this the right way,” he reminds you, quickly removing his hand from where you led it, instead opting to smooth it over the curve of your ass.

“Easier said than done,” you reply, feeling bold enough to take the initiative that he won’t and sliding your hands under his shirt, running them over his abdomen. The fabric bunches up, and you can’t help but stare at the tantalizing inch of pale skin you’re rewarded with.

You gasp in surprise at the light spank Yoongi gives your ass in return, not nearly hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for you to pull your hands away. You know a warning when you see one—or feel one, that is. When you look up at him, he’s raising an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you said you wanted it like that,” he hums, rubbing over where he smacked you. “There’s always the alternative.”

Oh. That.

You wish you could say the thought of letting Yoongi fuck your throat wasn’t appealing, but there’s no hiding the way it makes you squirm, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Yoongi hasn’t been particularly rough with you yet, but he’s hinted that he can be, if you want it. You imagine his hand on your jaw, encouraging you to open wider for him. Your eyes watering as you struggle to breathe through your nose. You still don’t know what his dick looks like, how thick it’ll feel on your tongue, how much your jaw will ache, but you’re eager to fill in the blanks of your imagination. You’ll definitely take him up on that one day, but no, he’s right. 

You want to come. You want him to make you come. As stubborn as you are, you can’t deny that.

“You can take your time,” you mumble, meeting his eyes. 

He smiles, bringing his free hand up to cup your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek like it did that night in his studio. “Good girl,” he murmurs, rewarding you with a sweet kiss that makes you moan, shifting your hips to grind against the bulge you feel stiffening under you. 

Yoongi pulls away from your lips with a chuckle, patting your hip gently. “Up,” he says, and you scramble to your feet, no more bratty attitude to be found at the moment. 

He stands with you, guiding you by the hand to his bedroom. Since he’s so adamant about taking his time, you take a moment to glance around the room, taking in all the little things about it that reflect what you’ve learned about Yoongi over the past several weeks.

Like the rest of his apartment, his bedroom is much cleaner than you would’ve assumed. There’s a desk with a small home studio setup, much more sparse than what you’ve seen in his actual studio. The equipment looks old and well-loved, and you wonder how long he’s had it. A basketball jersey hanging over his desk chair with his name emblazoned on the back. A dresser with various jewelry scattered on top, chains and rings and earrings. 

His bed, of course, takes up the most space in the room. Where you have a queen bed in your own bedroom, you note that his is clearly a king, with a soft looking black comforter over top. A comforter that you’re about to be pressed into, you think. 

Yoongi comes up behind you, his hands on your waist, lips on your neck trailing kisses over your nape and making you shiver.

“Relax,” he murmurs, huffing a laugh that you feel more than hear. “Lie down for me?”

You nod, walking to the bed and settling flat on your back. God, is this a Purple mattress? You hate him a little bit. You found your mattress on the side of the road.

Yoongi doesn’t give you long to stew on your hatred, though. Not when he’s spreading your legs, your feet planted flat on the mattress beneath you so he can fit his hips between your thighs. Not when you can feel how hard he is already, even through the layers separating you.

He kisses you again, long and slow and hot, all of your breath leaving your lungs at the feeling of his lips on yours. “Remember to stop me,” he mumbles between kisses. “If I do something you don’t like.”

You honestly find it hard to believe that Yoongi could do anything you wouldn’t like, but you nod your head jerkily in response, not wanting to separate from his lips for any longer than necessary.

Soon, he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck as his hands push your shirt up slowly, only separating himself from you to pull it off entirely and toss it aside on the mattress.

“Fuck,” he groans at the discovery that you aren’t wearing a bra, his hands immediately coming up to squeeze your breasts. “Wanted to make it easy for me, huh, baby?” 

In reality, you’d just been dressed for bed, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that, unable to form the words as his lips travel down to your chest, his tongue coming out to lave over a nipple.

You moan, your head falling back onto the mattress under you with a dull ‘thunk’ as Yoongi wraps his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair.

“You like that,” he teases, a statement and not a question. He lifts his head, looking down at your tits with his bottom lip between his teeth. “So pretty, baby.” 

Your cheeks flush warmly at the praise, and desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, your hands slide down to his chest, fisting in his shirt and tugging.

“Your turn,” you breathe, and he chuckles as he sits up on his knees, tugging his shirt over his head.

You can’t help but stare. It’s not that you thought that Yoongi would be skinny, per se, but he does have a tendency to wear clothes a little too big for him, dwarfing him, and given his already small stature due to his height… Not that you would’ve minded in the slightest if he was on the scrawnier side, but Christ. He’s decidedly not scrawny. He’s lean, with shoulders broader than you would’ve given him credit for at a passing glance. 

And now here you are, gifted with an expanse of pale, smooth skin over compact muscle. Your eyes roam over him, from dusky nipples all the way down to the thin trail of dark hair starting right under his navel and leading your gaze down to where his cock strains against his sweatpants.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to touch somebody so badly in your life. The best part is that you can.

And you do. You feel greedy, your hands reaching out to smooth over his chest, down his abdomen, your eyes half-lidded and lips parted in a daze. 

Yoongi lets you touch all you want, but when your hands move down to cup his erection through his sweatpants, you hear his breath hitch as he stops you, shaking his head and pinning your arm to the mattress gently.

“Your turn,” he murmurs softly, throwing your words right back at you. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tilting his head at you as he starts to pull them down, the movement torturously slow. “Wanna see if you skipped the panties, too.”

You lift your hips so he can pull them down the rest of the way. You are not, in fact, wearing panties, because you were going the fuck to sleep originally, and you hear him suck in a breath after the shorts are discarded.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” he breathes. You ignore the funny thing your heart does in your chest at his words, opting instead to focus on his hand drawing closer to you.

You both moan when his fingers slide over you, finding you soaked once again.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses as he gathers your slick with his fingers. He drags them slowly up to your sensitive bundle of nerves and circles around it, only to slide back down again, repeating the motion again and again. You moan every time he reaches your clit, your hips bucking up into his touch.

“This pussy,” he starts, and you lift your head at sudden motion as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, holding himself up with his elbows, “gets so fucking wet for me.”

His pupils are blown as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, just like last time, but instead of going right for it, Yoongi starts pressing kisses to your thigh. Your head falls back onto the mattress again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he continues to speak. 

“Been thinking about this all week,” Yoongi mumbles into your skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, forcing a gasp out of you. “You make it impossible to focus, you know that?”

A high, needy whine falls from your lips as he suddenly runs the tip of his tongue between your folds, and when you lift your head to watch, he pulls away, his dark eyes meeting yours in a smoldering gaze.

“I could’ve been done with that track on fucking Tuesday,” he says, dipping down again to wrap his lips around your clit and suck, making you cry out, tangling your fingers in his hair again. “Do you know how many times I jerked off thinking about being between these thighs again?”

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, his words conjuring images that make you feel as though you’re coming apart at the seams. Yoongi chuckles darkly, pressing a kiss to your clit.

“Yeah, that’s my girl,” he praises, his tone so dark it sends a shiver down your spine. “Gonna make you say my name like that again, baby. You want it?”

“Yes,” you gasp out without a second thought. You need his mouth on you so bad you feel like you’re going to explode. “Shit, please.”

“So polite.”

Yoongi doesn’t make you wait any longer, his head dipping back down again so he can taste you properly, the flat of his tongue licking slowly over your pussy.

“Thank you,” you moan, the words slipping out completely outside of your control. Yoongi’s movements pause for just a fraction of a second, and suddenly you’re overwhelmed with the worry that ‘thank you’ was a fucking weird thing to say to the guy eating you out. But then you feel Yoongi’s responding moan right into your cunt, the vibrations making your eyes roll back into your head, and his tongue resumes its movements. 

True to his word, he’s taking his sweet time, savoring every bit of you, but you don’t fucking care. You want his cock, desperately, but he can stay down there for hours if he really wants to so long as it feels like this.

You lose track of time, your thighs trembling around his head as you lose yourself in the feeling of his tongue, but you’re quite literally yanked back into the moment when Yoongi lifts his head again, forcefully dragging you closer and latching his lips around your clit. 

“Fuck, fuck—Yoongi, fuck!” you cry out as Yoongi makes it abundantly clear that he’s no longer interested in dragging this out any longer. The way he’s eating you out now is going to make you come, and soon. 

You can hear the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on you, even over the blood pulsating through your ears, even over the way you’re moaning for him as your orgasm barrels closer. 

Your fingers pull at his hair, your hips shifting to grind against his tongue, and he moans into you again, his hands grasping at your hips to help you move. You take the action for what it is: he wants you to come. Like, now. Well, he doesn’t have to fucking tell you twice.

For the second time, you come from Yoongi’s tongue, writhing beneath him as you moan helplessly. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your muscles clenching and unclenching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. 

Yoongi works you through it, but unlike last time he can sense your impending overstimulation before you need to push him away, shifting to sit up on his knees as you catch your breath. 

“So fucking sexy,” he grunts, running his hands over your body as his eyes trail over you appreciatively. 

Shit, he’s one to talk. He looks so hot like this, his hair a mess from your pulling, his lips and chin slick from your pussy. 

Not to mention, just like last time, he’s so fucking hard. The only difference is that this time, he’ll let you have it.

“Wanna touch you,” you breathe, already pushing up shakily to slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Yoongi makes no move to stop you, his breath hitching as your hand wraps around him.

His length feels thicker than you expected in your hand, your mind instantly wandering to how it’s going to feel inside of you very soon. You don’t think you’ve ever taken something this thick before, and you want it so fucking bad.

“Shit, baby, just like that,” Yoongi grits out as you start pumping him slowly, his hips bucking forward into your hand. “Feels so good.”

You lean up to capture his lips with yours, tasting yourself on his tongue as the kiss quickly turns sloppy and desperate, lacking all finesse but somehow still so goddamn sexy. All the while, you keep touching him, his breath coming out shaky through his nose as he licks into your mouth with heat. 

When your grasp on his cock gets a little firmer, his hips stutter and his hand comes up to grasp your wrist again, urgently halting your movements.

“Gotta stop. ‘m gonna come if you keep doing that,” he says, pulling away. There’s a flush in his cheeks, spreading down to his chest. It’s almost cute, but then he opens that fucking mouth again, his eyes locked on yours. “Wanna come inside you.”

Fuck.

“Yeah,” you breathe in agreement, nodding jerkily and pulling your hand from his pants in an instant. “Want that. Fuck me.”

Yoongi groans, his eyes shutting tightly. He shakes his head. “Need a minute,” he says, his voice almost pained. “Fuck, you’re too much.”

He busies himself with reaching over your body and across the bed, pulling open the drawer of his bedside table. You keep your hands to yourself, ignoring the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch again. If he needs a minute, he can have it. You’ve waited this long.

Once his body returns to yours, he tosses a condom next to you on the bed before dipping down to kiss you again. His lips are gentle on yours this time, slow and almost sweet, unlike any way he’s kissed you so far. The chasteness of it throws you off, but it isn’t necessarily unwelcome—not from Yoongi, at least. He’s probably just trying to chill the fuck out so he doesn’t come too fast, you reason.

After a few minutes, though, Yoongi’s lips part from yours and he presses one last kiss to your temple, reaching for the condom beside you.

“Ready?” he asks, the edge of the foil packet held between his teeth as he sits up, using both hands to push his sweatpants down.

Your eyes are glued to him as he rips the packet open carefully, rolling the condom onto his cock. Your imagination never would’ve done him justice. The sight of his long fingers wrapped around his length is enough for your last thread of patience to snap.

“I think I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me right now,” you say honestly, your eyes unmoving from his cock, and he laughs, sliding a hand up your thigh.

“Dramatic,” he teases, his fingers trailing over your pussy, ensuring that you’re still wet enough to take him. “You think you’re ready for it?” he asks, two fingers prodding at your entrance before they start fucking into you easily. 

You whine, your back arching as his fingers scissor inside your pussy. “Can’t wait anymore,” you gasp out, and he relents, withdrawing his fingers to wrap them around his cock, shifting so he’s over you again.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, the tip of his nose grazing yours at this proximity. You feel the blunt head of his cock running through your folds, one last tease, before he lines himself up with your entrance. “I’ll take care of you, baby. Promise.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he slowly eases in, his breath shuddering next to your ear as he fills you bit by bit. The stretch makes your head spin, but Yoongi takes his time just like he promised, rubbing your hip soothingly to keep you relaxed.

“Finally,” you breathe when he finally bottoms out, and he laughs.

“Yeah? Gonna thank me again?” Yoongi jokes, but the way his cock twitches inside you betrays the way he really feels about that.

“Maybe when you make me come,” you quip in return, but his hips draw back, giving an experimental thrust back into you, and suddenly nothing is all that funny anymore.

You both moan, and Yoongi trails his nose up the side of your neck as he does it again, setting a rhythm of long, slow strokes.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, the wrecked sound of his voice sending a flare of arousal through you, causing your walls to clench around his cock. “You feel so good.”

All you can do is moan in response, your arms looping around his shoulders, hands in his hair. “Squeezing me so fucking tight,” he grits out, fucking into you just a little bit faster, a little bit deeper.

“Like that,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his hair out of desperation.

“Yeah?” he groans, snapping his hips into you with more force now. “You want it harder, baby?” At your choked ‘yes’, it’s like a switch has flipped, Yoongi’s hips snapping into you so forcefully you see stars, your thighs beginning to shake on either side of him as he slams into you.

His hands smooth up your thighs, deep thrusts continuing uninterrupted as he positions your legs, pinning your thighs between your bodies so you’re practically folded in half, and oh, fuck. The angle change makes the head of Yoongi’s cock hit the spot that makes you cry out, your nails dragging down the length of his back as you become instantly aware that you’re going to come soon.

“Mm–Yoongi, fuck, please don’t stop—I’m so close, please—”

“Taking me so good,” he groans. “Touch yourself, baby. Make yourself come, I’m right there with you.”

You obey instantly, your hand sliding down between your bodies to rub your clit with two fingers. Your walls flutter around him, making him hiss as you teeter on the edge of your impending orgasm.

Yoongi braces himself, held up with his hands on either side of you. It’s his eyes on you, his lip between his teeth as he watches you touch yourself that finally sends you hurtling over the edge. You squeeze tightly around him as you come, your body convulsing under him as the pleasure washes over you, his name falling from your lips over and over.

“Nghh, good girl, shit,” he grunts, the rhythm of his hips instantly becoming erratic. “Fuck, Y/N. Gonna come.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you feel Yoongi’s body tense, his cock pulsing inside of you as he spills into the condom with a groan. He drops down to his elbows carefully, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss, his lips moving languidly over yours. 

You kiss him back, but after a few moments you’re suddenly hyper aware of how… intimate this feels, kissing like this as he softens inside of you. You pull away to look up at him. “Thank you,” you say, grinning tiredly as you try to break the tension surrounding the moment.

It seems to work, because Yoongi laughs breathlessly, pulling out of you with care and shifting off of the bed to dispose of the condom. “Funny,” he says.

You take the opportunity to sit up, despite your body feeling like jelly. You don’t think you can take Yoongi cleaning you up on top of what just occurred.

“Bathroom?” you ask, heading to it when he points you in the right direction.

You clean yourself up quickly, and when you return Yoongi is, mercifully, dressed again and retrieving your shorts from the floor for you. You take them with a small, grateful smile, pulling your shorts and top back on.

“So you got your track done?” you ask, trying to make some light conversation.

Yoongi scoffs, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Few hours ago,” he says, tilting his head and looking at you a little funny. Whatever he’s thinking, though, he doesn’t say it. “How was your week, anyway? I know I was a little M.I.A.”

You brighten the slightest bit at his question, joining him on the bed. “Actually,” you say. “Something pretty cool happened yesterday afternoon.”

“Yeah?”

“I kind of got entrusted with this huge assignment. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off, but if I do, it’s a career changer, for sure.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, grinning at you. “That’s great, Y/N. You deserve it.”

His praise makes you blush, looking down to pick at a loose thread on his comforter. You only blush because you know he means it. Yoongi actually reads your stuff. Rina doesn’t even really read your stuff, and she’s your best friend. But maybe it’s because Yoongi is in the music industry and the stuff you publish is more interesting to him.

Yoongi is in the music industry.

It’s like a lightbulb goes off in your head, and you shift closer to him.

“Actually,” you say. “I’m kind of struggling with it? And I was wondering, um… I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out a little bit. Do you happen to know Jang Yijeong?”

Yoongi stiffens next to you, not a lot, but enough for you to notice from this close. “Yeah, I know him,” he says anyway. “We’re friends.”

You’re confused by his reaction, but you soldier on. “I just need an interview with him. I need someone he can trust to set me up with him so he doesn’t give me scripted bullshit, you know? And… If you could be the one to do that, it would make my life a million times easier, honestly.”

For a long moment, Yoongi says nothing, not really looking at you. You don’t know what you said to get this reaction out of him, but you don’t like it, and you’re about to take back your request entirely when he speaks again.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him,” he says. He’s looking at you now, which makes you relax a bit.

“Really?” you ask softly. “Only if you’re okay with it, but it would seriously be a huge help.”

“Yeah, I’ll put in a good word,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. He suddenly seems much less stiff, like whatever weird moment that just took place has passed now, and he laughs. “Just promise you won’t make me regret it.”

At ease, you snort, rolling your eyes. “I promise,” you say flatly, nudging his shoulder with yours. Your voice softens. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” he says easily, getting up from the bed and making his way to the door. “Have you eaten? I’m gonna make kimchijeon.”

Yoongi really is saving your ass. After fucking you so nicely, too. And now he’s making you midnight kimchijeon!

“That sounds good,” you call after him, smiling to yourself after he’s left the room.

Yeah, you can get used to this.

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@dollfaceksj @jajabro @butterymin @coffeedepressionsoup

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[psychedelic-ink]

𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑼𝑻

pairing: dieter bravo x stunt coordinator f!reader x frankie morales

genre: romance, smut, minors dni

word count: 4.6k (this kinda got out of hand whoops)

summary: dieter needs helicopter lessons for an upcoming role and santiago finds you the perfect man for the job.

warnings: established relationship between dieter and reader, threesome, a very messy blowjob, edging, teasing, mlm dynamics, vaginal/anal fingering, piv, creampie, single dad!frankie, competency kink

a/n: A birthday gift to the most amazing @jazzelsaur 💖 I love and appreciate you so so much. I'm glad tumblr brought us together, thank you so much for always being such a light and so supportive 💜💜💜

You and Dieter make your way through set, the sun shining down on your skin as you navigate the crowded fake streets. The set is alive with activity, the air thick with the sounds of chatter and whirring machinery.

As you walk, you take in the sights around you, the hustle and bustle of the extras and crew members going about their work. A group of extras huddled together, deep in conversation, their faces etched with concentration while discussing their lines. 

Meanwhile, a camera crew scurries past, their equipment whirring and beeping as they move. The director is shouting instructions and the actors are preparing for the next take. Props litter the streets, adding to the illusion of a bustling city. The attention to detail is impressive, and it's clear that the production team has put a lot of effort into creating a believable and authentic world.

Everyone is working together to bring the story to life, and you thrive on the chaos, feeling at peace and at home. What seems like a disorganized mess is actually in order, everything is as it should be.

You’re startled from your thoughts when Dieter’s hand finds yours, slowing you down so your steps would fall into synch. Warmth spreads from your tailbone. You still aren’t used to the PDA even though it’s been a year since you two had started to date. It wasn’t easy at the time, you being the stunt coordinator and Dieter being an actor, it was difficult but in the end, there was little you could do when you kept on pining him to the ground while trying to teach him how to do it. 

He squeezes your hand tight, lips brushing your ear. “So who were we meeting again?” 

“The helicopter instructor, I think his name is…Frankie something? I talked to him once on the phone but he has great references,” 

“And what references might those be?” 

The two of you stop when the prop department carrying a huge mirror walks past you. You take this opportunity to squeeze Dieter’s hand and pull his gaze back to you, it’s rare to see him so openly nervous— usually, he just bottles it all up, which makes you happy that he trusts you enough to show this side of himself. 

“Santiago,” you grin when Dieter rolls his eyes. “Come on, I know you like him. Everyone likes Santi,” 

“I didn’t say I hated him,” he tugs you along, the mirror finally gone. “It’s just sometimes the people he finds for you can be a bit…intense?” 

“Look I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say dismissing him with a wave of a hand. “Besides, you’re just supposed to learn how to fly it a little bit. Just so you look like you know what you’re doing in front of the control pad.” 

“Yeah I guess,” he suddenly perks up, smiling from ear to ear. “And helicopters are the shit. It’ll be fun to learn how to fly one,” 

“Well…you wouldn’t really be learning how to fly it more like keeping it in the air and learning what all the buttons do kinda stuff.” 

“I love you but why do you always have to take away my fun?” 

You ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks from the spontaneous declaration of love. He does that a lot. Just blurting stuff when you least expected it. The helicopter slowly comes into view, stationed a bit further from the main set. You see a man with a ballcap rounding the helicopter and going inside. 

“If I didn’t, you would probably be dead.” 

“Fair point.” 

Dieter's hand tightens in yours, both of you looking up at the helicopter. It’s rather large, larger than you initially expected. There must’ve been some extra money laying around if the production managed to score such a fancy-looking vehicle.

"It's even more impressive in person," Dieter says, his eyes wide.

"I know, right?" you respond, feeling a flutter in your stomach at the thought of flying in it. "Are you ready to become a helicopter pilot?"

Dieter grins, "I'm ready to pretend to be a helicopter pilot, at least."

Peering inside, you find yourself looking into a surprisingly spacious cabin. The seats are made of smooth, black leather, and the walls are lined with various buttons and controls. You can see a large display screen at the front of the cockpit, displaying flight information and navigation data. The dim lighting gives the space a sense of intimacy and allows you to see the details of the instruments and controls.

Then your eyes move towards the man sitting at the controls, his feet kicked up on the dashboard. He jumps up when he notices you. 

"Hi there," he greets you. There’s a scratchiness to his voice that makes you suspect he was sleeping before your arrival. “I’m assuming you’re the stunt coordinator Pope told me about?” 

“That’s me,” you grin and take a large step inside. “Frankie, right?” Frankie squeezes your hand and nods. He turns his soft gaze to Dieter. 

“And you must be the famous Mr. Bravo—” 

“Dieter’s fine,” he quickly interjects, squeezing Frankie’s hand as well. You raise an eyebrow, noticing the way Dieter averts his eyes, a rosy glow peppered across his cheeks. 

As Dieter takes a seat in the front, you place a hand on his stomach and stop him mid-step, a smug grin directed at him.

“And here I thought you didn’t like Santi’s friends,” you whisper with a hint of amusement. For a moment he struggles to understand what you mean, then he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“It’s not my fault he’s hot,”

“Should I be jealous?” you tease, and he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“Never,” he says moving away and taking his heat with him.  

Honestly, you can’t really blame him. Frankie’s wearing a loose tee and a green flannel, probably two sizes too large. But after years of working with bodies that came in every shape and form, you can tell he has a firm one underneath. You and Dieter aren’t strangers to inviting people you enjoyed the company of into your bed, it was rare, given Dieter’s fame. But it did happen. 

And it already looks like Dieter had taken quite a liking to the handsome pilot. 

"So, first things first," Frankie begins when Dieter settles. "This is the altimeter, it tells us our altitude. And this is the airspeed indicator, it tells us how fast we're going. And this is the attitude indicator, it shows us the helicopter's pitch and roll."

Dieter nods, trying to take it all in. "Got it, altitude, airspeed, attitude."

"Exactly. You’re a fast learner I’m impressed," Frankie grins, patting him on the back. "Now, let's get this bird in the air."

It’s a smooth lift. You barely felt it. 

Frankie begins teaching Dieter how to fly the helicopter, you listen in, taking note of the instructions and procedures. Much to your surprise, Dieter actually asks some questions, which you notice helps Frankie ease into the role of a teacher. 

After a while Frankie allows Dieter to take the controls. You look outside, swallowing when you notice that the three of you are actually quite high up. Briefly, Frankie’s gaze lingers over yours. They quickly scan over your face, a subtle and barely there look. He must’ve seen your worry because he smiles. Parting his lips, he mouths slowly; don’t worry.

You’re pretty sure your heart stops then. 

Dieter becomes increasingly tense. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on the controls becomes tighter, making his knuckles turn white. Frankie notices and places his hands on top of Dieter's, guiding him through the maneuvers.

"Relax," Frankie mutters, gaze fixated ahead. Clearly oblivious to Dieter’s not-so-innocent thoughts. "You're doing great. Let her fly."

The touch is electric, and Dieter's pulse quickens, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. His face flushes a shade darker, and you hear the way his breath hitches in his throat. Frankie's touch is confident and sure, Dieter relaxes under his guidance, letting himself be led.

"You see," Frankie says. "You were made for this."

Frankie's hands are steady, and as they move over Dieter's, you can see the way Dieter's fingers loosen on the controls. He starts to breathe more easily. Frankie's touch is soothing him like it would a stray animal. Dieter’s shoulders drop and the lines of tension on his face smooth out.

“That’s it, bring us home movie star.” 

You bite back a giggle hearing Dieter’s small whimper. But despite it all, he does manage to lower the helicopter without a problem. Dieter’s head falls back with a loud exhale when it’s done. “Fuuuuck— that was stressful.” 

“Good job movie star,” you grin, knowing that repeating Frankie’s words would frustrate him. “You managed not to kill us, that’s a plus.” 

“He did great,” Frankie nods. “We should go again.” 

Dieter makes a sound and both you and Frankie turn to look at him. An understanding smile tugs at Frankie’s lips and he tilts his head towards the door. “Maybe after a ten minute break?” 

Frankie is sweating due to a multitude of reasons. 

He’s invited to dinner, which would mark the first reason. When Dieter offered to buy him a drink as a thank you, he didn’t think much of it. And he would never say no to a cold one after a day of teaching. But then you suggested that Frankie should come over instead and that you would cook him something instead. 

He was confused. At first, he thought you two were dating. Then after noticing some lustful gazes from both sides, directed at yours truly, he thought maybe you weren’t. 

However, now it seems like you two are indeed an item and living together. 

The entire thing was a huge clusterfuck and he’d gotten very close to calling Pope to ask what their situation was but decided against it. He didn’t need Santiago calling him rusty. 

The second reason why he was sweating is due to the fact that tonight was ridiculously hot. Screw LA. Honestly. 

He’s wearing a light red button-up shirt, which he’s now realizing might’ve been a mistake. At the time wearing one of his signature worn-down T-shirts didn’t seem like a good choice. 

Frankie stops and looks around. There’s a series of fancy-looking houses stringed back to back. He’s assuming one of them is Dieter’s. With a sigh, he looks down at his phone and up again. Narrowing his eyes, he heads for the house that has a series of colorful porcelain animals scattered around the garden. The text you sent him said to look for the Zebra. 

And lo behold there it is. 

Standing in front of the door, Frankie goes to adjust his cap but his fingertips brush against his slicked-back hair instead. 

That’s right he left it at home. If this get-together isn’t what he thinks it is…this whole night is about to get a whole lot more embarrassing. 

Letting out a deep exhale, he holds his breath in his lungs and pulls down the ends of his shirt. While he exhales, he finally knocks. 

It’s you who opens the door. Your smile is bright, confident, and not at all what his insides are mirroring. Stepping aside, you invite him in. 

“Welcome,” you say with a grin. “Hope you found it easily?” 

“Yeah, it was…” 

Fine, is what he was going to say before he trailed off. He lifts his head and sniffs the air. 

Was that smoke? 

You’re closing the door when he shoots you a puzzled look, “Is everything alright?” 

The question makes your smile falter. Your eyes peer above his shoulder towards, what he assumes, the kitchen. His gaze follows yours, he sees the faint trailings of gray smoke. 

“Okay full disclosure we might’ve accidentally burnt everything,” you speak in quick breaths. Frankie’s brows furrowed, he didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble. “We managed to salvage the salad but that’s pretty much it—sorry,” 

You look genuinely troubled. Frankie feels that he should place a hand on your shoulder, and he does. You’re quick to relax into his touch and he smiles. “It’s alright. I’m somewhat of a decent cook, I’m sure we can put together something,” 

As Frankie enters the kitchen, he's met with the sight of Dieter cursing and throwing burnt pans into the sink. The smell of smoke fills the air. He's seen his fair share of kitchen disasters, he's not one to shy away from a little bit of chaos. You clear your throat, drawing Dieter’s attention away from the mess. 

The actor stills for a moment. His eyes flit between you, Frankie, and lastly the sink full of charcoal dark pans. He swallows, hard. “Welcome?” he croaks, unsure. “Sorry about the…mess. We tried our best I promise,” 

“I believe you,” Frankie smiles, stepping inside. You follow. “You two shouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble for me. I would’ve been just as happy with sharing a drink,” 

He doesn’t miss the way you two exchange a brief glance. You scratch the back of your head, the tip of your shoe hitting the floor. “We thought cooking would be more meaningful as thanks—Well, I did at least.”

“You guys got pasta?” Frankie asks, eyes falling to the pans. “What were you guys trying to cook anyway?” 

Silence follows and Frankie turns to look at you both. He raises an eyebrow, coking his head to the side. Giving them a look he learned that could be quite persuasive. 

“Don’t be mad,” Dieter mutters, eyes moving from Frankie to you. His gaze turns with Dieter’s, now firmly fixated on you for answers. 

“I…I might or might not have called Santi to ask for your favorite meal,” you answer, averting your eyes.

Frankie’s eyes widen at that. His pulse skyrockets, deafening to his own ears. Once again forgetting he left his hat at home, he looks down to hide his smile. 

He’d find himself some interesting people it seems. 

You sit at the table with Dieter’s knee pressing against yours. You’re both admiring Frankie as he effortlessly moves about the kitchen. He has his sleeves folded up, revealing his strong and tanned forearms, and he’s wearing the apron Dieter had bought as a joke that reads "Kiss the Cook." The pasta water boils at the stove while he makes marinara sauce from scratch, and the aroma is tantalizing.

You watch him chop the tomatoes and garlic. He has his tongue sneaking out of his lips while he concentrates. It's a small detail but it makes him look even more charming. Dieter’s hand finds the soft flesh of your thighs, squeezing slowly. A shiver settles at the base of your spine.

You take a sip of your red wine, savoring the rich flavor, watching Frankie work. He moves with a certain grace and precision, like a master chef, his movements are fluid and natural.

“You cook a lot Frankie?” you ask, breaking the—what you had dubbed— the horny silence. 

Dieter’s fingertips round the outline of your knee. A bit of wine slips from the corner of your lips. 

“I wouldn’t say a lot,” Frankie muses, pouring a generous amount of olive oil into a pan. “I rarely cook for myself but I like cooking for my daughter,” 

“You have a daughter?” Dieter asks, his movements stilling. Your stomach drops, did you read this whole thing wrong after all? 

Frankie nods, a smile tugging at his lips. The oil heats up, he turns to you both, placing the heels of his palms against the kitchen counter behind him. “I do, that’s why I moved here. To be closer to her.” 

“Divorced—” You pinch Dieter from underneath the table. “Ow!”

Dieter turns to you with a puzzled look— a look that is telling you he has no idea what he’d done wrong. 

Frankie catches your gaze and smiles. You feel a flutter in your stomach. “It’s okay really. I’m used to it by now,” his gaze shifts back to Dieter. “Yeah, I’m divorced. But there isn’t really an interesting story to go along with it, we just…sorta drifted apart,” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply with the urge to touch him somehow. Instead, you curl your fingers around Dieter’s hand which still lingers on your knee. 

Frankie shakes his head and turns back to the sauce, adding the herbs and spices with a practiced hand. There's nothing sexier than a man who can cook— which probably isn’t an appropriate thought to have. 

“What about you two?” Frankie suddenly asks, reeling you back to reality.“You two are…dating, right?”

You realize that you and Dieter probably had confused the hell out of this man. You part your lips to speak but surprisingly Dieter beats you to it. 

“We are,” he states, twirling his wine glass. “But we’re always looking for some kind of trouble to get in,” 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at Dieter’s tone. It’s low, a soft gravel hidden behind it. You know that tone well, a tone that had made you come multiple times in a mere half an hour. You shudder. 

Frankie’s ears perk up, shoulders rising and falling. You can’t see it, but you’re almost positive that he’s smiling. “Is that what I am?” he purrs, his voice also dropping. “Trouble?” 

Dieter smirks into the rim of his wine glass, “Only if you want to be.” 

The rest of the night goes on without a hitch. It’s a combination of talking about your jobs, your pasts, and the occasional flirty remarks. You enjoy watching Frankie speak. 

The initial stress that was locked in his muscles had dissipated with each forkful of pasta disappearing between his lips. The three of you continue to sit even when the pasta is completely gone, not even a lick of sauce staining the plates. 

Neither of you wants to disturb the moment. You find yourself scooching closer to Frankie. Dieter does the same. And when Frankie places a tender hand on Dieter’s waist, you put your hand on his thigh, squeezing it. 

You faintly hear Dieter murmuring something about heading to the bedroom, which Frankie doesn’t seem to have any objections to. Standing, you’re quick to realize that the wine had given you a familiar warm buzz. Before you take a step, Frankie’s arm sneaks around your waist. Solid and warm. You both follow Dieter to the bedroom. 

You and Dieter fall to bed with a fit of giggles, his lips trailing over your jaw. The journey ends ar your lips. The tip of his tongue slips out and licks the seam, sloppy hands moving over your body, squeezing and kneading the flesh. With a sudden jolt of pleasure, you moan into his mouth, rolling your hips into the air. 

Dieter dips to your neck, nipping the soft skin. Your head falls back and eyes open, your gaze meeting Frankie’s. He’s standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed, his hands balled into weak-looking fists. Your eyebrows knit together, your eyes drop to his front. 

Your mouth turns up in a subtle smile when you notice the thick outline of his cock. 

You pull at Dieter’s hair and gesture toward Frankie with the tip of your head. Dieter’s grin is devilish, brown eyes eating the other man alive. 

“Didn’t peg you to be shy,” he teases, pushing himself away from you. “But I guess we haven’t been the most hospital either.” 

You follow Dieter’s lead and get up with him, both of you taking quick steps toward Frankie. Dieter kneels down and starts to unbutton the pilot's pants while you curl your fingers around his neck and knead away the rigidness of his muscles. 

Frankie’s lips part with a soft gasp, hips thrusting forward. You shudder at the feeling of his hands finding your hips, pulling you closer, he presses his lips into yours. His tongue follows the same path as Dieter’s, licking the seam and slipping his tongue between your lips. 

But the rest is very unlike Dieter. He swallows the sounds that threaten to spill, licking into your mouth eagerly. The roughness of his mouth is unexpected but not unpleasant, you find your body quivering as the ache between your legs grows. 

It doesn’t last long, however. Frankie breaks the kiss with a sound between a groan and a hiss. His nails bite into your skin, body shaking. Looking down, you see that Dieter has his lips wrapped around the fat head of Frankie’s cock. Fingers curling around the base, Dieter starts to stroke him while he pushes himself forward and swallows him halfway. 

You drop to your knees, feeling the heat coming off Dieter in waves. His eyes are closed, his lips parted and glistening as he rhythmically strokes and sucks on Frankie's cock. You can't help but be mesmerized by the sight, and you can feel the ache between your legs become unbearable.

Frankie's moans fill the air, echoing off the walls as he throws his head back, his hips thrusting forward in time with the motions of Dieter's lips. Frankie’s fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer. You can see his muscles go taut with every thrust.

Dieter’s lips part even more around Frankie, and you can feel the vibrations of his moans on your fingertips, brushing them over his spine. Dieter jerks at your touch, another moan ripping from his throat. His eyes find yours and he parts from Frankie’s cock, a string of saliva follows. He slides his lips down the lenght of him, allowing you to drag your tongue across the other side.

Frankie quivers and shakes. His fingers dig into your scalp and his cock swells and twitches. His eyes roll back in his head as Dieter expertly takes control. His tongue swirls around the sensitive head, and you feel the vibrations of his moans against your lips as he presses them harder against him.

You slide your hands up Frankie’s chest, the warmth and sweat of his skin gathering at your fingertips. Dieter slides further down his shaft and you dip your tongue into the slit, twirling it and swallowing him down. 

Frankie makes the mistake of looking down—Seeing you both licking at him eagerly makes something twists in his stomach. The skin there grows taut, thighs clenching as his orgasm shatters through him. He struggles to remain upright.

Before you know it your lips are replaced with Dieter’s. 

Dieter slides his hands around Frankie's back, pushing him forward as he takes him in deeper. Frankie's moans become louder, and his body trembles. His hips thrust forward as comes, and Dieter wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace as he releases the warm liquid over both of your lips. 

Frankie collapses against Dieter, panting and chest heaving. You slide your hands to his back, rubbing soothing circles as Dieter kisses his way up his stomach. 

Frankie's breathing gradually returns to normal. You take this opportunity to reach out and touch Dieter's face, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingertips. He leans into your touch.  

Your lips meet in a passionate kiss. His lips are soft, wet, and inviting. His tongue eagerly meets yours as you both explore each other's mouths, the taste of Frankie joining. 

“Wow,” Frankie says first, his chest stuttering. “That was…wow,” 

Dieter grins into your lips and your eyes move back up to meet Frankie’s. He’s stroking his cock, palm swiping at the head. You see a hint of something dark and hungry crossing his face. 

Your heart skips a beat, suddenly you’re very aware of how wet and sticky your thighs feel. 

“I want to see you two together,” he groans, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Want you guys to play and tease without letting the other come.” 

Dieter blinks in surprise. He finally parts away from you and allows his eyes to move over to Frankie. You notice the way his gaze becomes glazed over, breath catching in his throat upon seeing Frankie’s expression.

“Yeah okay,” he swallows. “We can do that—” he playfully pinches your side. “Can’t we sweetheart?” 

You smile, fingers finding the curve of his knee, you squeeze. “We most certainly can.”

Frankie sits at the end of the bed. Meanwhile, you and Dieter become a mixed tangle of limbs. You feel the slip of his fingers into your heat, curling his fingers. You burn from the inside out. 

His other hand finds your hip, fingers digging in as he moves inside you. You gasp, eyes shifting to Frankie who is standing at the end of the bed, watching you.

Frankie’s breathing heavily as he strokes himself in time with Dieter’s movements. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge and Dieter must be able to tell because he starts to pick up the pace, pushing you even closer. Dieter grins and you moan, eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure washes over you.

Frankie’s voice breaks through the haze of pleasure. “Don’t come yet,” he commands, voice low. “Let me see you both together.”

Dieter groans, his fingers tightening on your hips. His breath is coming in short, ragged gasps and you can feel his body trembling with need. You both reach for each other, Dieter’s fingers finding your clit and you moan as he teases it, drawing quick, short circles. 

When he draws back his fingers, you cry out, hips jerking toward him with the need to be stretched and filled.

You’re about to protest but the words quickly die on your tongue. Dieter drags his cock between your folds, gathering as much as slick he can before slipping inside. The sigh you let out is full of bliss. Your eyes flutter, the sight of Frankie now blurred around the edges.  

Your orgasm nears with each thrust. Your body alive with lust, pulses of heat radiating from your core. Your moans get louder, and your back arches, pushing your hips towards Dieter’s. He grunts, and you can feel his muscles tense as he drives deeper and deeper in you.

Your hands reach out to Frankie, seeking his touch. He takes them in his, and begins to stroke your skin. His touch is gentle, crackling electricity against your already burning skin. His hands move slowly, tracing every inch his fingertips can reach.

Your vision is blurred, and the room seems to spin. Dieter’s thrusts become more urgent. His breathing is ragged. You’re teetering on the edge of your orgasm, so close yet so far. 

Frankie moves behind Dieter, his hands finding Dieter’s hips as he kneels behind him. Dieter’s movements slow, another moan rippling through his chest. Frankie circles the tight muscle with wet fingers. He slips two inside, taking Dieter’s breath away. 

“Already so wet,” Frankie coos, lips touching his ear. “Were you already expecting this?” 

Dieter groans, pushing back into Frankie as he thrusts into you. You gasp, pleasure coursing through your veins and all you can do is hold on tight as you both move together.

Dieter lets out a deep moan, the slam of his hips erratic.  His body goes rigid, cock twitching uncontrollably with your cunt clenching around him over and over. 

Frankie’s voice is hoarse, his words barely audible. “Come now,” he whispers and Dieter follows his command, his body shuddering as he comes. You cry out, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You cling to Dieter, Frankie’s breath comingling with yours in the room.

You push yourself up to press a kiss into Dieter’s neck, at the same time Frankie pulls out his fingers, giving the actor’s hips a reassuring squeeze. 

None of you rush to clean, figuring you can do that together in the morning. Dieter pulls you to the middle, Frankie taking his place next to you and hugging you both. You feel the brush of Frankie’s lips first, then Dieter’s. Your eyelids grow heavy like lead.

“We should do this again,” Dieter murmurs, sounding equally as exhausted as you. 

Frankie nods, forehead touching yours. You smile. 

“We should,” he whispers. “We really should.” 

[nordlichtgeschichten]

Left! Other Left!

"Slightly" belated story for @flufftober Day 2 - "Left! Other Left!"

Svantje, Fenja, and Peer just want to get some rest, but directions turn out to be a hassle...

POV: 3rd Person Warnings: None Word Count: 818 words

Svantje yawned, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly. "I could have sworn we should already be there…” She looked into the dark, but found nothing but street and other cars. “Fenja, can you check the map? If it'll take us much longer, we should probably find a place to stop for the night."

"Sure, hang on." Fenja opened the glove box to hunt for it. "I think there's a hotel not far from here, if we need it, but I'll check. Ah, there we go!" She grabbed for the map, but just as she was about to fish it out, Svantje hit a bump in the road, sending the map tumbling down to the leg room. "Shoot."

"Sorry. Can you reach it?"

"Yeah, no problem." Fenja briefly glanced at Peer, but they were still fast asleep on the back seat, sparing her from a comment. It took a few moments before Fenja managed to grab one of the map’s corners, and pulling on it did tear the map a bit, but finally, she got it back into her hands. "All right, hotel, hotel... Ah. We've got to—" As she was talking, they drove straight past an intersection. "—Well, not go there now, I guess. Hang on. Oh! All right, take a left up there, then we can circle back to it!"

"Thanks." Svantje gave Fenja a brief smile and turned on the blinker, soon rounding the corner and turning left.

"No, no, the other left!"

Svantje slowed down a little, but honking from a car behind her immediately forced her to speed up again. "Well, too late for that now. Doesn't seem like I can turn around here, either. Is there any way to get back coming up?"

"Uh, let me see... Or, well, I'd try to, but I can't even find this street on the map. Maybe it's new. Or just too small." Fenja looked for a few moments longer, then folded the map and stuffed it back into the glove box. "Maybe if you can take two rights somewhere? Or two lefts, whatever comes first."

Svantje nodded. "I'll try."

And she surely would have, if the road had offered any turns at all. Instead, though, it just became more narrow, twisting around a pond and then following a small brook. There were no street lamps lining this road, either, the only light coming from the moon and stars, and from the few other cars that shared the road with Svantje.

Finally, it offered a left turn, and Svantje took it. Now, she was the only car around, and the only source of light down here. Now they only needed another left turn. Or maybe a chance to turn around, but the street just went on and on.

Svantje yawned again.

"Hey, do we still have the tent in the car?" Fenja asked. "There's some free space over there. You need a break, Peer's already asleep, and I could really use a chance to stretch my legs."

"I think so.” Svantje glanced over to Fenja and smiled. “You’re right, let’s stop for the night."

The road was empty aside from them, but Svantje still turned on her blinker before turning into a tiny dirt path leading away from the main road and to a grassy hill. A few meters away, she parked and turned off the engine; silence spread in a way it only could when a noise you didn't even notice anymore suddenly vanished.

It didn't stay silent for long, though, since only a few moments later, Peer moved in the back seat. "Are we finally there...?"

"Not quite," Svantje answered and unbuckled her belt. "But we'll stay here for tonight."

Peer yawned and unbuckled their belt, too. "Fine. Like, in the car?"

"No, in the tent. Remember when we went camping a few weeks ago?" Fenja laughed. "I think we never got around to taking it out."

All three got out of the car almost in sync, then stopped. It was a warm night, not a cloud in sight, allowing them to see countless stars, sparkling like diamonds.

"Wow." Peer was the only one who said anything at all for a few moments, until Svantje couldn’t help but yawn again.

Fenja smiled. "All right, let's get everything set up before you two fall asleep on your feet. We can look some more afterwards."

Svantje nodded and opened the trunk of the car. They set up the tent quickly, despite all three of them frequently pausing to gaze up again, still spellbound by the brilliant sparkles above. Afterwards, they sat on the grass in front of their tent, huddled together and just looking into the night sky, until Peer just about fell asleep right then and there.

With the stars above them, even separated by the tent roof, they slept better that night than they would have in any hotel.

[fenmere]

Dromaeosaur

This was originally written on Twitter, for our old community there, so we’ve kept the original format so that it flows in its original manner. Maybe, someday in the future, we’ll rewrite it to work better in a macro format.

CN: non-sexual transformation kink, cognetohazards, twitter

—-

"Can you turn our chair around for us?" we ask Julie Caspiern, the reporter for the Fairport Fishwrapper.

We've returned to our home town since our discovery, and she contacted us shortly afterward.

It's hard to hide what we are, after all.

1/X

Julie obliges us while we needlessly explain, "It's a bit heavy now, you know. Heh."

She smiles, of course, and then moves to sit opposite us at the cafe table, pulling out a small notepad and pencil after putting our drinks down.

2/X

Just so you can visualize our perspective, the seat of the chair is just above our eye level when we're on the ground, now. But we've gotten pretty good at hopping.

You can look forward to this too, if you read our book, by the way.

3/X

We could probably make it all the way to the top of the chair back in one good jump, especially with assistance from our wings, but we might spill drinks that way. So we take two hops, using our claws on the edge of the seat for control.

4/X

She got us a napkin, like we asked.

That's going to be important later, after we've drunk some of our mocha. That kind of thing is a little messy now.

"Maybe we should start from the beginning," she suggests.

"Sure!" we chirp.

5/X

She doesn't even need to prompt us. We've worked for a newspaper before.

But we get a mouthful of mocha first, tilting our head back to swallow it, & then wipe our face with the napkin. A demonstration for the reporter.

She waits patiently.

6/X

"So, I guess, our name is the Inmara. That's, uh, 'hey, Inmara' in second person, or 'there's the Inmara' in third. We're plural. Some people call it DID, but we don't. Not for us. Anyway, they/them for pronouns, as a group," we tell her.

7/X

She takes a few simple notes and then looks up (not all that far) and asks, "And before this, you were?"

If she was interviewing us as for a trans bit, we'd be annoyed. But we expect this, this is our story.

We say, "The same, but taller."

8/X

"I mean," we add before she can ask another question, "we couldn't lay eggs before, and now we do. Like, we're pretty sure, people will be interested in that. Our book is a bit of a choose your own adventure, that way. 31 endings, though"

9/X

"Why 31?" Julie asks.

"We like giving people lots of options," we reply. "Also, the math of Fenekere is base 31 for some reason, so it just sort of lent itself to that." We shrug, "Any bigger & the cost to print the zine goes up too much."

10/X

"So, how did you discover that... Fenekere is it? How is that spelled?" she asks.

"F-E-N-E-K-E-R-E," we tell her.

She nods, "How did you learn Fenekere can do this...?" she gestures at us.

"Well," we say, bobbing our head for more mocha.

11/X

"We should probably start by telling you what Fenekere is," we tell her.

"OK!"

"First of all, it's a language we discovered in 2014 while bored at work. Like, people aren't going to believe this, but read our book and you'll see..."

12/X

"Anyway, this was right before we came out as trans, and our dysphoria was really bad, and work was getting so slow. So, some of us were poking around in our inworld," we explain. "Now, most people think that's just our imagination, but..."

13/X

"We think you can see with your own eyes that that is a gross simplification," we say, spreading our wings to show off our plumage.

She nods with a tight lipped knowing grin. "Go on," she says.

"So, our Poet finds these dragon scales..."

14/X

"Huge things! 31 of them, of course. And they're etched with these weird characters on them, and arranged in a semi circle. Fenmere found that if you look at them in order, slowly, they teach you"A Fenekere. It's pretty neat," we say.

15/X

"And this was all in your head?" Julie asks.

"No," we say, lowering our body so that we can put our chin on our foreclaws. "That's a simplification."

"Right," she says, making a note.

We do wonder how this is going to look in print.

16/X

"Anyway," we say, trying to keep this short so we can get to the good stuff. "It turns out that Fenekere is like the coding language of reality. You can use it to *change* things, including yourself. So, after experimenting with it..."

17/X

"Well," we say, thinking of another tactic. "Are you familiar with TF kink or cognitohazards?"

Julie frowns & shakes her head.

"OK, so, among a certain demographic of people, there's an intense sensitivity to, well, being something else."

18/X

"Call this demographic 'webcomic readers'. Not every one is susceptible to this, but a higher percentage are. And there are certain webcomics that get passed around. I mean, OK, we're being funny, & this is serious," we say, rethinking it.

19/X

"Look, it's not necessarily linked to any other demographic, but there are a number of people in this world who aren't really people. Not human, anyway. They just know it, and always have. And there're overlaps, but..."

20/X

"If you call it otherkin, therian, alterhuman, whatever, the key is that it is kinda its own neurotype. Whether it comes from trauma, some kind of weird evolutionary glitch, something spiritual, it doesn't matter. It's a thing," we grunt.

21/X

"And people like us have this need to feel right. It's kind of like being transgender, but not. And until now there was no way to, well, transition like this. So, instead, we've all been flocking to TF kink and cognitohazards..."

22/X

"There are these stories, often comics, that tell of someone being transformed into another kind of being, and having to learn how to be that being," we tell her. "And they get passed around. So, if you pay attention to Twitter closely..."

23/X

"If you pay attention to the right corners of Twitter, you can see it in people's profile pics. Yinglets, drekir, protogens, sergal, even D&D kobolds. You'll see them spread in waves in tweets saying 'oh no.'" We take another gulp of mocha.

24/X

"That's why they're called cognitohazards," we note. "Here's the thing. Most of the stories that get passed around involve involuntary transformation. But we're not about that. It's fun, but not right. Not good. We like consent, options."

25/X

"But!" we interrupt Julie's next question. "People are really drawn to that involuntary irreversible disaster of a transformation. It's part of what the need. Sort of takes the responsibility away. So they can say, 'too late now, oh well!'"

26/X

Julie knows what our book is about and what it can do, so she cuts to the relevant question, "So, how did you solve that? How did you give people choices, but still no choice?"

We grin in the only way a microraptor can grin.

27/X

"Well, for one, the cover of our zine does say, 'There's no turning back.' And, we're doing this interview to inform people. But, it *is* ultimately their choice to pick it up and read it when they find it," we say.

"Hmm..." she frowns. 

28/X

"Do you do anything more to make sure it's informed consent, if there's no turning back?" Julie asks.

"Yes, absolutely," we tell her. "Most of the book is just informing the reader of the risks, really. It's just..."

29/X

"For the right kind of person, each drawback just makes the transformation all that much more enticing, and knowing that there's no counterspell, so to speak, (even though there is) just sort of clinches it. It works," we say.

"OK, but."

30/X

"If there is a counter spell, then how come we imply there isn't?" we ask for her.

"Yeah."

"Well, it's simple, really," we tell her, winking. "Once you've become a dromaeosaur, you don't *want* to go back. It's just better this way."31/31

[stewardofningishzida]

Chapter 6: Tension

Here’s the next chapter of the meta-fic! Enjoy!

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

*I had a restless night.  My mind is reeling from everything that happened yesterday and part of me doesn’t really think it was real.  I head downstairs for coffee and freeze when I see Stephen sitting at the table looking at an iPad.  He doesn’t look well-rested either.  Then again, it seems he never does.  The sorcerer is tense.  So, I quietly nod in his direction when he notices me and I go to brew myself a cup.*

*From Stephen’s perspective, he barely slept.  He was already agitated from the situation.  After having been stuck in a car twice, his nerves were even more frayed when he arrived back at the house.  In the few hours of sleep that he managed to get, he was plagued by nightmares of his universe collapsing because he failed in his duties and of car crashes.  After several hellish nightmares, he gave up on sleep for the night.  Seeing as we didn’t seem to know about magic at all, he decided to borrow a tablet to do some of his own research.  He hears my footsteps quietly padding down the stairs and sees me nod at him in silent acknowledgement with a bewildered look on my face on my way to the coffee machine.*

Me (awkward):  Erm…Good morning, Stephen.  How did you sleep?  *I look nervously at him holding the tablet.*  Erm…Are you good?  *I walk over to offer to take his empty coffee cup.  Though I also glance at the screen.*

Stephen (tense):  Could be better…What are you looking for?

Me:  Nothing.  You haven’t seen anything from your future timeline, right?

Stephen (annoyed):  I know how to do research.

Me (backing off):  Okay.  Okay.  Was just kinda worried.

*He gives a withering glare.  I back off and grab my freshly-brewed coffee, trying to diffuse the tension.*

Me (awkward):  So…Great pastries, huh?  *I attempt a small, anxious grin and am met with a long, stony silence before the sorcerer replies.*

Stephen (gruff):  Yeah.

*Neither of us are comfortable.  There’s mounting tension in the room.*

Me:  I hope the car rides weren’t too hard on you yesterday.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that things are all kinda spread out and public transit here isn’t great.  

*His jaw subtly clenches and then unclenches.*

Stephen:  Not terrible, but not great.  *He clearly still didn’t like it.  I go quiet again, not knowing what else to say.  The tension is making me nervous.*

Stephen (blunt):  Exactly how much do all of you know about me?  

Me:  I…We…*I’m still a bit slow since I’m not fully awake yet.*  Seeing as there’s a multiverse, I guess we can only claim to know the basic and major events in your life.  Though for some versions, I suppose it’s almost everything.

Stephen (accusatory, his voice starting to lower):  So, just enough for me to become your personal zoo exhibit?  All that happened yesterday after the accident was a parade of your friends coming to gawk at me.  

Me:  I’m sorry, but it’s not like we summoned you here and all I did was introduce you to our group so we could all join forces to help you.  

Stephen (at this point, his voice is a low, bitter snarl):  Yet despite seemingly knowing EVERYTHING about me, none of you have any idea about how I can get back.  *It sounds like he’s accusing us.  He’s on the brink of losing his temper.  If anything, he feels immensely violated due to the lack of privacy in his life thanks to the movies, comics, and stories written about him.  Also, because of how overwhelming this situation is, he’s getting scared and lashing out.  This has clearly been stewing in him for at least several hours.*

Me (trying to be patient):  Magic.  Does not.  Exist here.  We’re not holding you hostage, Stephen.  

Stephen (hissing):  Yet I’m trapped here with no help and a bunch of clueless fangirls!

*I sigh, taking a deep breath to stay calm.*

Me:  Look, we’re-

Stephen (livid):  What?  *imitating me*  “Working on it?”  *Back to his normal voice*  Working on it?!  None of you know ANYTHING about what you’re doing or the position I’m-!  *He catches himself raising his voice and snaps his mouth shut, seething.*

*I glare at him silently.*

Stephen (looking at me before letting out an angry huff):  I’m going for a walk.  *He storms out the front door.  I just let him.*

*I’m trying to be patient, but am also hurt and angry.  Right now, I know I need to get this energy out.  So, I stomp into the backyard and furiously start tending to the garden, muttering quietly to myself.*

Me (low muttering):  “We don’t know anything”, huh?  *Rips out some crabgrass.*  How the hell did Christine put up with this for years on end?  *Roughly throws fistfuls of weeds into the green bin.*  

*I still care about him and, despite the circumstances, am happy to know that he’s actually real.  Though right now, I’m incredibly frustrated with the situation and irritated with the fact that he’s taking out his issues on me.  So, for now, I’m just letting my own anger out.  I’ll cool down in a while.  Meanwhile, Stephen is furiously walking through the neighborhood, hands shoved deep in his pockets.*

**To be continued**

[whiskerinthestars]

Chapter 6: Meeting the Unexpected

Urban Ascent

The midday sun was high, casting harsh shadows across the flea market. The gentle hum of people moving between stalls filled the air, though the heat made it hard to enjoy. October in the valley was supposed to be cooler, but record highs were still clinging to life, and I could already feel the sweat prickling beneath my shirt. It probably didn’t help that I’d been continuously activating that subtle charm throughout the day, pushing my mana outward, trying to sway the minds of anyone who passed by—it was getting exhausting.

I couldn’t help but want to sell that last picture frame before I left. I had already made $337 today, but call it a sense of completionism—like trying to find the last hidden trophy in a game so I could finally earn the platinum full-clear award. The handful of keychains I had left were another matter altogether. They were just bits of plastic I’d printed ages ago, but this tablet was my last “big-ticket item,” and I had subconsciously set selling them all today as my goal.

Suddenly, I noticed an old man walking toward my stall—a small figure, hunched slightly with age, wearing an unassuming beige shirt with khakis. It was the kind of outfit so plain that it actually drew your eye to it. I focused, gathering my energy, trying to charm him just as I had with all the others who passed by.

But he kept walking, seemingly unfazed by my efforts. Perhaps subconsciously, since my first customer was an older woman, I wanted to end the day by selling this last tablet to this old man. It resonated with me, falling in line with my ever-growing fixation on the cyclical nature of the world. Or maybe I was just hot, tired, and ready to get out of this heat since I hadn’t been smart enough to bring any kind of shade with me.

I furrowed my brow in concentration, pushing more mana into my aura. This time I imagined my charm settling over him like a gentle cloud, inviting and warm. The old man slowed as he neared my stall, but he didn’t glance at the keychains or the tablet—he stared straight into my eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, and then he smiled—a gentle, knowing smile.

“You’re about ten years too early to be trying that half-assed charm magic on me, kid,” he said, his voice soft but carrying a weight that echoed in the space between us.

I blinked, the shock evident on my face. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. How did he know? Is he also a…?

The old man chuckled, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “You must be completely new to this, huh? A self-cultivator, if I had to guess,” he continued, his tone not mocking but almost... fatherly. “You didn’t think you were the only one out there, did you?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course, I wouldn’t be the only one out there—how could I have been so stupid? With as many stories as there are online, and even before that, all the ancient Chinese literature these stories were based on—of course someone else had tried this before me. If cultivation is real, people must have been doing this for hundreds of years now, maybe thousands. What’s that old saying again? There’s no smoke without fire. So, of course, if there are stories, there has to be at least a kernel of truth to them.

The old man stepped closer, taking a seat on the folding chair I had brought with me, as if he belonged there. He gestured to the assortment of items spread out on the table. “Not a bad way to practice, I suppose,” he mused, “but you’ve got a long way to go.”

His gaze shifted back to me, piercing but not unkind. “Let me guess—you somehow discovered the practice of cultivation, and even though you initially wrote it off, curiosity got the better of you. You actually sat down and tried to meditate, only to discover it was real. After some minor success in circulating this energy, you decided to see what you could do with it?” He didn’t wait for me to confirm. “Happens to all of us sooner or later, but don’t get too ahead of yourself. Charm magic—or any kind of external technique—requires a foundation. You’re leaking qi like a sieve. That’ll burn you out faster than you realize.”

I felt my mouth go dry. Burnout? I hadn’t even considered that. Sure, I’d felt tired after a long day of practice, but wasn’t that normal?

“You need control,” the old man continued, his voice patient but firm. He reached for one of the keychains on the table and began to stack them, one atop the other, slowly and carefully. “It’s like trying to write with a broken pen. You’ll never get clean lines that way. First, you need to strengthen your Sea of Qi and bring equilibrium to all your meridians.” Each movement was deliberate, his hands steady as the stack grew taller. “Without a strong base, everything you build is fragile,” he said, gesturing to the sturdy stack.

Then, with a sudden shift, he grabbed another handful of keychains and began haphazardly stacking them, quickly and without care. The pile teetered after a few layers, and with a soft clatter, it collapsed. He gave me a pointed look. “Rushing ahead without a proper base…” He let the broken stack speak for itself. “And you might find everything collapsing around you.”

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my voice hoarse with curiosity.

He still maintained that same smile, but this time, there was something deeper in his eyes—a hint of weariness, perhaps. “Someone who has been doing this for a long time. But that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is whether you're going to keep stumbling around in the dark, or if you're ready to learn.”

The proposition hung in the air between us. Was he offering to teach me? To guide me?

“But why would you—”

��Why help you?” he finished for me. “I suppose you remind me of someone I used to know.” A hint of sadness flitted across his eyes, but just as suddenly as it came, it was gone as if it was never there. “Someone who was stubborn and lost, but insisted on continuing down the path he set for himself, stumbling along in the dark, along a path he could barely even see.”

“I’m not sure just how stubborn you are yet, but I can tell that you're lost. And more importantly, just like him, you have a good heart. You might be a bit reckless, running before you even learned how to walk, but you're certainly not malicious. Even as you doubled your efforts on me after failing the first time with your charm, you never turned hostile. Instead, you redoubled your efforts, trying to become even more inviting and warm—not forceful or demanding. That’s why I stopped, actually. You can tell a lot about a person by how they act when under stress, and even when your charm wasn’t working, you maintained a clear heart. You tried to win me over with kindness, not sheer power and force.”

He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Besides, if you keep going like this, you’re going to attract attention you’re not ready for. And trust me, kid, you don’t want that kind of trouble.”

A shiver ran down my spine at his words—trouble, huh. I should feel lucky that the first attention I attracted was from this old man—at least he doesn't seem to have any bad intentions. What if it had been someone else? Someone malicious? My mind flashed with thoughts of the world of cultivators described in those novels, of all the cruel and petty actions of those with great power.

Imagine if I had accidentally offended some cruel, powerful cultivator with my actions just then. Hell, I’m lucky that I didn't have any bad intentions toward this old man, or this could have gone a lot differently, and my journey would have been over before it even started.

I couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat at the realization of the danger I had inadvertently been putting myself in without thinking.

“So what do I do?” I asked probingly.

“First, go back and practice cultivating. Try to focus on removing those blockages throughout your body until you can circulate your Qi without any resistance,” he said as he began to stand up. “Then we’ll go from there.”

“But how do I contact you?” I called out to his slowly departing back.

“Where you found me the first time,” he said without turning around. “Come here again on the first Sunday of November, and I’ll see if you're worth teaching,” he replied, continuing to shuffle unhurriedly away.

“And don’t go drawing any attention to yourself before you’re ready to protect yourself,” he added. Even though he was already over ten feet away, his voice rang clearly in my ear as if he were right in front of me, but strangely, no one else around even gave him a glance. I don’t get it. If that wasn’t a shout, then what was it—some sort of technique?

“He didn’t even leave me his name,” I muttered to myself. But I guess that’s how all the wise old masters are in the books, aren't they? Mysteriousness seems to come part and parcel with this whole cultivation schtick.

Actually, now that I think about it, he called it my Sea of Qi, didn’t he? That sounds straight out of some fantasy novel. I guess maybe I’m the odd one for calling it a core, but honestly, it already feels fantastical enough without labeling it a Sea of Qi. Still, if that’s what he called it, maybe there’s more to this than I understand.

He’s right about one thing, though—I shouldn’t keep drawing attention to myself before I’m able to protect myself. He might seem like a kind old man, but who knows if he has some sort of ulterior motive. He’s still a stranger at the end of the day. I’d be stupid to put too much faith in him.

I should call it a day. I really did want to sell that last tablet, but I’ve already made plenty for today, and nothing good ever comes from being too greedy. I need to spend the rest of the day trying to break up those blockages throughout my body. Slowly but surely, like the old man said—I need to walk before I can run. I just need to take it one step at a time.

[rosewritesstoof]

My Life With my Vampire SO — Sleep Tight (Bite Bite)

Having a partner who is also a vampire is a… unique experience, to say the least.

Now don’t get me wrong — I love ‘em to the moon and back. I’m forever thankful they came into my life and decided to stay. Just imagining going about my days without them beside me is something I rarely entertain. But, just like with any relationship, there are gonna be some… things you gotta get used to.

One of said things sometimes occurs when we’re sleeping. Now, contrary to popular belief, vampires do not sleep in coffins. I know, shocker. It’s a commonly held stereotype about them based on the aesthetics of old generation vampires. Well, my partner did have this goth phase, but that’s their story to tell.

Anyway, as such, they usually sleep in a bed. Specifically, our bed. They used to have their own room with their own bed, back when we first moved in together, but you can imagine why that quickly changed.

Now, I love sleeping next to my partner. One of my favorite things to experience is waking up next to them in the morning. If I could live through one moment from our time together for the rest of my life, I think I’d choose that. The thing is, my partner likes to move in their sleep. Sometimes, it’s your average stuff, like flipping over, spreading their arms and legs, that kind of stuff. And sometimes…

Well, take the first time, for example. We went to bed, as normal, no problems. However, I wake up at some point — it’s still dark — to this prickly sensation on my left arm. I’m groggy, since I just woke up, so it takes me a bit to fully realize where I am and what’s going on. I look down at my partner and, uhhh…

Yeah, they’re, uh, they’re nibbling on my arm. They’re still clearly asleep, eyes closed and all that, but I guess they’re either hungry or eating in their dream, ‘cause they are just nomming down on it. Not enough to break the skin, thankfully. And I’ve gotta admit, they look so cute — holding my arm in their hands, their face almost pressed into my skin, making these slow mumbly sounds. However, the feel of their fangs poking my skin is not the most pleasant sensation. And I kinda want to go back to bed and all, so that ultimately means waking them up.

“Honey?” I asked, gently patting their head to try and rouse them from their slumber, “Sweetie? Love of my life? My cutie pato—”

I think my partner has a sixth sense for overly mushy pet names, even when they’re asleep. The mumbles turn to grumbles, and eventually their eyes flutter open to look at me.

“What?” they asked, irritated. Well, I’m 95% sure that’s what they said, since their mouth is still full. They seem to realize the situation too, and quickly unlatch themselves from my flesh.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” They whisper-shout, covering their eyes with their hands. It’s something they do when they’re embarrassed, like they can’t bear to look at the source of their embarrassment. It’s the cutest thing ever.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” I assure them, gently prying their hands from their face to hold them in my own. “Let’s just go back to sleep, okay?”

They pout at me, worry swimming in their eyes. “What if I bite you again?”

I think about it, then begin shifting down, bringing them with me, until we’re lying face to face. I caress their hair, guiding their head until it’s resting on my chest.

“Well, there’s no threat of nomming this way, right?” I ask, raising my eyebrow and grinning down at them, even though they can’t see.

My partner makes an unsure sound, but eventually relaxes into me, breathing deeply. I knew they couldn’t resist the sound of my heartbeat; it always works to calm them down.

We fall asleep like that, and don’t experience any more problems for the rest of the night.

And yeah, that’s how I usually work things out whenever my partner gets a little toothy at night. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s an easy fix. And it’s something I’m willing to go through, deal with every time, because I love them.

Loving another person isn’t always easy. I know there’s gonna be ups and downs in our relationship — it’s normal, and hell if we don’t have our fair share. Sometimes the issues can be solved quickly and neatly, like with my partner’s sleep-nomming. Other issues… well, they aren’t so easy to fix, and it can take awhile for things to truly settle down. I know all that, and I knew it when I accepted I was in love with my partner and wanted to be with them for the rest of my life.

But I guess that’s the magical thing about love, huh? You’re willing to go through anything, do anything — even if it’s hell, even if it would normally be impossible, even if it could hurt or straight up kill you. All so that you can sleep next to them. Wake up next to them. Hold their hands when they try to hide. Wake them up when they’re going to town on your arm in their sleep.

Maybe it’s less magical, and more scary, now that I think about it. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.���

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[mattzerella-sticks]

batfam and flashfam reaction to barry and bruce dating? or the league? or the ccpd's reaction that barry is dating BRUCE WAYNE? idk

sorry this took so long! work got in the way lol

old news.

Clark set his tablet down on the conference table, retaking his seat between Diana and J’onn. “…that was all Natasha uncovered from the artillery left behind after we scared the sellers away,” he explained, “she and John think they can figure out, though, where these weapons originated from, but that might take time.”

“Do we have time?” Bruce asked, “It seems like Gotham’s infested with these guns. Just the other day Oracle’s agents were caught in the middle of a crossfire between drug runners and Peacekeepers, both groups armed with this… alien gear.”

“Playing both sides?” Kendra suggested, leaning forward in her seat, “Is it one group looking to stoke chaos by fueling fire to already heated factions, or are we seeing two sellers from the same planet jockeying for control of the market.”

“Whether it’s one or two sellers coming from the same place we don’t know,” Clark told her, “But we do know that some of the weapons smuggling groups already active aren’t happy. From what Lois says, Intergang is having issues moving their merchandise because of the damage these newer weapons can do, and they’re running their own investigation into the matter.”

“So if Intergang isn’t behind this, then can we take Apokolips out of the equation?” Barry asked, sipping some coffee. That was his eighth, the other seven, empty, Styrofoam cups littering his table space. “Since Intergang and Apokolips are pretty tight knit?”

“We can’t rule Apokolips out as being behind these weapons, unfortunately,” Diana sighed. She grabbed her own tablet, tapping the screen. A holograph lit from the center of the table, highlighting the deathly, firepit ridden planet. “Though Darkseid and Intergang have a relationship, many members of the Apokoliptian court wouldn’t think twice about underhanded dealings that might benefit them. Or, possibly, Darkseid is betraying Intergang – taking out the middleman, so to speak. Testing new weapons we haven’t seen, spreading them across Earth so we’re distracted from other matters… until Scott and Barda tell us it’s not New God tech, we have to keep this possibility in mind, like the possibility that it might be magic –“

“I’ve made your concerns aware, Diana,” Clark said, “I’ve even put the Irons in contact with Kent and Khalid. We’re open to every possibility, which reminds me… Hal? Have you updated the League database with your latest ring files?”

Hal hissed, deflating, sliding down in his seat. “Not yet. Kinda got sidetracked by that earthquake in San Juan.”

“Why don’t you do that now, then,” Clark said, “as long as no one else has anything to add?” The remainder of their League remained silent. “Good. Then I guess we’re done.”

The team began shifting from business into a more relaxed attitude. Clark and Diana started trading stories about their weeks, having not seen each other since the last meeting. Kendra crept her way towards J’onn, hands sliding across his shoulders as she whispered something in his ear that made him smile. Arthur mumbled under his breath in Atlantean, disengaged with surface drama for the moment with something on his tablet.

Hal turned to Barry, nudging him with his elbow. “Hey,” he whispered, “I was thinking drinks. You in? Course, I need to get that file download, but that shouldn’t take long. If you want to wait –“

“No.”

Both Hal and Barry whipped their heads to where Bruce sat, the other man not looking up from his tablet as he spoke. “No?” Hal asked, “What’s it to you? I wasn’t inviting you.”

“I know,” he said, “but I was answering for Barry. He can’t get drinks with you because he has a prior engagement.” Bruce’s gaze moved from the tablet to Barry, a softer expression, foreign to his usual gruff demeanor, graced his features. “A reservation for two at Girabaldi’s, tonight, seven o’clock.”

Barry glowed, lightning crackling off his body as a sign Hal recognized of his friend’s utter delight. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Bruce shrugged, “figured it might be a change of pace given our last few dates.”

No one breathed at that moment. Time slowed, Hal noticing every Leaguer situated around the table pausing what they did. Everyone seemed intrigued with the current revelation happening before them.

Barry snorted into the dregs of his last coffee. “Well… rooftops can be romantic, but it was all starting to get a bit repetitive…” he said, “And having someone else besides me deliver our food is a definite plus.”

“Wait, hold on a second!” Hal interrupted their flirting with a glowing, green wall that separated his best friend and his colleague. “What is happening?”

“We were talking, Hal,” Barry hissed, jabbing him in the stomach, “Can you can it with the lightshow?”

Bruce hissed under breath, “Rude…”

“Sorry, sorry…” Hal replied, sarcastically, making the wall bigger and more ornate, “I guess the whole you dating freakin’ Batmanof it all kinda took me off guard.”

“Kinda threw us all for a loop…” Clark added. A sharp glance from Bruce cut him down a size, causing Clark to blush and stare at his lap sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

“Seriously,” Bruce rose, addressing the group, “none of you were aware that Barry and I’ve been dating these past few months?”

“Months?”

Sighing, pinching his brow, Bruce stood there for a beat. Then, he turned. His cape swooshed behind him as he exited. “I can’t believe this.”

Barry smiled at the others, shrugging, “We did think you all knew already, if it makes you feel any better?” He vanished from sight, too, not even bothering to clean up his litter.

Hal slumped in his chair, the green wall dissipating, almost as if it never existed. “Barry and… and Bruce? I can’t believe it.” He pointed at the door where the two men left, asking, “Seriously, did that even happen?”

“It did,” Arthur said, “It most certainly did?”

“Well, what do we do now?”

No one dared to speak, save Diana. She cleared her throat, steeping her fingers, carefully parsing through her words carefully. “We don’t do anything besides what we were already doing,” she said, “Which, for you, Hal, means uploading those files.” She collected her tablet, levelling a stern stare at the remaining Leaguers. “Understood?”

Everyone agreed. The others followed Diana from the room, leaving Hal by himself. He stretched out across the table, knocking into Barry’s empty coffee cups with a frown. “Barry and Bruce,” he muttered, “how the hell didn’t I notice… months! For months! Barry’s been putting up with Bruce’s ass for months!”

[radiosandrecordings]

I found the start of a script I was working on in.. apparently June last year. It was supposed to be for a podfic because I wanted to do my own travelling-to-the-safehouse fic but apparently this is as far as I got. I think it’s pretty good though so may as well post it. Left in all the ah... More creative notes I was apparently giving myself for direction.  [Tape clicks on] 

[Sound of two sets of footsteps on stone, reverberating around a confined tunnel. Possibly water drip?]

JON [Firm, but soft. Like a memory foam mattress.] Martin? Are you still with me?

MARTIN [As if distracted, snapping back to himself]  … What? Oh, yes, yes, still… Still here. Sorry it’s just- [He falters, struggling for the words]  Hard. With- With everything. It’s all a bit… [A pause. He’s making vague hand gestures with one hand.] A bit much. 

JON [Flatly] Oh. [Realising] Oh!- Do you- Do you want me to let go of your-

[Walking stops around here] 

MARTIN (OVERLAPPING)  [Firmly, almost panicked] No! Uh- No. No. This is… This is good. 

JON [Trying not to sound pleased. Failing]  Oh! Uh- Good. Good. 

[Several beats of silence as the walking starts up again]

MARTIN  … It’s grounding, really. Everything else is… A lot. Even breathing feels weird. I’m too… Hyper-aware. Of my own lungs. Not sure I breathed in there, not properly anyway. You just kind of dissolve into the background. Even yourself is too much company. Your whole body just kind of feels like a limb you’ve been sitting on too long, all the blood flowed out of it. So it’s… Nice. To have you. As a- As a focus point. 

JON [Muttered] Something to be said about anchors, and all that.

MARTIN  What was that?

JON Nothing, just a… Bit of a personal joke. 

JON (CONT’D)  Anyway. I think there’s light ahead, hopefully this should be the end of the tunnel. No idea where it’ll spit us out though. 

MARTIN Guess we’ll see. 

[Beat]

Just… Don’t let go?

JON  [Unbearly fond. Get it together, gayboy]  ‘Course not. 

[Tape clicks off]

[Tape clicks on] 

[They’re outside. There are outside noises. You know what those sound like, don’t you? I know you’ve been at home for 3 months but please. Please try and remember. Is there wind outside? Maybe a pigeon? It’s south bank there has to be pigeons. You remember pigeons, right? Also, river noises. Boat.]

MARTIN Are we at-

JON (OVERLAPPING) Southbank. Yes. 

MARTIN Southbank? But the river, we’d have to have- 

JON (OVERLAPPING)  Yes, I’m… Not quite sure the same physics applies, when it comes to those tunnels. They’ve spent more time being moved around by a Leitner than not. I think they end where they want to end. Bloody miracle we’re not halfway to Twickenham. Or still in London at all for that matter. 

MARTIN  ...Right.

[He absolutely does not get it] 

MARTIN (CONT’D) [He lets out a breath]  Can we just- Can we just sit? For a minute? 

JON  [Quiet]  Of course, of course…

[Movement as they make their way to a bench and sit]

[A seagull squawks overhead]

MARTIN  The sunrise is nice… 

JON  [Clearly not looking at the sunrise] Yeah, it is…

MARTIN  Do you have any idea what time it is?

JON  I’d say… Just coming up on seven.

MARTIN What, Beholding goes to the trouble of telling you that and it can’t even pin it to the minute? 

JON Martin, not to sound like the most stereotypical Englishman in the world, but we’re on South Bank. I just looked over at Big Ben. 

MARTIN Oh- Er- Right. 

[A sigh. He relaxes from all the wound up tension]

… God it really is just there isn’t it. Like, it’s one of those things that, if you didn’t grow up here, you don’t really get that it’s… Real, y’know? It’s like, you can see it every day and never quite get past the notion that it’s something that only exists as… Cheap, shitty fridge magnets and… And novelty t-shirts. 

… Does that make sense? No, no sorry I’m rambling-

JON (CUTTING HIM OFF) [Quick, reassuring]  No, no I get what you mean. 

[A pause. He’s searching for something to fill the empty air, desperate not to leave a silence between them. It’s only tangentially on topic, but it will do]

… I grew up in Bournemouth. Did I ever tell you that? 

MARTIN [Voice slightly shaky, but solidifying]  Not in as many words, no. I think you mentioned it, on a… Tape. At some point. Not directly.

[He hesitates] 

… Do you want to tell me about it?

JON [Hesitant. He may not have been Lonely, but he’s spent a fair amount of time trying to diminish himself] Only if you want me to. 

MARTIN But do you want to tell me about it?

JON [Meekly] … Probably not the best story for now, actually. Not terribly interesting. And when it is, it’s just a bit… Miserable, really. Childhood orphaning never really leads upwards in the ways Dickens would have you believe. 

MARTIN ...Some other time then?

JON [Stumbles slightly, as if shocked by the knowledge that there will be times that aren’t this. NOW YOU’VE THROWN HIM OFF HIS RHYTHM!]  Y-yes. Some other time. 

[Pause. 5 Seconds? Ambience. Sound of voices around has started to filter in.]

JON [Slow] I was just… I was thinking. About what- What Peter Lukas said, back in…  [With vehemence] There. And how it was… Partially true, in a way. We may not know each that well but… I’d like to change that. If- If you do. 

MARTIN [Soft] I would like that. 

[Content hum] 

… Tell me something non-miserable, then. 

JON What?

MARTIN About yourself. Something that isn’t, I dunno, doom and gloom. What about, mmm, favourite colour?

JON [Amused, mock scolding] Are you five?

MARTIN Humour me!

JON Fine, fine… Actually, no. 

MARTIN No?

JON  No, you tell me what you think it is. 

MARTIN [Under his breath] I tell you what I think…

[Contemplative] Okay. Okay. What is… What is Jonathan Sims’ favourite colour… You used to wear a lot of green around the office, dark jumpers and tweed jackets and stuff… But I’m half convinced you just thought it was a ‘professional’ colour, to match your fancy new job. I think it’s… I think it’s purple. 

JON [Surprised]  Purple? Why 

MARTIN When… When you were in the hospital… Georgie stuck some photos up on the wall next to your bed. Old ones, polaroids, but in a kind of artsy way since they clearly weren’t from anywhere before the 2000′s. They were you in uni, and you had this ridiculous purple streak in your hair. So… Purple. 

JON [Quietly mouthing the words along, not quite processing] Had a purple streak in Uni…

[Startled, just processed fully the implications] Wait, you met Georgie?

MARTIN  Not in the hospital, a bit later in the Institute yeah, but… That’s another story for later. No, we never met in the hospital, I never quite felt…

[Grimace] Up to company, when I was there.

JON Right, of course.  I remember that, though. Some time in my second year; I got a bit tired of people assuming I was a post-grad student and thought I’d try and dye my grey streaks purple. It fit in with the sort of… Aesthetic, I was cultivating at the time. 

MARTIN [Absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realise he’s saying it] I always liked your grey streaks.

JON [Shocked Pikachu but he’s got Dreamworks single raised eyebrow syndrome] Oh?

MARTIN [Oh shit, oh fuck, did I say that out loud] It’s just… Y’know. Nice. Not something you should want to hide. 

[Quickly changing the subject] … You didn’t answer though. Am I right or wrong? 

JON [Slow, amused. In a visual medium he’d be spreading his hands out] You got me.

MARTIN [Inordinately pleased] Really? Huh. Okay.  Guess mine. And no Knowing!

JON Oh, gosh, uhm… Yellow?

MARTIN [Hah!] Green! 

JON [Audibly :D because Martin laughed] Green? Why? 

MARTIN [Hummed] Mm, I dunno. Just something about it. 

[Volume of crowd has increased considerably now]

MARTIN [Slightly more nervous. The slight break in conversation gave him time to notice the people beginning to crowd around]

- 

I apparently didn’t get to include it in the script, but it was going to be a reveal later that actually, Jon doesn’t have a favourite colour. He just agreed because he wanted to make Martin happy. 

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 17}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

It had been a long day.

They hadn’t done jack shit, but a long day nonetheless, thanks to the run in with Tomas.

After eating lunch, Cassian had taken Nyx out to the pool, letting him float around in his little inner tube and splash in the water. He kept a close eye on him and he wasn’t sure he’d heard so many giggles from the little dude in months.

Not even fifteen minutes after they’d come out, Nesta decided to join them, though it wasn’t to play and splash like Nyx. No, she brought a book hat, and tanning oil, but Nyx squealed his delight when he saw her regardless.

After some goading and thinly veiled threats to splash her smutty book if she didn’t get in, Nesta relented and Nyx had the time of his life.

Until he got chlorine in his eye and had a meltdown.

Just like that, pool time was over, and after taking him inside and getting changed, Cassian was lounging on the couch while Nyx played on the floor.

Nesta started up the stairs and said, “I think I’m going to take a bath. Relax from…earlier.”

From that piece of shit Tomas and the things he’d said. Cassian wished he’d of at least said something, but he most wished he’d have throttled him.

Cassian simply nodded and Nesta was off, hurrying up the stairs and shimmying out of her bikini once she closed herself inside of the master bathroom.

She hadn’t been in the warm water with her eyes closed for five minutes before a horrid sound came from downstairs.

One word screamed at the top of Cassian’s lungs, her name.

“NESTA!”

For a moment, she thought she had imagined it. But, then he screamed again.

“NESTA!”

She shot up in the tub and was about to yell back, when she heard, “COME QUICK!”

Panic rose in the pit of her stomach as she jumped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her wet body as she threw open the bathroom door. “I’m coming! I’m coming! What happened?! What’s wrong?!”

“Come on, come on, come on!” Cassian yelled, but it wasn’t fear in his voice - only excitement. “Hurry, before you miss him!”

Nesta rounded the top of the stairs, and froze. A few feet in front of Cassian, on his own two feet, was Nyx, taking slow, steady steps toward his uncle.

Her feet carried her down the stairs in a flash and she was next to Cassian, on her knees, just like he was. At the appearance of his aunt, he grinned, those angelic cheeks rounding out and reached for her.

And he tumbled down.

“Shit,” Cassian muttered and lifted him back onto his unsteady feet, praying they weren’t about to have more tears. But the dark blue eyes that gazed up at him were not tear-filled, just wide and curious as always.

Taking a few more tentative steps, he reached them, leaning into Cassian, but a hand reaching out to take Nesta’s as he animatedly spoke in his own baby language.

“Good job, bubba,” Nesta cried, hoisting him up into her arms and crushing him in a hug. “Such a big boy.”

Nyx giggled and wiggled to be put down.

He wasn’t done just yet.

His feet hit the ground and he was off. He walked from Nesta to Cassian then back again. Every time he fell down, he got right back up and kept on moving.

“Look at you go, buddy,” Cassian laughed, catching Nyx as he made it to him.

“Think he’ll sleep good tonight?” Nesta asked, watching them both with a smile on her face.

“I hope so,” he chuckled, letting Nyx pat him on the face, grinning up at him.

He meandered back across the room, plopping down at his toys and began playing again.

“And I guess we’re done with that,” he laughed, standing up and shaking his head. “He finally walked.”

“Sixteen months,” she sighed, propping a hip on the side of the couch. “I was starting to think he’d never do it.”

“Me either,” he said, sitting down. He glanced up at her—and froze.

He’d completely forgotten she was wearing nothing but a towel.

“Didn’t we have a rule about coming down here nude?” Cassian asked, under his breath.

Nesta’s eyes darted to his. “Pardon?”

His eyebrows raised and he gestured to her towel, and Nesta looked down, as if she had completely forgotten that she was wearing it, too. “Oh, shit, sorry. I was in such a hurry to come downstairs-.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you-.”

“I could’ve put on something-.”

“I was screaming your name-.”

“Screaming my name,” Nesta repeated, her cheeks heating. Last time Cassian had screamed her name, it had been under very, very different context.

Although, she had been wearing little to nothing then, too.

The memories flashed through her mind, and from the way Cassian was watching her, she assumed that they were flashing through his, too.

She watched as his throat bobbed and his eyes left hers, dragging down her body as if he couldn’t stop himself. He met her gaze again and she felt her cheeks heating. Her cheeks, her ears, her neck, her entire body heated under that gaze.

“I’m going to…” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, towards the stairs. “Finish my bath, I guess.”

“Right,” Cassian replied, his eyes still on her. “I’ll put him down in just a few minutes.”

She glanced over at the baby as she backed up toward the stairs. Nyx was indeed starting to rub his eyes, and noticing Nesta’s attention on him, he yawned and reached for her.

Before she could cross the room, Cassian was on his feet and picking Nyx up.

“I can take him,” she protested, but he shook his head, not looking at her.

“You go relax. I’ve got him.”

Nesta cleared her throat and nodded, convincing herself to say nothing more as she hurried up the stairs, clinging to her towel.

She settled back into the bath, even though the water had chilled.

She couldn’t control her breathing.

She thought of that time when he’d caught her in the bath before, right after they had moved in, when he caught her doing intimate things with herself, alone.

Then she thought of the immense amount of pleasure that he’d given her, and how nothing and no one had ever compared to it.

Her heart began to beat a little bit faster, and a throbbing formed between her thighs.

She wondered if Cassian ever caught himself thinking about it, if he ever wanted to do it again.

Judging by the look in his eyes downstairs, the intense way he had been watching her…

Nesta pulled herself out of the tub.

She dressed and pulled her hair into a ponytail atop her head, but couldn’t decide if going downstairs would be a good or bad idea. She couldn’t decide if being around him right now was a smart decision, not when the thoughts in her head were so distracting she couldn’t even focus on the laundry she had neglected to fold for a few days.

Her phone vibrated where she’d plugged it in on her nightstand and Balthazar’s name lit up the screen.

That was another reason she couldn’t allow herself to entertain the thoughts constantly running through her head. She and Bal weren’t in a relationship, they were in no way exclusive and hadn’t had that conversation, but Nesta wasn’t the type to date—or in this case, sleep with—two men at once.

She could hear Cassian down in the living room again, no doubt cleaning up Nyx’s toys and settling down with a beer. She wanted to join him, wanted to curl up on the other side if the couch with a glass of wine and listen to him commentate whatever stupid show or game he was watching.

But she knew that wasn’t a good idea.

So she laid down on her bed, grabbed the book from her nightstand, and read until all of those emotions that Cassian made her feel faded into the back of her mind where she told them to stay.

*

The next morning, Cassian was on Nyx duty. Since he had the day off, the nanny didn’t have to come, which meant bro time.

First, they went for a jog along the Sidra where both Nyx and Cassian got their fair share of looks from the ladies. Turns out a cute kid was a great way to gain the attention of beautiful women.

On the way back home, Cassian decided to make a detour for some lunch, and ended up pushing the jogging stroller right into Nesta’s restaurant.

He knew where it was, and knew that Nesta was a damn good cook, but somehow, he hadn’t visited the restaurant in the over four months they’d been living together.

It was packed, to absolutely no surprise and when he walked in, he was greeted by an amazing array of delicious smells. Quickly realizing the stroller was going to be a hindrance, he parked it in the corner by the door and held Nyx as he made his way into one of the sitting areas.

“It’s open seating, so please, sit where you like.”

Cassian turned as a deep voice spoke from behind him. The man was watching him, and when he turned, his eyes fell on Nyx. Recognition lit them up for a moment, Nesta having brought Nyx into the restaurant more than once.

“Thanks. Is Nesta free?”

“Last I saw, she was helping out in the kitchen, but I’ll check. Take a seat and I’ll be back.”

Cassian nodded and the man was gone, disappearing through a swinging door to the back.

Indeed, Nesta was manning the grill, an assortment of sandwiches, meats, pancakes and other items sizzling around her. She was reading order tickets and communicating with her line cooks, and everything was exactly as it should be.

Until Helion was leaning on the wall next to her.

She groaned. “Tell me it’s not the lady who claims to find a hair in her food every time she’s here.”

The patron in question was in the dining room, a brunch buffet spread out before her and her friends. Her curly, red hair was piled on top of her head and without fail, she always seemed to find a lone, red, curling hair in her dishes, no matter what she ate and who was in the kitchen. Even though Nesta had no one in her employment with curly, red hair.

“Oh, no,” Helion said, his smirk growing. “There’s a handsome man out front asking for you.”

Balthazar.

Nesta groaned. Even though she didn’t mean to. “Let him know I’m busy, but I’ll be out in just a minute.”

“It’s not him,” he replied, practically singing the words. “This one has a very cute baby with him.”

She was moving before he’d finished speaking, hollering at one of her cooks to take up her place on the line.

When she went into the dining room, Cassian was sitting in a booth, Nyx in a high chair at the end of the table next to him.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Nesta crooned as she approached.

Nyx’s head whipped around at the familiar voice as Cassian looked up from his menu. Nesta was lifting Nyx out of the high chair when Cassian said, “We were out and about. Someone was hungry.”

Nesta chuckled. “Was that someone you or the baby?”

“Fine,” Cassian said, grinning. “Two someones were hungry.”

Nesta snorted as she kissed Nyx’s cheek. “Couldn't have cleaned up before coming in here?” She asked, nodding to Cassian’s damp t-shirt.

He shrugged his shoulder. “This was on the way home. You should be glad we graced you with our presence.”

“Right,” she laughed softly, sitting Nyx back in the high chair and buckling him in. “Any idea what you want?”

He was flipping through the menu, and honestly, every damn thing he saw looked delicious. He smiled up at her. “Surprise us. I can’t choose.”

Smirking, she took his menu and said, “Chicken livers and brussel sprouts, coming right up.”

He rolled his eyes as she walked away, but she entered their order into the system and returned to the table, sitting down in the empty booth seat across from him.

“He have a good morning?” She asked, holding Nyx’s outstretched hand and letting him grip her thumb. He shook her hand as hard as he could and grinned up at her, babbling excitedly.

“Aside from the blow out he had this morning, I’d say so. Which he found very amusing that I had to clean up” Cassian chuckled, rolling his eyes. “This is the only kid who laughs while he’s covered in shit, I swear.”

Nesta shook her head, laughing softly.

Cassian took the chance to look around. “This place is great, Nes. The only thing it’s missing is a bar.”

Nesta looked around with him and nodded. “I’ve thought about it quite a bit. Don’t wanna mess with licensing. I’ve already got too much on my plate around here.”

Cassian cocked his head to the side. “You just gotta get someone to run the bar, that’s all. You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know.”

Nesta looked back to Cassian. “Someone like you?”

“Handsome, smart, with a high knowledge of what it takes to run a bar?” He asked. “Yeah, someone like me.”

She narrowed her eyes and nudged his shin with the toe of her shoe. “Don’t get too cocky. If you decide to leave your bar and want a new project… Sure, I’ll add a bar.”

Cassian blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.”

Nesta shook her head. “I’m always serious.”

“At one time, I thought that was true,” Cassian muttered.

His shin got another nudge.

“I’m serious,” she repeated, with a quiet laugh. “Shockingly enough, you’d be one of the few people I trust to let into my management.”

He stayed quiet for a minute, long enough that she glanced at him from where she’d been looking at Nyx. He was chewing on his bottom lip and she had to physically restrain herself from reaching over and working it out from between his teeth. Feeling her attention on him, he looked at her, and said, “We’ll talk about it more at home, yeah?”

Nodding, Nesta replied, “Of course. But don’t just do it because I said something, I don’t want-.”

“I’ve actually been thinking about opening my own place for while,” he murmured, and then quickly added, “Not that this would be my place, it’s yours, of course. But I’ve got savings. I can help with any applications and licensing and renovations that need to be done. Not to mention, it would be an investment in a growing business. That always looks good in a portfolio.”

Nesta smiled. “Like you said, we’ll talk about it at home. I’m gonna go check on your food.”

“Please do,” Cassian said, waving her away. “I’m starving.”

With a roll of her eyes, she stood up and walked toward the kitchen, shoving Cassian’s sweaty head as she walked by him.

Helion was waiting by the kitchen doors. “Flirting, how cute. It’s like watching two horny teenagers.”

“Fuck off,” Nesta muttered.

Helion only grinned and followed her into the kitchen. “Admit it. You’ve got the hots for hot uncle.”

“I can fire you, you know,” Nesta said.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, right on her heels. “You’d be bored to death here without me.”

She didn’t need to bother telling him he was right. On either front.

*

Nesta was beat by the time she got off. It was an effort of will to make it home before she fell asleep, but as she parked her car in the driveway, she nearly sighed in relief. Cassian had said he’d handle dinner, so she knew that a glass of wine—and hopefully, an uninterrupted bath—was in her future.

She hadn’t expected to find Cassian on his hands and knees as soon as she came in the door.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and said, “Uh, hey. You’re home.”

“I am,” she replied, chuckling. “What are you doing?”

He hesitated before saying, “Playing hide and seek with Nyx.”

Nesta blinked. “Hide and-? Cassian, he’s one.”

“I left him on the floor with his toys and I went into the kitchen for thirty seconds to check on dinner,” he said, standing up.

She waited for him to go on, not understanding. And then her eyes widened. “You lost him?”

“He’s not lost,” he said, holding his hands up. “We’re playing hide and seek.”

“Cassian-.”

“He’s one, Nesta, he couldn’t have gone far-.”

“He walks now!” She cried, tossing her purse on the bench by the door and hurrying into the living room.

A giggle sounded from the other room, and they both sped around the corner where Nyx had made himself perfectly happy.

In the laundry room, Nyx sat in a pile of Nesta’s laundry, waving her underwear in the air.

As Nesta let out a relieved breath, Cassian chuckled. “Atta boy.”

Nesta whacked Cassian on the shoulder before picking Nyx up and freeing her panties from his grasp.

He immediately started crying.

“Way to take his toy away,” Cassian muttered.

Nesta shot him a look.

Cassian shrugged. “I would’ve cried, too.”

Nesta tried her best not to laugh, but failed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but the smoke alarm near the kitchen began to blare.

Nyx’s cries got louder and Nesta stopped Cassian, giving Nyx to him and hurried into the kitchen, pulling a pan of burnt French fries out of the oven and opened the back door and the door leading to the garage. She got a kitchen towel and was waving the smoky air away from the smoke alarm, and after a minute or two, the incessant blaring ceased.

Leaning back against the counter, she took a deep breath and looked at the doorway, finding Cassian standing there, Nyx still in his arms, though the tears had stopped. He was cringing, expecting her to start yelling any moment—.

But Nesta took one look at the charred French fries and started laughing. Deep, belly laughs that made her stomach hurt so badly she doubled over.

Cassian turned to the living room, getting Nyx set up in his playpen, and walked back into the kitchen, where Nesta was still laughing with her hands on her knees, trying to get air down.

“You find something funny, Archeron?” He asked, pausing in front of her. Even he was unable to stop the small smile on his face.

“French fries?” she asked, unable to catch her breath. “You— You burnt frozen french fries? How long have they been in there? Two hours?”

Cassian looked behind him at the clock on the stove and rubbed the back of his neck. “I like them crispy.”

“Oh, they’re crispy,” Nesta promised, straightening her back, small bouts of laughter still finding their way out. “They’re really damn crispy.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. He pulled a series of paper towels off the stovetop and revealed a tray of chicken nuggets and a pot of cooked broccoli. “At least I didn’t burn everything.”

“Chicken nuggets and broccoli?” she asked, her grin still wide. “Kids barely old enough to eat solids and we’re already having kid dinners?”

“Kid dinners?” Cassian repeated. “You’re lying your ass off if you’re telling me that you don’t enjoy a big ass plate of chicken nuggets.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her head. “They’re dinosaur shaped!”

“The dino ones taste better!” Cassian protested.

“We’ll see about that,” Nesta said, and just as she looked up at Cassian, she realized how close he’d stopped from her.

He couldn’t have been more than a foot away, but he felt much closer.

Nesta’s laughter died down, although that light feeling in the pit of her stomach remained.

One of his hands was braced on the counter she leaned on, and though he wasn’t caging her in, she couldn’t help but stare up at him.

“At least it’s not breakfast again,” she murmured, noting the way he was staring at her, too.

“You’ve never complained about my breakfast,” he said, swallowing roughly.

She tracked the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed. “Well, you’ve never burnt it, so.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and she knew he was trying his hardest not to smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but Nyx started talking from the other room, babbling and nonsense and baby language reaching them.

Cassian seemed to realize how close he stood to her and backed up a step, clearing his throat. “If you want to grab him, I’ll put some fresh fries in the oven.”

Nodding, Nesta said, “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m making them crispy, though,” he said, as she left.

Nesta snorted as she shook her head and lifted Nyx out of his pack n play. “Your uncle is nuts. Yes, he is.”

Nyx’s grin melted Nesta’s heart.

Forty minutes later, once the french fries were sufficiently crispy, the three of them were sitting at the table, eating dinner. Nesta didn’t mind it, not one bit, the fact that they sat there every night and ate together.

It was almost as if they were a family.

An odd, dysfunctional, interestingly beautiful family.

[royalnugget42]

Ok so now that I’m officially in the Resident Evil fandom here’s something

In the aftermath of the explosion in that little village, Ethan’s body is recovered. He is completely molded though, and has no memory except that he has a daughter named Rose, and he is sent to a secret facility to be contained and researched. He spends years being experimented on, poked and prodded and his regenerative abilities grow to astonishing strength.

He can regrow whole limbs now. He found this out the hard way, when the scientists started cutting off bits and pieces of him. Whole bones have been regrown from nothing but mold, though he has to eat a lot of rotten food to make up for it. His captors never tell him who he was or what he did, not even telling him his name, and referring to him only by Subject F-001, or Series F.

Their guess as to how he got like this without showing any of the homicidal tendencies of his predecessors is a mystery to them. Perhaps it is the memory of his daughter, perhaps it is his isolation from the rest of the molded, perhaps he just has something in his DNA. Whatever the case, when he is not being hurt he is resentful and angry, but never violent, nor does he seem interested in spreading the mold further.

It’s 16 years after they took him that funding starts to run out for the project. They’ve devoted all the time to research that they can, and now they must look to utilize him in other ways.

They begin with that question, of why he is different from the rest of the molded, retaining some semblance of his humanity. They can’t take his memory of Rose, though they’ve tried, and instead start to introduce foreign samples of mold into his diet, to see if he gains any of their traits.

Did they know what was left catalogued in the E-series mold? Did they realize that every infected soul has left a mark in that strain? Did they predict...no they couldn’t have. But they should have.

Ethan Winters goes to sleep and dreams of his wife. He doesn’t remember having a wife, how could he? But he supposes this must be her, she is lying in bed with him and calling him baby. This is Rose’s mother, and she is beautiful. But she doesn’t say his name. He doesn’t know hers.

When he wakes up he sees a little girl with black hair at the foot of his bed. She giggles at him, but runs when he calls out, vanishing through the concrete walls. When he mentions this apparition, the scientists dutifully catalogue the apparent hallucinations in their notes on him, but they do nothing to help him when he begs them for knowledge.

“Where is she?” he shouts into the stark, empty air. “Where is my wife, where is my daughter? Where’s Rose?” There is no answer. Just the buzzing of fluorescent lights and the quiet beeps of machinery.

The second dream is of a kitchen. Sunlight pours through the window, and the wooden floor is grimy, but only because it hasn’t been washed since breakfast yesterday.

There’s an old man at the table. His wife brings a meal to the table, and whatever it is smells delicious. Their son, it must be their son, sits off to the side, scrolling nonchalantly through his phone. Their daughter is gathering silverware.

They are the picture of an idyllic, loving family. They smile at him and ask him if he’d like anything more to eat, gently chiding him. He’s so thin, shouldn’t he have just one more helping? So he dutifully finishes off another, before declaring he is done. The old man turns to him.

“You’ve got to go back soon. When you do you’ve got to remember.” Remember what? He only remembers Rose, he doesn’t even know who these people are. They aren’t his family, he knows that, but in a warped and twisted way they also are. The edges of his vision are black with mold as they all beg him to remember, to break free, to be himself again. Zoe is the last to speak.

“I know you remember us. We live on in you, everyone does. We’re all counting on you, kid.” He feels like he’s too old to be called a kid by this girl, but maybe this girl is older than she looks. Maybe he’s younger than he thought.

The little girl is back. She doesn’t run this time, just stares at him. It seems she is waiting for a question, and it’s only as he realizes this that he knows what to ask. “Who are you?” he asks. “Who am I?”

She laughs at this, bright and sharp as glass. “I’m your daughter, of course! And you’re my daddy.”

Rose? Is this little girl Rose? But no, she isn’t. He’s not sure how he knows but he does. This girl isn’t his daughter, except she is, isn’t she? They’re connected. A family in reverse. He didn’t make her, not like he made Rose, but she didn’t make him either. He’s too new for that. How can he be younger than his daughter?

“Evelyn.”

She smiles at the recognition in his eyes. There’s fear there, but also familiarity. This is at least someone he knows. If she is his daughter, then he must be her father. That’s how it works isn’t it? All at once he feels like a part of his identity is locked into place. If he is a father then he has to protect his daughters, both of them. He must find Rose, and his wife.

She fades away before he passes out again. He dreams of pain, in his hand, in his legs. He dreams of terror and aching phantom memories. There’s a woman, tall and beautiful, with hands like long knives, her daughters all over him, many-legged. There’s a doll, there are so many dolls, and there’s a woman in mourning. A creature of water and filth confronts him, spewing out acid that burns in his mind. He talks to a man that moves metal without touching it. The man tells him to remember, tells him not to give up.

“You were always so stubborn. Don’t lose that. You’ll get those bastards yet.”

There’s a woman, and she has Rose. He kills her, and as she crumbles she whispers that she is finally with her daughter. She whispers to him that they are family, that they are both related and the same. He takes Rose from where she cries amongst the stones, and feels his hands fall apart.

Evelyn is a good daughter. When he is awake, he tells stories, about his dreams, about her mother. Evelyn tells him things too.

“You and mom tried to kill me, but I never knew why. I had a long time to think though, and I think I might’ve been a bad girl.”

For what it’s worth, he is sorry, but Evelyn shakes her head. “It was for the best, after all. You weren’t really my dad then.”

He doesn’t know what he is. The scientists call him series F, but he doesn’t know what that means. Evelyn used to be called series E. She says maybe his name starts with an F, but he knows that it doesn’t.

He’s different from Evelyn, but not so different that he is distant from her. Evelyn says that she tried to give him a gift, something she gave to lots of people. She gave it to his wife too, but she never gave anything to him.

“You have a gift too,” she says, “but it didn’t come from me. You made it all on your own. I came from this place, from these scientists, but you made yourself. It’s like you grew from nothing.”

Evelyn always wants to have more family, always wants to give more of her gift. She asks if Ethan is the same, and he realizes that he has never tried to give his gift to someone else. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He already has all the family he could ask for.

He dreams of his wife. Her name is Mia. He knows that now. His name is Ethan, and her name is Mia and they are family.

Scientists have been recording his conversations, and they’re growing concerned. Ethan spends so much time talking to his “daughter” Evelyn. They have realized by now that the E strain mold in his diet must have contained some trace of Evelyn’s consciousness, possibly along with others. They’ve stopped exposing him to it but it seems the damage is done. He asks for Mia and Rose at every waking moment that he does not spend talking to Evelyn.

They took a risk. They took far too many risks. Something happens one day, when a woman comes in to monitor his physical state. He was supposed to be sleeping, but the drugs wore off sooner than expected. He saw the woman through the door, and he begged her, to let him out, to bring him to his family. She ignored him. He pounded against the glass and she just rolled her eyes and took more notes.

Something snapped. No, not snapped. It twisted and warped and grew. It blossomed.

If this woman wasn’t going to let him see his family, then he would make more family. He would make her see his side, and once they were family she would have to help him. That’s what family does. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes. With every ounce of longing and loneliness he reached—

Agony.

[dreamsoflevi]

Love Was Not Enough | Part 1

Summary: A titan shifter is working in the Scout Regiment with a plan. Growing up with hate for Paradis takes a complete turn when falling for a certain Captain and developing friendships. Is it too late to make a change?

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: Some fluff, angst, mentions of violence, description of an emotional breakdown, stress.

Author’s Note: My first post on Tumblr! I’m so slow when it comes to using Tumblr lol. Starting off with an angsty story because it's raining and gloomy. It was supposed to be an one-shot but it ended up being super long. There will be 1-2 more parts. Hope you enjoy! ♡

You loved him.

You really did.

You still do.

When you first met him, you were surprised this was the person everyone was referring to when they would mention Humanity's strongest soldier, Captain Levi. His aloof and brash attitude would prove those thoughts drilled in your head about the devils in disguise living amongst the lands as you. He didn't care for anything and he wouldn’t hesitate to remind you of that. “You will become titan shit.” His exact words spat to your face. Who does he think he is?

You were exceptional at what you did, full of intellect and skills landed you on his squad along with a group of newer cadets. The 104th cadets. You were all replacements for his previous squad who were killed by the female titan, your comrade Annie during the 57th expedition. You were trained for this after all. You were prepared and you had a plan along with a few others. Secret glances, nods, and meetings were shared amongst you four any chance you could get.

You ended up befriending a few too. A shy yet wise Armin, an extremely passionate Eren, a wild and resourceful Sasha, and some others. A bunch of children putting their lives on the line for a better tomorrow, a hopeful future. Aren’t you doing the same too?

During expeditions, you would watch Captain Levi swinging through trees on his ODM gear, slicing through the napes of every titan he landed his eyes on. Now you understand why he is humanity’s strongest. Slicing through titans without a struggle and with immense strength and speed.

He'd frantically look around making sure the others were okay. He'd shout the names of his squad and any other names he could remember hoping to get a shout in return. The panicked look on this face when he would hear screams and race to the source of them. Maybe he does care. When returning to the walls, you could see him grimace watching the gates open only for it to quickly change back to his normal neutral expression.

-

“L/N!” A voice breaking your thoughts as you walk back inside the headquarters after training. You turn around to see Captain Levi standing behind you with a small stack of papers in his hand.

“Yes, Captain?” You wiped the sweat off your forehead with your sleeve.

“Are you doing anything after this?”

You shook your head. “No, sir. Do you need anything?”

“Yes. Deliver this paperwork to Commander Erwin. He should be in his office now.” He handed you the small stack of papers he was holding.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded your head grabbing the papers and walking in the direction of Commander Erwin’s office.

Approaching his office, you knocked on his door. You heard a deep voice respond and turned the knob to enter. Opening the door, you see the distressed Commander sitting at his desk. One hand resting on his forehead and the other scribbling away. He glances up and sees the stack in your hands.

“Ah, thank you (Y/N), I was waiting for these.” Raising his hand in anticipation of the papers.

You walked up to his desk handing it to him. “No problem, Commander.”

You look around his messy desk. Papers spread all around, empty teacups resting on the side, and two ink bottles sitting on his desk. Your eyes take a peek at his face, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair slightly messed up. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. No. You try shaking those thoughts away. They are the devils and we are paying for their actions.

But you take another look at him. Imagine being in his position. Are you aware of what your ancestors did, Commander? He’s shuffling through the small stack of papers that were just handed to him. You can see the squares and circles in the form of a large triangle. The formations. The lives and the future of thousands rest upon this single man’s shoulders. Of course, he has to spend hours on end meticulously planning the expeditions and making sure the formations are properly formed. A plan for a better tomorrow, a hopeful future. Don’t you want that too?

You internally sigh in defeat. “Um... Commander?” You nervously play with your fingers.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” He looks up at you, hand still holding the quill and the other now resting on the desk.

“Do.. do you need help? I just finished training and If you need help, I…” You bite your lip, your nerves getting the best of you as his eyes remain in contact with yours.

The curves of his mouth turn upwards. “If you can, please.” He gestures to the seat in front of him.

You flash him a smile, nod your head and take a seat. He hands you a stack of papers. “For these, you just need to write today’s date under the line where it says date received. Then organize them alphabetically.”

That’s where you found yourself at least twice a week. Helping the commander out whenever you could, organizing his paperwork, and filling them out whenever he needed you to. Sometimes you would work in complete silence. The sounds of pens scribbling, paper shuffling, and the sips the Commander took of his tea. Sometimes he would tell you a little story about his life and of his childhood. He would speak of his father being a major inspiration in his life and the reason he pushes forward every day. He had a sudden death, though the Commander never told you why, you can imagine it was a traumatic one for him.

A couple of months pass by and you are now sitting in the Captain's office. Coming into Commander’s office one day and seeing his surprisingly organized desk for once and him telling you that he didn’t need any assistance today. However, Captain Levi might need help with the reports from a previous expedition. Nodding your head and giving a quick salute, you made your way to Captain Levi’s office.

Working with Captain Levi was soothing. His office was very neat. Paperwork in his office sitting on his desk in organized piles. You can smell the faint scent of lemon which was refreshing. You visiting his office became a more frequent occurrence since he appreciated the assistance he would receive though he’d never tell you that. He would have a stack ready for you set up on the side table in his office. He was not much of a talker like Commander Erwin nor was he someone who reminisces his life it seems.

However, you would still have conversations here and there. He would ask about how you were feeling with training and if you dared to complain about the exercises he was giving, he would simply tell you to get better with the exercises or get eaten. Then realizing his bluntness and the silence that filled the room after, he would elaborate on his statement.

What he means is, he would say, these exercises help with increasing stamina and balance that will aid us on the battlefield. Outside the walls, anything can happen. Titans pop out of nowhere catching you off guard and little mishaps like getting tangled, being too slow, or even aiming your anchor wrong can lead to a fatal mistake. You could agree with that.

“(L/n), why did you decide to join the scouts?” He asked without looking up from what he was doing.

You stilled for a second and looked up at him. His eyes were still on the paper in front of him. This question always catches you off guard even if you rehearsed it so many times. It makes you nervous and vulnerable as if the person asking can see right through you and your facade.

“Same reason as everyone else, sir.” He glanced at you now and you immediately looked back down at the paper in front of you. You tried to avoid as much eye contact as you can.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“F-freedom.. from the titans.” You heard a scoff.

“Now you sound like Eren.” He was still looking at you. You dared to meet your eyes with his. He still had a stoic look on his face but there was curiosity simmering in his eyes. He was waiting for an answer. You had no choice but to give one. How would you say it though? You don’t want to lie. Captain Levi can be very perceptive and you’re sure he could see through your facade.

You bit your lip. “I… I want a better future for myself, my loved ones, and future generations. All my life, I’ve experienced confinement and.. oppression. But I have been given the power- er, the opportunity I should say to aid in defeating our e-enemies and... and I hope to accomplish that to live a more liberating life.”

He remained in eye contact with you without saying anything. The silence was deafening in the room and you hoped he would say something. Each second of silence was building the temperature in your body as your nerves were starting to get the best of you. Your chest was burning and you could feel a bit of sweat forming on your scalp. Did you say the wrong thing? Or maybe you said too much? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Your lips parted in anticipation to say something. But what else were you going to say? Before you can process what you are going to say, he hummed and looked back down at his work.

“You are right. We all have the same reason, more or less. To break out of these confined and oppressive walls and defeat these shitty titans. Whatever is out there must be better than what we live in now.”

You internally sighed. It’s not better but hopefully, it will get better. I guess we have the same mission, just different targets. You and everyone else here being mine Captain. You felt your throat dry up. Can you imagine killing these people? Watching Captain struggling on his last breath? Commander Erwin? Hange? Connie, Sasha, Jean, Armin? But your ancestors... Now you are suffering because of these devils.

Shaking your head of these thoughts, you try to focus back on the paper in front of you. “Ar-” You cleared your throat. “Armin believes there’s a sea out there.”

He snorted. “That kid and his shitty dream...” You could see a hint of a smile forming on his face. “Who knows, maybe there is.”

You come to realize that he’s not rude, he just doesn’t know how to express himself. His actions speak louder than words and you can’t help but grow a lot of respect for him. But he’s still a devil. But he has a heart and he cares for every single person in this regiment, including you. It doesn’t matter. They caused your people pain and betrayed them.

-

A perk of being on Captain Levi’s squad is getting to sit on meetings planning the expeditions. Commander Erwin would call these meetings for input on observations made from previous missions. Armin enthusiastically shares what he learns from the missions. Plans are being formed around Eren and his abilities. He’s learning new things about what he can do every day and recently he learned about hardening abilities from Annie. Working with Hange to train how to harden properly to be able to plug walls in the future.

They have no idea though. No idea what is beyond these walls, where these titans come from, where do they go, or anything else. They are risking their lives for the answers, the answers that you already know.

Walking through the dark hallways, you step into the mess hall. There sitting on a table in the dimly lit corner were Reiner and Bertholdt. The ones on the mission with you alongside Annie.

“Where have you been lately?” Reiner asked as you sat down on the bench. You usually had these meetings at least once or twice a week, but since Annie was captured, things have gotten more hectic. In fear of getting caught or being busy with so many tasks, you haven’t had the chance to meet with them as often as you should.

“Sorry.. I’ve just been swamped with training, meetings, and helping the higher-ups with their paperwork.”

Reiner narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with them lately.”

“Yeah but I’ve managed to learn a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Eren is close to figuring out his hardening abilities. Hange had taken the sample from Annie but she didn’t get far with that. Now she and Eren are working together to see how Eren can unlock his own ability.”

Reiner hummed. “If Eren learns how to harden, he could start landing attacks on me. He’d still be no match for Bertholdt though.”

You nodded in response. There was an awkward silence. No one had much to say which was a huge difference from before when you had to plot your next moves and practice your stories together. Usually, Reiner was the one who would come up with the plans and assign tasks to the rest of you three. This was before the fight between Eren and Annie. You didn’t expect Annie to lock herself into the crystal.

You looked at Reiner who seemed to be deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”

He sighed. “I think another attack is coming soon.”

Bertholdt and your eyes widen. “Are you sure? Isn’t it a little too quick, Reiner?” Bertholdt wearily asks. You nod your head in agreement.

“They already have Annie. We need to get Eren and try to get Annie out of there as well.”

“Yes!” Bertholdt interjects. “We do need to save Annie.” Bertholdt always had a soft spot for Annie. You have an inkling he has a crush on her because he gets flustered and avoids the topic every time it’s brought up.

You don’t know if you’re ready for another attack. The last one was devastating. The fight between Eren and Annie destroyed so many homes and lost lives. Children losing their parents, parents losing their children, lovers lost… It is heartbreaking. You don’t know if you can stomach another attack at this point. What are you saying? That is what you’re here for. You need to do this for your people back home. You let out a long exhale and close your eyes.

“It bothers you too, doesn’t it?” You open your eyes to Bertholdt looking at you.

“They are people… just like us.”

You nod your head meekly. “Just like us.” You repeated in a whisper.

Reiner sighs. “And they have no clue what is happening.”

“No clue.” You and Bertholdt breathe simultaneously. You three sit in silence, all three of you lost in your own thoughts. Why did it have to be us?

-

During training you noticed Captain Levi limping a little more than usual. Since the 57th expedition, his leg has been in bad shape. He still supervises your training and some days, he can walk properly and some days he’s limping. You turn back to your task at hand, slicing through the titan dummies set up.

“(Y/n)! Straighten your back!” He yells from the field and you obey, straightening your back while you and Connie swing to the titan dummy.

“Oi Sasha! You have to aim your anchors a bit higher!”

“Mikasa, don't go too fast!”

The comments usually went like that for the entire training session. Watching all of you train and critique your performances. You’re not going to lie, it was a pain in the ass. But you noticed it does help you outside of the walls. Captain Levi is good at what he does. He’s perceptive and knows exactly what to do and when. He is a natural titan killer. Being able to take down small to abnormal and maybe even ones like you. After you were done, you all were panting and sweating while walking back to the field.

“Phew! That was some training today,” Connie wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

Jean clicked his tongue. “That was nothing! Probably too much for you right Yeager?” He smirked at Eren.

Eren rolled his eyes. “You wish, Jean boy. That’s why you’re drenched in sweat.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

You all groaned as Eren and Jean started arguing for the fifth time today. The first two times Armin tried to interject to try and diffuse the argument but at this point, even he gave up.

“You’re on Yeager. After dinner, we’ll have an arm wrestling match.”

“After dinner,” Eren confirmed. “Don’t horse around Kirstein.”

“Shut up titan freak.”

“Are you ladies done bickering?” Captain Levi glared at them with his arms crossed. Eren clicked his tongue and Jean muttered under his breath. Captain narrowed his eyes at them, a warning to fix their attitudes. They immediately straightened their backs.

“Yes sir!” A few of you silently giggled watching them get scolded by Captain Levi.

Watching them with a smile, you loved the banter between Eren and Jean. Despite the arguments, you know deep down they have respect and admiration for one another. It’s distinctly shown during battle when they are looking out for another. Even during Eren’s fits of rage, Jean is understanding and never attacks Eren for his impulsive decisions. He might get a little bit of teasing though.

They were very friendly with you too. Always giving you a pat on the back or a cheesy grin whenever they see you. Looking back at you when riding through the gates to make sure you’re okay or screaming your name to make sure you are fine when fighting titans. And let’s not forget Jean’s flirty nature. His love for Mikasa is strong but he can’t help it when he sees any walking and breathing female. Just kidding. He’s not that girl crazy.. maybe. It’s too soon to decide that.

I think another attack is coming soon. You heard Reiner’s voice suddenly appeared in your mind. You suddenly started feeling a bit nauseous. Another attack on these people. These people you are considering your friends. You felt the salty taste in the back of your throat. Trying to calm your nerves, you took some deep quiet breaths. It wasn’t helping. It was getting harder to swallow with your throat tightening. You silently walked back hoping no one starts a conversation with you. As soon as you get back, you were planning on taking a very, very cold shower.

Grabbing your clothes, you ran into the showers. Breathing hard and with shaking hands, you turned the shower knob. The cold water hitting you and startling you for the first few seconds. You can’t. You can. You can’t. You have to. But these people, you can’t do that to them now. Not when they are just started to grow on you. They were normal people with normal feelings. They’re not… devils? Yes, they are.

You remember the attack in Trost. The chaos that spread through the walls. These same cadets hopelessly try to fight the titans. You were all newly graduated. Thomas getting eaten by a titan. Screams and cries filled your ears along with the sounds of loud thumps and bone-crunching.

When you were discussing things with Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie, poor Marco being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How devastated Jean was losing his best friend and not knowing ultimately it was you three that led to his death. Not only his but everyone else’s. The way Armin looked when Eren sacrificed himself to save him.

Can you do this again?

A sob escaped from your throat. Tears flew down your cheeks getting mixed in with the water. You are no different than them, aren't you? The blood of these innocent lives on your hands. But they were the reason for all this, no? Except they don’t know. Is it justifiable blaming them for something that happened so many years ago? While you are oppressed by the Marleyeans, they are oppressed by these titans. Aren’t you any different from the Marleyans then? Punishing innocent people for things out of their control?

Leaning your head on the tiled wall, you needed to make a decision. Whose side are you on? No, whose side do you want to be on? Do you want to continue the same treatment you received? Do you want to be the reason a child loses their mother? Their father? You need to make a decision and make it quick. You grabbed the soap bar and cleaned yourself off. You will make a decision. You just need time.

After your shower, you remembered you were going to go to Captain Levi’s office to help him with his paperwork. You also remembered how he was limping badly today. Before going into his office, you decided to make a trip to the infirmary.

Asking the nurses for some balm for Captain Levi’s leg, you grabbed a small jar and made your way to his office. What’s the reason for this? Are you trying to relieve some of the guilt eating away at your conscience?

Entering his office, he offered a small greeting before pointing to the paperwork that needed to be done today. Before getting seated at the table, you walked over to his desk and held out the small jar. With an eyebrow raised, he looked at the jar in your hand.

“It’s for your leg. You were limping today and I thought this might help sir.”

He took the jar from your hand. The curves of his mouth turned upward, not enough to call it a smile since he hardly ever did. “Thank you.”

Thank you. You felt your heart flutter. You barely hear words of acknowledgment from him and you can’t help but feel happy that you were on the receiving end of them. So what? Why do you care? Because you do admire him. After all, he was your Captain and you respect him. And he is looking nicer than usual in his black suit and cravat. What? Are you okay? You’re just acknowledging his looks. It means nothing-

Wait, he said thank you. You need to answer him instead of disputing with your own self.

“It’s no problem.” You smiled at him and walked over to your seat and began working.

-

That is how things went for a while. You have been avoiding Reiner and Bertholdt any chance you can get because you were unsure of how to explain the inner turmoil you are having with yourself. You are close to walking away from it all, officially dedicating your heart to the Scouts, to Commander Erwin, to Paradis. You are willing to throw it away. Your family, friends, and everyone else back home. They don’t understand what you’re going through. The struggle you are facing. It’s easy to be on the other side of things but when having to see these losses head-on, it’s gut-wrenching.

You managed to get even closer to everyone. Sharing laughs and jokes with your squad during breakfast and dinner, working with Commander Erwin more closely and offering suggestions when he’s planning the formations, engaging in more conversations with Captain Levi, and even spending time in Hange’s office.

“Oh! Hello again (Y/n)! Guess what Eren is doing today!” Hange exclaimed while wrapping her arm around Eren’s neck. Eren holding onto her arm trying to relieve some pressure on his neck.

“What is he doing today?” You gave Eren a little smirk.

“Drinking a lot of water. We’re testing out his pee!” She shoved a large canteen into Eren’s chest.

“Pee? Wait, why?”

“Because Eren, we’re tested your blood but we haven’t received consistent results. So we are going to try your bladder. So drink up! We need at least a liter.”

“A liter?!” Eren squeaked.

Hange cackled. “A liter indeed!”

“(Y/n), do you want to help Eren out?” She flashed a grin at you.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “What do I have to do?”

“Just make sure he drinks this entire canteen of water. And if he doesn’t..” her smile dropped and she grimly looked at you, “Force him.”

Eren managed to drink the canteen of water and he also managed to give a liter of urine samples. Unfortunately, Eren had to run to the bathroom every half hour for the rest of the day. This resulted in a very irritated Captain Levi and a snickering Jean.

“What experiment did four eyes do on the shit head today?” He asked you when you walked into his office.

“She needed urine samples from Eren so she forced him to drink an entire canteen which is a gallon of water in one hour.” You grinned while grabbing your stack of papers.

He cringed. “Poor Eren.”

You snapped your neck to look at him in shock. “Did you just have sympathy for someone, Captain?”

“Oi, shut it. Don’t get mouthy with me.” He teasingly pointed a finger at you.

You snickered, taking your usual seat at the table. “I mean… It’s Hange. I always have sympathy for anyone who works with her. Look at poor Moblit.” He chuckled.

His chuckle rang through your head. He chuckled. You quickly caught your thoughts and felt heat rushing up to your cheeks for getting flustered about him chuckling. Why are you feeling like this?

“Captain, what’s the occasion? I don’t think anyone has ever heard you laugh.” You grinned at him.

“That wasn’t a laugh.” He immediately responded while scribbling on papers.

“Fine. A chuckle.” You rolled your eyes and began shuffling through the papers and organizing them.

“Well feel special I guess. You heard your captain chuckle.” He mockingly repeats the word in your tone.

Special. You smile. I do feel special.