#my graphics: a little black box with a blinking light

[eleni-cherie]

among thieves ✨ || bts • pjm

- chapter 0.1

"what even am I to you? your rival, your lover, an obstacle or am I supposed to be your coffin?"

about two thieves who can't live with nor without each other. and a joint past that comes back to threaten them.

© 2023 | eleni_cherie

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masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, very flirty jimin, friends/rivals/exes to lovers f2l e2l ex2l

all members play a role in this story!

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

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present

Vienna, Austria

Arabella felt her head heavy and throbbing as she laid her hand on her forehead. Did she fall asleep? Her eyes fell on the clock on the wall and she breathed out a low grunt. It was way after 2am. She was supposed to get the job done an hour ago.

With a groan she forced herself to sit up, everything around her spinning for a moment before it all fell into place. She had been laying on the floor of her ranted apartment - a cover up to be closer to her target. The pizza box beside her was still open with the half-eaten piece of cheese pizza inside, the way she'd left it before an unexplainable tiredness had overcome her. A shiver crept up on her then, goosebumps rising on her skin when a light breeze coming from the dark night outside hit her. The balcony doors were wide open, she realised. And her eyes grew wide. It can't be.

She immediately stood up, legs wobbling a little from her deep slumber and went out. It was silent at the backyard of the apartment buildings. Only a stray cat pushing a can disrupting its peacefulness. A rope was tied on the balcony railing, dangling in the wind all the way up to the window of the building diagonally from hers. The wind blew again, tousling her waves and she tucked them away into a high ponytail with a huff. This damn -

Grabbing the zipper of her hoodie, she got rid of her clothes in a swift move, revealing the tight black attire she had been wearing underneath. She pulled out her extra layered gloves and slid them over her hands before hooking her belt to the rope and swinging herself onto it. With crossed legs and a tight grip she began pulling herself up to the other apartment's window. When finally reaching it, she unhooked herself and pushed the ajar window open and climbed inside. 

"Sedating me to preempt me. Quite rude and not very gentleman-like of you," she puffed out a blow of air. Crossing her arms over her chest upsetly as her eyes stared at the other thief with an angry glare. It hadn't been difficult to figure out who had been behind this after all, her first assumption proving right.

A short laugh escaped the man's plump lips as his hands paused from working on the safe. He heaved his cheek from the cold metal then, facing her with a bright smile. "Oh darling, Bella, I'd never try preempting you." "Save your breath, Jimin," she snorted, not believing him one bit. After all it hadn't been the first time one of them used unfair methods on the other when they happened to be after the same thing. "You were the delivery boy, right?" "Indeed," he faked a sigh then, wiggling his head, "Kinda disappointing you didn't recognise me under the disguise. Guess my disguises are just that good, huh?" She rolled her eyes at his cheeky grin, choosing not to comment on it. Partially because she felt embarrassed with herself for not foreseeing this happening, partially because she didn't want to feed his ego any more. "I like your new hair by the way, it suits you," he said then before focusing back on the safe, adding with a smirk to himself, "Makes you extra dangerous and hot."

She blinked confused before processing what he meant, remembering he hadn't seen her with her current hairstyle yet. Blazing red colour and bangs. She clicked her tongue, only mumbling a "Thanks" though. About to proceed further into the room when Jimin abruptly held his hand up, signing for her to stop. "You might wanna rethink that, love." He pointed at the corners of the luxurious furnished office room. It was dark so she could clearly see the red dots coming from the laser alarm system. "Thought you had disabled any alarm system." "Let's say I was too lazy to diable them all." She hummed and zipped down her black leather jacket, taking out a small spray bottle from between her chest and spraying its content. And indeed, red laser beams were crossing through the whole room. "How did you cross them without disabling them?" He laughed under his breath and winked at her. "You should know how flexible I am," he smirked and pressed his cheek against the cold metal again, making her audibly snort.

Arabella was used to Jimin's overly high self-esteem and flirting, it wasn't anything new and part of his charm some might say. Still, he had stunned her to get to the document before her, offending her ego and thief honour. She observed his expression turning back into a concentrating one, brows furrowed as he was trying cracking the safe. It was a rather old school one. The type you had to spin around the wheel and listen to when it clicked. But that was all a cover. Because as soon as he discovered the last digit, a small display appeared. Asking for a key card. "Good I came prepared," he chuckled to himself and pulled out the needed key card from his blazer's pocket. Or well, the key card copy he got with the help of a skimmer while pretending being a bank clerk the other day.

The safe clicked open as soon as he scanned it and he opened the lid. Revealing the document of importance they both were after. "Guess my job here's done," he said as he folded it and slid it into his jacket. Ready to leave when an electronic voice was suddenly being heard, coming right from the safe. The voice had behun counting down from sixty and both exchanged a startled look. "What the - did you touch anything?" Arabella squealed panicked. "No! I swear I didn't!" he defended himself, "Maybe you touched a laser after all!" She scoffed, crossing her arms. "I didn't! Thank you very much!" Jimin faced the safe again, trying frantically to find a way to stop the countdown, not knowing what would happen when it reached zero. And he also wasn't keen to find that out.

"Well, bye bye then." The dyed redhead was ready to hook herself on the rope again and slide it down to her ranted place when hearing Jimin audibly gasp behind her. "Aw, c'mon, love. You won't leave me here hanging, right?" He was giving her his sweetest smile despite knowing very well that those cheap tricks wouldn't work on her the same way they did on other women. Not only because she had already been used to them, but also because she herself was a master of them. So he gave up when seeing her persisting unimpressed expression. "Fine, fine. Then leave me behind. Wouldn't be the first time anyway. But how about I'll give you that in exchange for your help?" His hand disappeared inside his jacket before tugging out a golden necklace he had snatched from the safe. The shiny chain dangling from his fingers. And just as expected, he saw her brown eyes widening. 

Of course, he thought, that always worked.

"How about you give me that and the document, which is my actual mission." His brow arched. "Mission, huh? So who gave you the job?" "None of your business." And with that she swang herself over the rope and let herself slide back down. "Bella-baby!" he called out, completely forgetting about the lasers. His hand already interrupting a beam when realising, an alarm going off along with the countdown that was nearing ten now. "Crap," he muttered and quickly ran to the window, also hooking himself on the rope. The shril noise interrupted the quiet night, dogs started barking from afar and lights got turned on one by one in the neighbouring buildings and apartments.

As soon as he reached her balcony, he pulled with all his force on the rope, untangling the hook and quickly collected it. He shut the balcony doors behind him then in time before any neighbour managed peeking outside and possibly seeing him. With a dragged out breath, relieved they made it out in time, he pressed himself against the glass. Only to suddenly grow weak, succumbing to the ground. His eyelids felt heavy, the image of Arabella stepping into his view and bending over his numb body was only a blur.

"Oh, Jiminie.. I'm sorry, but you kinda forced me," she pouted. Her voice gentle when her face hovered over his, brushing a strand off his face before her hand wandered over his soft cheek to his neck and down to his chest. Disappearing under his jacket, only to appear again seconds later with a piece of paper between her fingers. "Call it revenge for the drugged pizza. I'll see you soon," she smirked then and pecked his lips before disappearing from his sight. And everything turned black.

He didn't know how long he'd passed out, only realising he was in the backseat of his car when gaining consciousness again. He forced his eyes to open, seeing blurry buildings and lights coming from outside the window as the vehicle rushed down the streets. "Shit." "I'd say so. We only saw Arabella waving us goodbye before she drove off on her motorbike. What happened? Did she outwit you again?" He turned his throbbing head, recognising Yoongi on the passenger seat. "Well , you see," he chuckled then and attampted to sit up. His body still weary from the injection. "Let's say Bella didn't like the pizza." The older guy just shook his head, laughing dryly. The usual composed expression on his features remaining. "Told you it was a dumb idea." "So let me guess," Taehyung, who was driving the car, spoke up then. Irritation evident in the tone of his deep voice, "She also got the document." "I feel offended," Jimin frowned, putting a hand on his chest to mock offence, "You should know I always go prepared to heists." And with that a piece of paper appeared in his hand which he had pulled out from his sleeve. "The one she got was obviously a fake copy of it." His friend heaved a sigh in relief, seemingly relaxing and nodded. "So she got a fake one," he grinned, "She'll be furious when finding out."

Jimin shrugged, his gaze wandering out the moving scenary. "Well, that's how it is between us. She should know me by now."

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Jimin shouldn't feel bad about it. At least that's what the guys were telling him when that video appeared in his inbox the next day.

It was true, Arabella tended to betray him and leave alone with the loot more often than he could count on two hands. Yet, he forgave her every time. After all the times Arabella had dumped them, he'd never be able to hold a grunge against her because he could not not forgive that bewitching woman. This was how she was. A true thief. 

And loot was not the the only thing she'd stolen from him during all these years they had known each other.

Besides, he knew she'd never leave him behind if there was actual danger. She'd never abandon him in a hopeless situation where he couldn't escape from. No, she'd never do that. Arabella might be cunning but she wasn't ruthles. Like that previous night. She knew Taehyung and Yoongi must've been close by since they were literally his partners in crime and would certainly get him out of there in time, before cops arrived.

And that was why he couldn't help but feel guilty right now. And even offended. 

He tapped on the desplay of his phone again, the video playing from the beginning. And his heart ached anew when the woman he adored appeared on the screen, harrard looking and tied on an armchair. Her clothes were torn at some parts, hair dishevelled and the usually lively hazel colour of her eyes dull.

"So Jimin, you really got me this time with your little attics," she weakly smiled. Heaving her head more to reveal a silver collar around her neck. Green and red lights blinking on it and his jaw clenched. "Unfortunately my client didn't find it as amusing as me, so.." Her voice was breaking at the end, sounding almost pleading. "If you could drop off the real document, that'd be great. Or well you know I could also ask another thief for help. I heard Chat Noir is really good. Perhaps better than you, who knows." She shrugged and looked away. Despite her attempt of acting cool and non-chalant, he could tell she was frightened. The brief moment he caught her squeezing her eyes shut before the video abruptly cut off, was enough for him to know that this wasn't a trap or joke. She was in trouble.

And he went over the message attached to it.

"West Inn Park House 10pm"

There was no need for more info. He knew what would happen if he didn't obey, judging from the fact that silver collar was more than just a nice accessoiry.

Sighing, he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back. Staring at the white ceiling with a blank expression. How dare she thinking that someone else but him could save her. That offended him indeed.

"You're gonna do it, aren't you?" "Obviously, do I have a choice?" He turned to face Yoongi who was sitting cross-legged on the couch opposite to him. His arms folded, hugging his katana close to his chest. "And how do we know this is real and not fake?" Taehyung inquired from across the room. "This could be a setup. You should expect anything from this woman." It wasn't a secret that his friends didn't like nor trusted Arabella, rightly so. And they couldn't comprehend why Jimin was so head over heels for her either, seemingly forgetting the countless times she'd set them up for her own opportunistic reasons. And Taehyung might be right this time again. And still, he couldn't risk it. He was certain the flicker of anguish in her eyes was real. He could feel it. He knew Arabella like the back of his hand. Not only because he was a master in seeing right through people, but also because he simply knew her after all those years of being rivals, friends and even lovers for a brief moment of time. "And what if it's not? What if it's true after all, what then?" 

He didn't want his voice to be shaky, but they noticed the genuine worry it was holding nonetheless. Yoongi and Taehyung exchanged a glance before the latter finally sighed.

"Fine, then do it. But what can we use instead of the document then?" There was a sudden change in Jimin's demeanor at this. "Who says we'll have to use anything else?" he smirked. "Just because I'll go save Bella from that unfortunate situation doesn't mean we'll just give it away." He stretched his arms contently when noticing blue lights peeking behind the curtains and he abruptly sat up, knowing all too well what would follow. "I think we have visitors." Right as he began laughing, screeching sirents startend blasting from outside. Causing all three to press their hands against their ears.

"This is Interpol! Park, Kim and Min - we know you are up there!"

"Oh no, not again.." Yoongi groaned, but it almost sounded like a whine and slid out his long weapon from its sheath. Taehyung went over to window in the meantime, hiding himself behind the wall to take a quick glance behind the curtain. His magnum close to his chest. One black car and two patrol cars. "How did he even find us?" he mumbled, closing the curtain again.

"This is our last warning! Come out or-" "Jeez, pops is really at it again," Jimin chuckled, a smirk forming on his lips as he pulled out his walter-ppk from inside his jacket. "He's really getting better at it, I give him that." "Whished he wasn't.." "We're coming!" "Well," he grinned then and jumped up, "That was our cue!"

The three held their weapons close before running out of the apartment, towards the staircase. 'Pops' and his team might be getting better in finding them with the years, but that didn't mean they'd make it easy for the interpol agents to catch them. They made their way upstairs to the rooftop from where they jumped over to the neighbouring building's roof. It was only a metre apart and much lower from theirs, making it quite convenient for them. Frankly, that wasn't a lucky coincidence. When deciding on a hideout they always made sure to choose one with an easy escape route for surprise cases like this.

Once Yoongi sliced through the lock and they were inside the other building, they found the bag they'd previously stored there at the basement and changed into the stolen police attire from an unguarded truck. Being prepared coming in quite handy. It was good having a plan b and often c as well. After putting on wigs and disguising their faces - and Yoongi also hiding his sword- they were ready to pose as police officers. Right on time as they could already hear officers entering that building as well in search for the thieves.

"Time to mingle." They headed upstairs, where a young officer was already guarding the entrance door. "The basement's clear," Jimin said in a stern voice as they passed by him, "We'll look around the area in case they made it out." The trick was to just walk and talk confidently like you were supposed to be there and knew what you were doing. That usually prevented from anyone rising suspicion. Literally a 'fake it till you make it' situation, which oddly applied to most situations. "Alright," the officer nodded, looking quite bored as he watched them walk out. Disappearing in the crowd of officers and bystanders from the neighbouring buildings or passerby, who were trying catching a glimpse of what was going on. From the distance they could hear pops - as they fondly called the Interpol agent assigned to their cases, Kim Seokjin - holding back a swear when team alpha called through the radio, saying they couldn't find anyone. His subordinates, agents Jeon and Blake were speaking with the inhabitants of the buildings in case they had seen anything, which they surely didn't. That Jimin was sure of. 

However, even if they did, the three were already far gone by that point. Getting into their car, that was of course parked further away and in an empty alley, not easily spotted from the main street. And they were finally able to tear off their masks.

"Seriously though, how did he find us this time?" Yoongi wondered out loud from his usual spot on the backseat. He was simply glad he didn't have to use his precious sword too much this time. It always exhausted him when doing so. "I know we keep joking, but he's indeed getting better. We gotta be more careful." 

 Jimin shrugged as he engaged a grear and drove off, darting out of the alley and turning into the main street towards west. "No clue. But right now there's something else we gotta take care of first."

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next chapter: 0.2 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

[lgcseojin]

╭  HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEOJIN !

"Okay, okay, okay!" Taeha rushes away from the practice space, phone in hand and beaming as she finds a quieter corner, away from the other LGC girls and staff preparing for their third stop of the tour. "You didn't open it early, right?! You promised!" She reminds her birthday broppa ( the same affectionate title written on the black gift bag in white marker ) with a wag of her finger. "Okay, now - No wait!" She places the phone atop a stack of boxes in the far corner of the room, taking a few steps backward, making sure to check over her shoulder for any onlookers. She inhales, clears her throat, and - "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SEOJIIIIIIN -" She interrupts her cheerful song to spin and bring her arms up to make a heart over her head. "And I hope you like your gift too!" She chuckles a bit before shuffling back over to her phone. "Okay, now, you can open it!"

Inside the gift bag filled with black and red tissue paper is a series of graphic tees thrifted during one the breaks on the girls' first stop of the tour ( one, two, three ) and a final t-shirt she'd begged and begged the staff to let her snag. It's a LGC Girls Japan shirt decorated with random doodles in different colors, notes of encouragement, and birthday wishes. The note attached to the last shirt reads: 'Happy Birthday, Seojin! I'm sorry I couldn't be there for your birthday this year, but I hope when you see this shirt it can feel like you got a little piece of the tour with you too!'

⸻

"What? Hey, calm down! I fulfill my promises, Taeha." Seojin cannot help his need to chuckle at the younger's antics. He does not chastise her for getting him gifts as he typically would his other friends, still feeling that innate need to protect her soft heart as he promised Taekyung he would. He even offers her a light half-smile. The large gift bag given to him during her tour in Japan had been staring him down from beside his desk for the past few days in particular. It was a reminder that—yes—you must accept that people will care about your birthday whether you like it or not, Park Seojin. He sighs through his nostrils and fishes into the gift bag at last, hiding his embarrassment from the chaotic birthday singing.

"Ah..." He lifts up the shirts one by one, deliberately hiding his expression each time. He does well at concealing his emotions for the first three ( albeit, he chuckles at the cartoon depiction of his dog Pumpkin ), but the last one puts every crack in his mask on display. He blinks rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubs his palm over his chest. The words written all over the shirt are a testament to Taeha's nature. She is kind, thoughtful, considerate. It is the sort of tenderness only a girl he views like a little sister could bring to him. Her unwavering enthusiasm only sends him over the precipice he'd been teetering over this whole time.

Seojin clears his throat again. "Thanks, Taeha. You picked out some pretty sick shirts. I like 'em a whole lot and I'll wear them a bunch," His voice emerges weary despite his efforts. He wants to break. "Hey, sorry for, uh... cutting the call short but I gotta go. Dinner with my parents in a bit. I'll tell them you said 'hey', okay? And... good luck on your tour, Taeha. I'm so proud of you. See ya when you're back."

[devillain]

LONDON TOWNE - A Magazine that brushes the line of news and gossip has always attempted to cover stories that relate close to home, but can and should touch a larger audience.

June 2021 includes a story about Carlos de Vil and Cruella’s fashion legacy, Snow White and her infamous reporting, and Art Pendragon and why he may not be the next Ruler of Camelot. More stories inside including two tell alls that you will have to read and find out who they are from and what they are about.

personals do not interact

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

that kind of morning, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You’re really bad at waking up. Big sleepyhead with foggy memory kind of bad. Your brain is on autopilot. Hm, kind of hard to pilot when everything seems out of place. And you’re mildly hungover. Ow. You just ran into a muscular chest. Who could that be?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; morning after a wild night; graphic descriptions of sexual acts and a tiny bit of smut–while on the phone (fem reader, nipple play, dry humping, hint of a handjob); non-idol!BTS; basically sleepy and slightly hungover reader trying to piece together life lmao

–

Most people make their worst decisions at night.

Not you. You make your worst decisions in the morning. 

Maybe it's because you don't drink coffee.

"Ow!"

Was your bed always that high? Huh. You squinted in the sunlight filtering through the window, far too bright for your sensitive eyes. Instead, you occupied yourself with sniffing the t-shirt you were wearing. It smelled clean, like fabric softener. Also, it was white. Generally, you didn't buy white shirts since they dirtied easily. A miracle that this one wasn't stained. 

You stumbled through the bedroom door – was it always that far? – and smacked your nose into a wall. 

"Ow!"

"Ah!"

A moving wall. Wait, not a wall. A shirtless guy. Oh. It had been that kind of night. 

You rubbed your nose. "Erm, hello. You're still here, huh?" you mumbled. 

The guy blinked at you. "What do you mean? This is my apartment."

Oh. That's why everything seemed unfamiliar. Now that you looked at him, he was pretty attractive. Long dark hair, large brown eyes, dark brows, shapely pink lips with a mole underneath his lower lip. He had two more on his nose and cheek. Lightly tanned skin and a cute confused face. Huh. Nice muscles too. Good for him. 

"Alright, I'll be on my way then, uh..." you trailed off awkwardly, pushing past him. The events of last night were hazy and your head hurt a little, although not so bad that you couldn't function. You were just poorly functioning because you weren't a morning person. 

"Do you want coffee or something?" the guy asked, following you. He sounded a little worried. 

"Nah, I don't drink coffee," you muttered, holding onto the wall as you walked down the unfamiliar narrow hallway. "Stains your teeth."

Speaking of teeth, your breath was probably awful. Hopefully that poor guy didn't breathe near you. Come to think of it, this wasn't what you were wearing last night. It was probably his shirt, considering the large size. Where were your clothes? Oh, look, a bathroom. 

"I could order us some breakfast," the guy continued as you stuck your head into the bathroom and saw the sink. There was a black toothbrush and a crumpled tube of toothpaste, definitely not yours. A black cup for rinsing one's mouth, with a winking emoji printed on it. A black shirt bunched up and half-falling off the sink. Deodorant. Cologne. You picked it up and sniffed it. A clean scent. Didn't make you want to throw up. Awesome. 

You flicked on the faucet and shoved your hands under it. Cold. Fuck. Whatever. You cupped some and brought your hands to your face, dripping water everywhere, and cursing under your breath before gargling some. Best you could do. You spied something red out of the corner of your eye. What was that? You squinted at the towel rack through the mirror, water trickling down your chin. There was a thin scrap of ripped lace fabric on the hanging white towels. 

The guy was still talking. 

"I can get you a spare toothbrush? Do you want some cleanser to wash your face?"

He had a pleasant voice, a little deep. Clear, smooth. Made you think of a cool, refreshing breeze. 

Wait. 

Were those your red panties on the towel rack?

You winced at the mirror. Welp. Those were done for. Didn't look like you could salvage them. You suddenly felt a chilly draft on your bare ass. Your arms were still dripping water as you leaned down and splashed your cheeks. Guess you'll just have to figure something out. You turned off the water and wiped your face off with your palm. A white hand towel appeared. You took it, seeing the guy's tattooed hand and arm. Sexy. He had an emoji tattooed onto his knuckle of a sheepish, crooked smile. 

Kind of looked like you, at the moment. 

You dried your face and hands. 

"Thanks, but it's fine, I'll just go home so I don't bother you," you said, folding the towel and placing it on the sink before moving past him and his curious expression. 

"You're not bothering me. I want to make your morning comfortable."

You noticed your red dress from last night on the ground. The thin straps were torn off and there was a distinct, dark stain down the front. Hmm. You vaguely remembered scooping your tits out and smashing them against his hard dick and dropping a stream of spit down your chest for lubrication before furiously tit-fucking him and making him cum all over your collarbones and neck. 

Ah. 

Well. 

That dress was fucked. 

"Can I borrow this shirt? I'll give it back," you said, turning around to see the guy's face bright pink, staring at your dress on the ground. 

"Uh, yeah, sure, whatever you want," he rambled, shifting awkwardly. He was wearing light gray sweatpants. You looked down. He shifted away quickly, but it was pretty hard to disguise that tent. 

You scratched your head. Hm. "Say, uh..." you trailed off again. 

He blinked with those big chocolatey eyes. "Oh, um, Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." 

He stuck his hand out. You shook it, fitting your hand in his, suddenly remembering when you grabbed it and put it between your legs, smearing your juices from his wrist to his forearm and grinding onto his muscle, flexing your opening on his skin as he moaned darkly into your ear.

Ah.

You let go.

You were probably past handshakes, but, oh well?

"Right, erm, Jungkook, do you know where my jacket is?" you asked sheepishly. 

Jungkook whipped his head around, sending his black hair flying everywhere. "I think... it's in the living room?" You remembered running your hands through that hair, panting in his face as he shoved you against the wall, two fingers on your clit and rubbing furiously, those big chocolate eyes watching you come undone under him. 

He moved past you and you flattened against the wall, not touching him. Hm. This increased clarity as you continued to wake up was starting to make this more and more, uh... less chill? Weird? Awkward? You followed him at a slight distance, lifting your head to see his back. Your eyes widened. Long red scratches up and down his defined back, caused by your fingernails as he fucked you violently into his bed, your thighs clasped around his waist and his name in your mouth, his thick cock making your pussy so tight and full that you felt like you were going to explode, so completely jammed with pleasure that you couldn't stop moaning. 

Erm. Hm. You kind of needed panties with the sudden leakage happening down there. 

Oh shit, did you use protection? You frowned as you screwed up your eyes to think. Yes. You did. Jungkook had grabbed them from his nightstand and spilled the whole box, thus causing you both to scramble to detach one in your and his haste.

For. 

Er. 

Fucking like animals. 

You both got one condom and ended up using both.

"Ah, here." 

You reached out and took your long-line black leather jacket from Jungkook. That's right. You'd worn that red satin dress with this jacket and black high heels. You spied them by the mat at what you assumed was the front door. Jungkook wasn't looking at you. His face was red. You slipped on the jacket. Smelled the rum still sticking to it. Right. You went to the club, got a drink, and Jungkook had knocked into you, spilling it into your jacket. It was an accident, but that was fine, because Jungkook was hot and you bribed him into talking to you by asking him to buy you another drink.

Super cute with his apologies, nervously speaking to you all night before loosening up with a few drinks and beginning to tease you, little by little, until you were in his apartment, getting your jacket slipped off your shoulders and his mouth on your newly exposed skin. 

The memory made you reach up to touch your left shoulder. You winced. Peered under the jacket and shirt to see a giant purple hickey. 

"Oh... er, sorry..." Jungkook sputtered sheepishly. "You seemed really into it at the time."

There was damn waterfall between your legs now.

"I was," you replied, a little too quickly. "Uh, I mean, I am. Was great."

You facepalmed. Jungkook jumped, startled that you slapped your own face. 

"Sorry, I'm not a morning person. What I meant to say was last night was amazing and I had a great time," you sighed. "You were wonderful. And hot. And sexy. And I'd do it again."

Jungkook blinked at you with those big chocolatey eyes. 

"O... oh." 

He seemed torn on whether to believe you or not. To be fair, your voice was hoarse and you sounded half-dead. Plus, your speech was a little cliché. Sigh. You struggled to retain brain function, shaking your head roughly. It always took you a long time to wake up and it was worse when you weren't home doing your usual routine. You furrowed your brows, raising your head to frown at Jungkook. 

Hold on. 

"Don't you work for my dad?"

Jungkook started, eyes shifting. 

"Er... yeah."

Did you just fuck one of the waiters at your dad's high-end restaurant? All night?

Huh.

What are the chances?

You were going to have to see Jungkook later that night, since you were the hostess.

"You know, Jungkook," you said, realizing why you had spoken to him last night, why it was fun and familiar banter, why he was so cute to you, and why it had been such a good chance. "Let's not tell my dad about this."

Jungkook's eyes went shifty again. "Yeeeeeeeah... let's not."

Your dad meant well. He was loud and brash by nature and scared every human being that hadn't lived under his roof for decades. Speaking of living under his roof... Maybe you shouldn't go home smelling like rum and Jungkook's cologne, wearing his t-shirt and no panties.

"You... sure you wanna go home?" Jungkook asked, chewing on his lip. You noticed he looked a bit disappointed. Sad. 

"Actually," you sheepishly began. "Maybe I shouldn't. Not until Papa leaves the house." You twisted your mouth to one side and poked your index fingers together. Awkward. "Your offer for breakfast still stands?" 

He brightened. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. What do you want?" He held up the phone form the coffee table. "We can order something."

Your eyes shifted to the phone. Ten missed calls. 

"I would call Papa first," you muttered, walking forward and taking the phone from him. You felt his body heat, the closeness of his bare torso. He smelled nice. Jungkook made a surprised noise, only now realizing he had picked up your phone by accident. You slipped your other arm around him and pulled him to you, inhaling his scent. He made another squeak of confusion as you pressed your lips to his warm chest. 

Mmm. Nice. 

You phone vibrated violently and you answered it without looking, kissing Jungkook's skin softly, hearing him gasp and stifle his moan as the sharp bark of your name blasted from the phone speaker. 

"Where are you?!" Your dad was yelling at the top of his lungs. Jungkook shivered under you. He probably thought your dad was pissed, but he was only worried. 

"I'm fine. Slept over at a friend's since I went to the bars last night."

"Oh, fuck, sheesh," your dad grumbled, swearing repeatedly. Your lips began to travel and Jungkook was smacking your arm impatiently, shaking his head, mouthing at you, are you crazy, what the fuck are you doing, before he clenched his jaw and tipped his head back as you began to lazily lick his dark nipple, feeling it harden with your touch.

"Are you eating?" your dad barked in your ear. 

"Mhm, can't start the day unless you eat," was your reply, grinning around Jungkook's nipple as his face was becoming more panicked by the second. 

"That's right," your dad huffed. "What are you eating?"

"Korean."

Jungkook gave you an exasperated, pained look that quickly turned to ecstasy, placing a hand over his mouth and muffling his moan as you sucked in his nipple, bringing your hips into his sweatpants, the tent returning.

"Hah, fine, would it kill you to fucking call so I don't think you're dead?" Now that you were an adult, your dad didn't bother filtering his cursing anymore.

"Ah, sorry, sorry," you replied, very apologetically and sweetly, grabbing a handful of Jungkook's ass and ramming his rock-hard cock into your crotch, clamping your thighs around it. Jungkook was flailing his one free hand and pressing the other over his mouth, trying not to make a fucking sound. 

"I'll remember next time. Promise, Papa."

You heard your dad let out a puff of air. "Hmph. Fine. Don't forget you have to work tonight. I'll let you have the day after off..."

You raised your eyebrows, switching sides and slowly flicking your tongue on Jungkook's nipple, thighs sliding back and forth on Jungkook's clothed length. He was losing it above you, muting his cries and rutting against your thighs to match your pace and add more simulation.

"I thought the other hostess was on vacation for a couple more days?"

"I asked your mother to cover for you," your dad grunted. "You should have some free time while you're still young. Have some fucking fun before you die. That's why I work."

"Ah... okay, thanks Papa. I love you."

"Love you too," was your dad's reply, not so gruff anymore, but warmer and kinder. 

He hung up. 

You dropped the phone from your ear. 

Jungkook gasped a lungful of air, throwing his hand aside now that he could finally breathe, turning into a high-pitched yelp when you yanked his pants down, shoving his cock between your thighs again, but skin on skin this time, angling him down, the head smearing pre-cum in your mid-thigh. Ah, yes, what a pleasant surprise it had been when you saw this pretty cock for the first time, looking so perfect squashed between your tits. 

"B-But breakfast..." he choked out between moans.

"I'm getting it," you panted, grinning, sliding up and down his hot stiffness, feeling it twitch. "Best to have some protein in the morning."

Jungkook clenched his jaw, horny and indignant.

"Korean? Really?"

You switched to your hand, kneeling down as you stroked his stiff length hard and fast, giving him a devilish open-mouthed smirk, wet tongue sliding out.

"Hey, I didn't lie."

-

wondering how Jungkook feels about all this? that kind of evening.

--

masterpost

[masterwords]

the silence drowns pt. 1

Summary: Morgan interrupts Foyet in Hotch's apartment. Bad times are ahead.

Warnings: graphic mentions of the pig farm...nothing else...yet...but I think you can see where this is going, at least partially.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 1.4k

Notes: What happens if Foyet is interrupted by Morgan halfway through his stab-fest? We're about to find out. I'm trying something new, a multi-part story with shorter parts instead of my usual long-winded rambles. I haven't decided how many parts yet...a few. Not too many. This first part is very soft, very sweet. Don't get used to it.

Read on AO3: The Silence Drowns

**

He lingered in the seat a moment longer than he normally would. Something held him there against his will. The engine purred beneath the hood, fingers on the key in the ignition and he paused while his eyes lay unfocused on the blinking red streetlights. Flashing on and off, red one direction, yellow the other, mesmerizing. A blanket of black and stars covered the sleepy city, and he wondered how long it might take him to fall asleep, if he could at all...he hadn't actually seen anything, no real horrors to assault his eyes, and yet he knew. He knew things he couldn't un-know and it was almost worse. His mind left to its own endeavors, painting sickening bilious yellows and thick milky whites with splashes of coagulating crimsons over flesh, in mud, the sound of pigs in their muck undoing creation. This sickening way they were guilty and innocent, just following their nature, just surviving and yet playing the role of willing accomplice to the evils of man. Maybe they didn't know but they accepted their spoils greedily. Deconstruction or damnation, he'd lost track of his thoughts in the haze of the streetlamps, none of it seemed to make sense anymore.

Not another minute. He couldn't keep pulling himself along on these translucent threads that connected them all to the mud, the shoes, the silent horror. Nausea began rising in him slowly, and yet he couldn't seem to turn it off; his stomach rolled and twisted on a wave of his own creation. Interrupted by the flash of green light from his console, he pawed for his phone, blinked himself out of the reverie to see Derek's name lighting up the screen. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop back against the back of the seat. Almost unwittingly, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he found himself nearly smiling. The pit in his stomach receded, replaced with a welcome ball of warmth as soon as he heard Derek's honeyed voice on the other end of the line.

“We just said goodnight,” Aaron snapped, but it was good-natured, and Derek laughed at his assertation, as if he didn't know. “It's been what, a whole fifteen minutes?” He glanced at the clock and squinted to bring it into focus, the bright blocky numbers hazy and floating before his exhausted eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I said I wanted to sleep but I changed my mind...you up for some company?”

Not really, Aaron thought a little bitterly. Humanity was something he didn't exactly want near him right now and yet he couldn't find a way to turn Derek down. Maybe that particular version of humanity was what he needed. The good kind. The warm embrace of someone who understood, who had seen the same horrors, who could find it in him to love in spite of it. A balm on his broken heart. He'd been doing this job too long, it was creating fissures he wasn't sure could heal.

“Sure. I'm just getting home.”

“I'm starving. I'll grab us some food and be there in an hour...”

“So two hours then? I'll try to stay awake. Use your key, you know how my neighbors get about late night knocking.”

They both found themselves erupting in a small fit of subdued laughter, quiet so as not to disturb the night but unable to keep it inside. How many times had his neighbors mentioned his late night visitors at the mail box? “These walls do echo terribly,” they would muse about Derek knocking on his door so late at night, implying more with their milky cataract filled eyes than Aaron cared to think about. “You should give your friend a key. It's time.” Neighborly relationship advice bestowed with a wink and a nod. Who was he to argue? Most of them had more years married than he'd been alive, and all he had to show for his attempt was a divorce. A key it was.

“See you soon, baby.”

“Derek...” he whined, his pitch driving low and gravelly, breaking before the last sound was exhaled. His exhaustion couldn't be hidden another minute and both of them were struck with the knowledge that he'd be sleeping on the couch by the time Derek showed up no matter how quickly he arrived. No matter, he'd let himself in and Aaron would try to wake enough to visit before dragging him to bed with promises that whatever food he'd brought would make just as good a breakfast as it would a late-night snack. Maybe better.

“I could call you pretty boy, you know.”

“No you couldn't. I'm not pretty.”

“Wanna bet?” This was an argument he couldn't win; Aaron knew it with all of the conviction he could muster. Derek lived and breathed pet names, it was the fastest and most inconspicuous way he'd found to show love in plain sight, and he'd already tested out more than a few that bombed the minute they entered neutral airspace. Only one had lasted through multiple test runs, and now it flowed over his lips so naturally there was no going back.

“Baby is fine. Sometimes.”

The sound of the engine died out when he turned the key, and still he stalled, mulling over the word baby in the same way his much younger self might have set to conjugating verbs in Latin. And, to be honest, Latin was easier for him to understand. A moment more in complete silence, a moment more with his memories. He would have to put them to sleep, put the shrill sound of the pigs whining out of his mind and take hold of the very last thread of hope that Derek would be the answer. His smile, his warmth, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and musk, the soft squeaking sound of his leather jacket as he reached his arm up to pull Aaron close...it would be enough.

He paused with his key in the lock, chancing just a moment to smile at the absurdity of being called baby again. He couldn't seem to get past it. Even Haley had never called him that, not really, not that he could recall. Honey, sure, and he'd bristled at that the first time she let it slip but he'd been so young, so timid that he never mentioned not knowing what to do with this new affection. Baby felt different, somehow. Less innocent, almost possessive. The part that surprised him the most, he figured, was that he almost liked it. Almost.

He should have known that the night could and would get worse. That the pig farm wasn't the foulest thing humanity could throw at him, that being called baby would be the least of his concerns. It didn't happen at first; not when he set his briefcase down beside the door or when he tossed his keys onto the table. That would have been too easy. Everything was still, quiet, exactly as he'd left it days before. On the floor were a few missed Lego bricks, a box of crayons, a marker lid (which meant the missing marker would be nearby, dried out by now), remnants of his last evening with Jack. The apartment was cold, the heat turned off while he was away, and the first thing on his mind was edging out that chill. He moved over to the thermostat, punched a few buttons, and decided a nightcap might help keep him awake as he waited in his lonely home for company. He would pour a glass of whiskey and plug in the heated blanket, wait for the heat to fill the place with life again...wait to hear the key in the lock and hope that his eyes were open when it happened.

It was there, at his bar, that he realized he was being watched. That his intimate routine had been fodder for unwelcome eyes. Feeling the hair standing up on the back of his neck while he poured his drink, set the glass to his expectant lips, he froze and closed his eyes for what felt like an eternity. He could have lived a hundred lifetimes in that split second. He smelled Foyet, and knew without any reason that it was him. The unmistakable sour tang of sweat and gunpowder and patience...how long had he been here, in Aaron's home, waiting? Hours, days? Where had he explored in the quiet, what corners had he set himself in, what hidden places and unpacked boxes had he explored? He heard the swish of fabric behind him and out of the corner of his eye the murky shadow beside his washing machine seemed to ooze and change shape, coming to life. Not a person, not yet, just a moving ink blot. He tasted his heartbeat, felt it pounding at his adams apple and swallowed it down...not now, he thought. Not now.

“How's my friend Agent Morgan?”

Next Chapter ->

[ralphmaccchiato]

Curse The Candle; Light The Dark

Pairings - poly!Dallas/Sylvia/Johnny

Genre - Romantic Thriller

Rating - Teen

Warnings - Light Violence, Major Character Death, Murder, Underage Smoking, Semi-Graphic Dream Sequences

Chapters - 1/3 | read Chapter 2, Chapter 3

                                                       ___

                                     “Awake. 

                                   Shake dreams from your hair 

                                my pretty child, my sweet one.

                                                    Choose the day...”

                                          — Jim Morrison, Ghost Song.

                           PART ONE; THE END.

          Smoke swirled around the girl’s face wildly, stinging her eyes. She grasped her boyfriend’s leather jacket in her creamy pale fist and tugged on him, attempting to break him from whatever trance he was in.

   “Dallas, please,” she choked out. “We have to do something.” 

   Dallas didn’t budge, his icy blue eyes fixed on the bed before him with a concentration the girl had never seen before. She felt her eyes welling up with tears, tears not brought on by the smoke. It wasn’t the first time Dallas had scared her like this. She knew that. But the memory of that was fuzzy, and this felt crystal clear. All too real.

  “Snap out of it, Sylvia.” The tall blonde finally responded, his voice thin but low. Stern. “We talked about this. All of us. We all agreed.”

  She shook her head, brown curls bobbing and blowing in the warm wind. 

  “No. No, you agreed, he was drunk.” She pulled on his jacket again, harder this time. Turning him to face her. “He deserves a real choice.” 

   She sounded more level headed than she felt as she searched Dallas’s eyes for the little bit of humanity he might have left. Brown eyes connecting with the sickly blue. Dallas softened, then, after a moment. 

  (Yes. Yes, I’m getting through)

  “What do you suggest we do, then?” he asked, lip trembling. 

  “You know what,” Sylvia answered, a sad smile spreading as her tears began to fall.

   Dallas winced. He knew well enough what she meant, knew that his life and hers were in jeopardy if he did what she was asking. If you could call what they had a life. He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation and found none.

 “All for one,” she spoke again, trying to sound as brave as possible. “Not like this, Dal. Please.”

  “Okay.” Dallas finally spoke. He pressed a kiss to Sylvia’s forehead and stepped towards the bed. He carefully peeled the comforter off of its inhabitant.

  “Come on, Johnny,” he said, pressing his cold hand to the boy’s warm shoulder. “We’re getting you out of here.”

                                                       —

      A light chamois Thunderbird sped down Route 88, music and smoke pouring out the open windows. The backseat appeared to be home to a haphazard pile of cardboard boxes, all of them looking to passing cars like they were about thirty seconds from falling out the windows. The driver, 19 year old Johnny Cade, paid the boxes no mind.

   He instead lazily tossed his cigarette out the window, singing along to the old tune he was playing. Some upbeat 80s song he had heard often growing up. Johnny ran a hand through his windswept inky-black hair, pushing his bangs out of his face.

  “In a quarter of a mile, turn right into Windrixville.” A robotic voice cut through the music, quieting it for a moment.  

  A thrill ran through him, settling in his stomach. From here on out it was just going to be him, his thoughts, and his trusty mismatched set of old tools. He had found a job fixing up an old church-turned-house so the owner could sell it. The pay was good, included lodging and food, and the man had seemed terribly relieved that Johnny was willing.

 (Too relieved, too good, there’s a catch, there always is,)

  Johnny blinked hard to rid himself of that thought and turned his music down as he approached the turn-off. Windrixville was even smaller than he had thought it might be. It seemed to only consist of a hardware store, and a grocery store with an attached gas station. He passed a few small trailers and a school, but that was all. His next turn was onto a dirt road, a bright green road sign declaring it Jay Mountain Drive. The road seemed a lot more like a very long driveway as it led directly uphill to the front door of the house.

   Wildflowers dotted the overgrown yard, coloring it violet, yellow, and orange. Wind pushed through the grass, making the ‘dots’ of color look more like streaks racing each other back and forth. Johnny’s car rolled to a stop and he turned it off, stepping out into the bright sunlight. He pocketed his keys and started towards the house.

   Rose bushes guarded the front porch wildly in what probably used to be a garden. The warm summer breeze made the flowers look like they were dancing, trying to say ‘come income iN; welcomehome’’ The porch was painted white, peeling to reveal the old wood beneath it. The stairs wiggled a little as Johnny climbed them, seeming to dance along with the roses.

   He pulled open the screen door to find a yellowing envelope taped to the door. ‘Johnny’ was written on it in blue, the letters large and sprawling. He opened it to find a silver key and a folded piece of desk paper. He opened the paper, palming the cool metal of the key as he read.

    Johnny, 

     I am very sorry I couldn’t stay to show you around the house today. Had some urgent business to tend to. Will stop back in a few days to make sure you settled in ok. Text or call me if you need anything before then. The wifi code is on the router.

                      Regards, Mr. Williams.

  Johnny nodded to himself and shoved the paper into his pocket before unlocking the door. It groaned almost painfully as it opened, seeming more like a warning call to him than a creaky door. Shivers ran down his back and he made a mental note to oil the hinges later on. The house smelled like an attic, the air inside thick with the scent of dust and the soft sweet smell of ‘old.’

 He wandered through the downstairs first, looking over the living-room and kitchen spaces to see what he’d be living in. It was all very nice, as far as old houses go, aside from a few holes in the walls and flooring. A few of the window panes were cracked as well, likely from the house settling. He’d be busy, for sure.

 The upstairs wasn’t any better. If anything it was minimally worse, the floor sagging in a few spots in a way that indicated rot. The plaster of the walls was flaking off in big yellow chunks, and this area of the house smelled very strongly of old cigarette smoke. Despite the summer heat, the upstairs was almost ice cold. Even so, something about it felt (eerily) inviting.

  Once he had finished ambling around the house, he began hauling boxes in. He hadn’t brought much so it was quick work, and most of what he brought went upstairs anyway. He whistled as he brought boxes in, hardly noticing he was doing it. He unpacked a bit once his backseat was empty, spreading a denim quilt over the lumpy twin sized mattress. He taped up a few polaroids of his friends, both from Tulsa and school. Johnny was the first in a long line of Cade men to go to college, and he was damn proud of it.

   As he worked, he didn’t feel the two pairs of eyes that warily followed his every move.

                                                           —

  His throat burned as he choked back smoke, eyes pressed shut as tears trickled out of them; every inch of his body felt feverishly hot. His clothes stuck to his skin as if fusing to him. He grasped for his leather jacket and nearly dropped it, the heat scorching the palm of his hand. A sharp cry fell from his lips but he gripped it tighter. A pit of crazed anger sweltered in his stomach, overshadowing everything else. 

  “Don’t touch that door,” he barked out as he made his way towards it. He stumbled around, bumping into the bed, and then the desk, as he tried to find his way to it. A body thudded into his chest, clearly that of a woman. Someone he felt he knew. He gripped her arm and yanked, pulling her away from the door. He leaned down to wedge his jacket under the door frame to prevent more smoke from coming in.

   As he did so he heard a loud, splintering crack, followed by a surge of warm air and more heat. He screamed as he felt his skin begin to blister-

 His own scream is what woke him. Johnny bolted upright in bed and swallowed hard. He patted his arms and legs crazily, a relieved sob choking out as he realized he was in one piece; no melted flesh, alive, alive and okay.

  “It was just a dream,” he sobbed out. “Not real, dreamed. I’m fine, I’m fine…”

 Nightmares had been a regular occurrence for Johnny as a child, but they had stopped almost completely by the time he was 15. He hadn’t had one in years, and had never had any quite that vivid. (wasn’t a dream,) He shuddered and fumbled for his jeans, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from one of his back pockets.

  A good smoke always put things in perspective, he believed. His hands shook as he set one between his lips and struggled to light it, wincing at the sight of the flame. He breathed in deeply once it was lit, the weight of the smoke settling in his lungs. He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing his tears across it. 

  He felt calmer now, more in control. At least, until a musical crash sang through the house and his heart began hammering again. He got out of bed on wobbly legs, slipping a pair of slippers on. He felt for his phone and switched on the flashlight feature before making his way out of the room and downstairs.

   The darkness of the country felt like it was pressing in on the house, the illumination of his phone flashlight seeming to get swallowed up by it. He could see a few feet in front of himself dimly, just well enough lit to see where he was going. It did nothing for his nerves, thoughts of burglars and wild animals (ghosts) swimming through his brain at top speed. He breathed raggedly around the cigarette that still sat between his lips. 

  The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he made his way downstairs. The creaks that had sounded musical and inviting in the daylight felt menacing to him now, sending more chills through him. Johnny shook even more, the light from his phone pitching back and forth as he did so. He willed himself to keep going, though everything in him wanted to rush back to bed and stay there until sunup. 

  Glass crunched under his slippers as he entered the kitchen. He immediately felt for the light switch and flicked the light on. One of the cupboards looked as though it had been forcefully torn off the wall, all the glasses and plates that it housed carpeting the yellow tile of the floor in glittering shards. He breathed out a sigh of relief. 

 (The nails must have been rusted out,) He shoved his phone into his pajama pocket. He crossed the kitchen to toss his cigarette into the sink. Then, he found a broom and began sweeping up the mess. And if, while cleaning, he noticed that the nails weren’t nails at all, but screws, none of it rusted; he pretended he didn’t.

                                                                —

  Mr. Williams showed up a few days later, as promised. He pulled up at around seven am in a rusty light blue pickup that had clearly seen better years. His face was pinched in an ever present worried expression emphasized by the weathered leathery look of his skin. Despite this, the man of sixty had a warm quality.

  “How ye settlin in, boy?” Was the first thing he asked Johnny, punctuating his sentence by spitting his chew into the grass. 

 “Just fine,” Johnny answered, mind wandering to the nightmare he had been having every night since he began staying there. “It’s a nice house and there’s been a lot to do.”

  That much was true, at least. He had been replacing the kitchen cabinets since the first night, scouring Craigslist for new dishes in his spare time. Mr. Williams nodded thoughtfully as he packed a new piece of chew into his lip. He held the tin out to Johnny, offering him some, and Johnny shook his head.

 “I don’t chew. Just smokin for me, thanks.” 

 “More fer me, then.” Mr. Williams tucked the tin back into his jeans-pocket, then leaned back against his truck. A friendly -or what would have been friendly, if he didn’t look perpetually worried- smile stretched across his features and he took his baseball cap off to dab at some sweat that was collecting on his balded head.

 They stood in comfortable silence for a moment before Mr. Williams pushed back off his truck, starting a shuffle towards the house. He walked slightly bent, favoring his left leg as though it were home to an old injury.

 “C’mon, boy.” He motioned for Johnny to follow, and he did. “I’ll show ye the ‘lectrics n shit.” 

 He led Johnny through the house, opening a deep closet in the farthest corner of the kitchen to reveal a rusty looking water heater and breaker box. He explained where he kept replacement fuses, and how to replace them.

 “In case of a storm, hear?” 

   And then he explained about the water heater, how it was finicky and sometimes you’d need to give the heating element a little knock with a wrench every now and again so it would start heating water again. Johnny stored the information away dutifully, hoping he’d never have to handle the fuses. They looked suspicious to him, as though they’d electrocute you at any chance, and he figured he wanted to stay as far away from them as possible.

  Mr. Williams ran through a few more things with him about maintenance of the place before he left, spending a grand total of two hours there. When they toured the rest of the house, especially the upstairs, Mr. Williams had seemed unnecessarily jumpy. It put Johnny on edge, reminding him of the bumps he sometimes heard at night, and the recurring dream that felt more like a memory. He had left him with his first week’s pay in cash, $600 in a yellowish envelope much like his note had been.

 “Gimme a call if ye need any more fer the house ‘spenses.” Mr. Williams had said as he started his car. Johnny assured him he’d do just that.

 After he left, Johnny began preparing an early lunch. He wanted to get started on some of the projects that weren’t the cabinet, and didn’t want to have to stop part way through to eat. Though it was warm out, he pulled out a can of tomato soup that he had picked up from the grocery store a few days prior. Soup paired well with sandwiches, and he just felt like having soup. Sue him.

  As the soup heated on the stove, Johnny gazed out the kitchen window, turning that damn dream over in his mind. Sometimes the dream would start with him laying peacefully in bed with the girl, before he was aware that the fire had started. Sometimes it started with pulling her away from the door before it exploded. But it always ended the same, with searing pain and screams as they burned alive. 

 He wasn’t sure where the dream came from (dallas) since it wasn’t much like any stories he had heard or movies he had ever seen, (who’s dallas?) which perplexed him. Most nightmares he had usually had an explanation of some sort. And this one didn’t. A cold breeze ran through the room then and he shivered. 

 He had noticed that happening a lot in this house, sometimes rooms felt as cold as late autumn for awhile. He figured it was an issue with the heating and cooling system (Didn’t Mr. Williams just say there’s no cooling system?) and tried not to think about (ghosts) it too much.

 After lunch he began working.

                                                          —

  Nothing much happened for the next few days. Johnny worked steadily on the house during the days, fell into bed exhausted every night, and woke in the early hours of the morning shaking with terror. This morning was no different. He awoke in a cold sweat, breathing raggedly as he felt around to make sure he was okay. But he froze as he noticed a glowing figure sitting on the foot of his bed.

 His breathing became even more ragged, heart thundering so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. The figure appeared to be a tall, thin young woman. She wore a light pink skirt that had a gauzy, almost transparent quality, and it rippled as though there were some kind of wind. Her face was pale, dotted with freckles and framed with chocolatey curls.

 He blinked hard, (dream dreaming still god this isn't real) half expecting her to be gone when he opened his eyes again. She still sat there, regarding him with a soft albeit amused expression. Her hand reached out for him softly and if he wasn’t frozen in terror he would’ve jerked back.

  “Dallas likes waking you up,” she spoke softly, voice sounding almost melodic. “I’m sorry he isn’t nicer about it.” 

  Her ice cold hand stroked his cheek comfortingly. He felt a warm wet patch spreading across his plaid pajama pants. This… this figure didn’t seem all too terrifying to him anymore, she seemed to be trying to make him feel better, but he felt himself terribly scared of her anyway.

 (She’s a ghost,) He thought dimly, willing himself to just fucking move. But it was like his limbs were set in some sort of hard resin, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t. Which is maybe why he peed himself, more the fear of the paralysis than this thing.

  The glowing girl leaned closer to him, a front of cold moving with her. They were face to face, then, and he could see the warm brown of her eyes. She brushed her cool lips against the feverish skin of his cheek tenderly, then pulled back with that same soft smile. He felt like his heart stopped, electric sparks swirling in his stomach. 

  And with that she was gone. He was left shaking in his own piss, which was a thought he really didn’t like much. He could finally move again, thank god, so he got up and began to strip the bed. He put the soiled clothes and sheets into the washing machine before he got into the shower. The warm water helped him think (sleep paralysis) more clearly, and the smell of his lavender shampoo calmed him further. By the time he was done in the shower he was back to feeling like his old self. No more thundering heart, wobbly knees, or shaky hands. He turned the shower off and stepped out, wrapping a towel around him. He figured he wouldn’t be going back to sleep for awhile, so he selected a clean pair of blue jeans and an old Ghostbusters shirt he had found thrift shopping a few years back. 

  He padded back into the bathroom once dressed, picking up his toothbrush. He squeezed toothpaste onto it and began dragging it across his teeth methodically. Washing the taste of sleep from his mouth. He hardly ever looked in the mirror while brushing his teeth, but today he did. His eyes met a pair of cool blue ones. He saw a tall blonde boy reflected behind him, wearing a dark black leather jacket and a smirk. 

  Johnny jumped, turning to look behind him. Nothing there. He looked back at the mirror, the boy still reflected to him. Laughing, this time. Like something was funny. (i’mgoingcrazy,) Johnny picked up the soap dish and hurled it at the mirror wildly. The mirror shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere. A few of them scraped his cheeks. He leaned against the glass covered sink, catching his breath. 

  “There was nobody fucking there, John,” he said aloud. “You’re going loony from not getting enough sleep. Jesus.” 

  Somehow, he wasn’t quite so sure that was all it was.

[adorethedistance]

British. Handsome. Charming. - Harry Styles x Reader Retail!AU

Sorta requested.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive situations, I say titties like once

Words: 2108

Summary: When your coworker calls out and leaves you alone for a graveyard shift, you unintentionally enlist the help of a certain British, handsome, and charming retail employee from next door.

A/N: Hello this is my piece for @meetmeinfleetwood​ ‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I put my ‘to lovers’ trope as Coworkers Harry and Y/n but I’m kind of riffing off of that trope because I wanted to do employees at different stores in the same section of the mall.

“So, Ziva just called out...” I hear my manager Kelly break the news from behind me. A groan threatens to escape my lungs but I fight the urge as best as possible to save face in front of customers. This is the third time Ziva’s called out of her graveyard shift in the past two weeks. Tonight, we were supposed to unpack the new shipment of holiday tees, gag gifts, and decorations. On a normal night, I can handle floor set by myself, but the added challenge of holiday items and displays is a different story.

“If I take another lunch right now, I can stay and help with the floor set.”

“No,” I wave her off, already dreading the exhaustion that is bound to set in, “Go home. You’ve already done your full eight, I can fly solo for tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go before I regret letting you!” Kelly smiles with the tip of her tongue peaking through her teeth. She thanks me for freeing her and I finish straightening the last of the yellow champion hoodies on the rack in front of me.

“The boxes are on the left side in the backroom.” Backroom… got it.

Working at Tilly’s was supposed to be my high school job. At the end of Junior year, I opted for a minimum wage position to earn some extra spending money. If I’d known I would be attending the most local university in this godforsaken town, I would’ve picked a better gig; one that pays more. Or at least one that doesn’t schedule me from 7:30PM to 3AM.

The store closes at ten but the other four ish hours are for rearranging the entire floor layout. I have to redistribute the table full of graphic tees strategically around the store to make room for the holiday items we just received. With someone else’s help I could expect to be finished by 12:30. Maybe 1. Ziva calling out wasn’t part of the plan however, so I don’t expect to be finished early at all. If anything, I might have to rush to finish before my shift ends.

Not to mention I have a prose analysis final draft due tomorrow by midnight. Ziva better have some damn good excuses when she gets back.

Readjusting the waistband of my favorite jeans against my body, I head to the dressing rooms to double check for any stragglers. Upon finding myself alone, I go lock the front doors and flick off the glowing “open” sign in the front window. Hopefully time will fly faster than it has since I got here. I should’ve asked Kelly to grab me a coffee or a coke to get me through the rest of the shift. Maybe I should do some coke to get me through the rest of the shift.

Okay. What did Kelly say?

Backroom... Was that all? I hesitantly prop the storeroom’s door with the small, tan, rubber wedge before trying to take in the overwhelming mess of the backroom. The room has painfully bright overhead LED lights illuminating my path; the brightness is mirrored off the polished concrete floors under my feet. Considering there’s no holiday bullshit directly in front of me, Kelly must have given me more directions than just ‘backroom’. Graphic tees, sunglasses, jewelry. Nothing.

In my most goddamn genius idea yet, I search the top of the self of the storeroom to see the holiday boxes sealed and intact. Lovely. I can graze the surface of the top shelf with my fingertips just enough to get them dusty, but not enough to pull down any boxes.

Fuck.

This is what we have a ladder for, but we lent it out to the Zara next door. I don’t know what time they close but intuition tells me it's soon. Figuring I have nothing to lose, I dash out of the back room and unlock the front door to round the corner into Zara. Right as I exit the store, I run into someone hard enough to lose my balance, but not hard enough to take the other person down, thank god.

“Woahhh, you alright there?” British.

I look up to the face of the person I collided with. Handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I need to get to Zara.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.” The handsome stranger’s statement catches me off guard and the fog of my rushed mindset disappears. Charming.

“What?”

“Jus’ locked up, I’m afraid.” I look at the completely dark storefront, and then back at the stranger. His gleaming green eyes catch mine and, cliché-ly, I’m rendered breathless by the exquisite nature of his face. Employee.

“You work at Zara,” I state dumbly.

“That, I do. And you work…?” Dropping my eyes to my worn work shoes, I’m suddenly overwhelmingly shy about working at Tilly’s.

“Tilly’s, next door. We lent you guys our step ladder and I need it back.”

“Shit,” the man smiles softly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I have the key to the store, but I don’t have the key to the supply closet where we kept it.”

“Dammit.” When I pull out my phone to check the time, I groan at the loss of another ten minutes. “By any chance do you guys conveniently have a step ladder that isn’t in an inaccessible closet?” The beautiful man laughs at my question and shakes his head no.

“We don’t, but I am pretty tall, maybe I could help?”

“You’re not that tall.”

“Taller than you.” My teasing is cut short by the man’s quip and I lead him into the store with conviction.

“Basically, I’m supposed to reconfigure the entire floor layout around the table for all the holiday merch, and the shipment came in but someone brilliantly placed them on the top shelf of the back room.”

“Which is why you need the step ladder from the closet that I can’t open. Gotcha.”

“If you could just get those three boxes from the top shelf right there that’d be wonderful.” After clocking the boxes in question, he nods wordlessly, and slips off his nice coat, no doubt a piece from the store next door. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey button up of which he begins rolling up the sleeves to. The action made me stop breathing for a second. His forearms are littered with tattoos of various drawings, one in particular catching my eye.

It’s a two dimensional mermaid figure with no seashell-bra, her skin transitioning into scales only after exposing her pubic bone. In the fluorescent lighting of the store, it’s clear as day that this is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What’s he doing working at an outlet mall?

Zoning back in, I see he’s already hard at work. With a box no doubt full of gag gifts on his shoulder, he speaks again.

“I’m Harry by the way.”

I return the gesture and he smiles when he hears my name.

“Pretty.”

Returning his attention to the second box, he reaches up to slide the box closer to the edge of the shelf. When he does so, the hem of his grey shirt rides up to reveal a tiny strip of his toned abdomen, where two mirrored stems of fern leaves are tattooed in strikingly black ink.

I blink quickly a few times to redirect my focus, and divert my attention to the floor where he’s set the first box. This leads me to notice the brown suede chelsea boots he’s wearing. Black coat, grey shirt, brown shoes. Interesting.

“Oh shit!” I hear him mutter in a hushed voice. Looking up to the top of the shelf, I see that the last box has already been opened. Harry is balancing it between both limbs, his shoulder, and his head, but any movement would cause the contents of the box to fall out.

I rush forward to help. Moving the flaps of the box back over the top, I reach across Harry’s body to move them. Then, to keep them shut I place one palm on top of the seam, and use the other hand to support the bottom of the box. It isn’t until I stop moving that I notice the position I’ve put us in. I’m reaching up as far as I can to secure the top of the box which has placed the entire front side of my body to the back of his. I’m painfully aware of how my hips are pressed against his ass, and he must be painfully aware of the way my titties are pressed against his upper back.

“I’m gonna move backwards so it’s off the shelf. Just hold the top in place until I have it right side up again, yea?” I nod dumbly in response before realizing he can’t see me.

“Yeah, got it.” And with that he begins to back up little by little, moving at a pace slow enough for me to consistently adjust. The box is almost intact, but I’ve run out of space from standing behind Harry, and I have to maneuver myself around him whilst keeping the box shut. I cringe before doing what I have to do, and shuffling around the side of Harry’s body, my frontside pressed against him the entire time.

Finally, it’s over and we can set the box down on top of the other two. Harry stands up straight again and dusts off his hands. He adjusts his jeans, pulling them back up his hips, and I have to keep myself from staring once more.

“Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so? That’s pretty much all the heavy lifting I have to do tonight.” He nods understandingly and… dare I say disappointed? I’m probably just projecting.

“Are you alone tonight?”

“Yeah, my coworker called out, but it’s fine. My boss Kelly got most of the work done earlier when she unpacked a lot of the boxes and folded the shirts into piles, so…”

“I could help.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re already off and I’m sure you’re exhausted and-”

“I want to.” I guess I wasn’t projecting.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That way you can go home earlier.” His smile is soft and lopsided until we connect eyes, in which case it brightens to reveal his pearly teeth. I fall shy under his gaze and avert my eyes to the concrete floor below us. My cheeks are radiating at about 1000° and I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” I say, more flustered than I would have liked. Why am I getting so nervous? He’s just a retail employee at Zara.

A gorgeous employee at Zara.

“I don’t mind staying back... Spending more time with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Since I already know what you do for a living, what are your hobbies?” He ignores my question.

“I don’t have much time for hobbies. I’m only part-time while I’m in uni.”

“No way, what are you studying?”

I proceed to tell Harry all about my major and my career aspirations post-graduation and post-retail. I enjoy telling people about my dreams and yet, Harry’s the first person I’ve met in a long time that’s shown any interest in me and my dreams. The way he nods attentively despite having to fold misconstrued t-shirts and holiday sweaters, ignites a fire in my stomach that warms my heart. They way he asks hyper specific, prompting questions to learn more about my plans contrasts the fire inside me by sending chills down my spine.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your dreams?” Harry stops folding for a moment and exhales a conflicted sigh.

“I’m not too sure at the moment. I’m content at Zara for the moment, and I haven’t decided what’s next. I do write music though.”

“You do?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“What kind of music?” He stops to think again, a bit less conflicted than before.

“It’s like, indie-folk-pop-rock ish.”

“Indie-folk-pop-rock ish?” I can’t contain the laughter spilling from my lips over the mountain of folded t-shirts.

“Yeah. A good bit of variety, really.”

“Well, it’s nice you have something to be passionate about.”

“Judging by how you talked about your dreams for an hour, I wouldn’t say I’m as passionate as you are about your studies.”

“Passion isn’t a competition. It’s what moves you forward as an individual.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh at me.

“Okay, Gandhi.”

“Hush! I’m allowed to be philosophical.” His laugh draws into a closed-mouth smile, from humor to an adoration of sorts.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I unintentionally mirror his affectionate smile.

“Promise?”

***

A/N: This was absolutely one of those fics that, the longer I stared at it, the more I hated it and cut it down so here’s what’s remaining before I destroyed the whole thing. It’s def a puff piece and not an in depth fic but nuance is not my friend right now so, sorry about it :(

Taglist: @curlybrownhairedboys​ @meetmeinfleetwood​

[someonestolemyshoes]

Toys Shouldn’t Move

This is a repost of an old.....frankly chaotic fic I wrote a few years ago, but as I was asked to repost some of my old Ackerbabies fics, I figured this one can see the light of day again. Whether I think it should be in the public eye again is. Debatable. 

Anyway, this is technically part of my Our House collection and I’ll archive it in there as well, but I figured since it’s, um, Different. It can have a place of it’s own too!! 

Warning: Non-graphic depictions of sex between inanimate(?) objects. 

They’re getting ready for bed when Levi brings it up, and he only thinks to mention it because Hange is wearing a slip of a nightie, the cool, thin silk see-through at the breast, riding high over her thighs. On any normal day he wouldn’t hesitate, but today he feels dirty. He freezes when her finger grazes over the skin of his chest, body rigid, and at Hange’s questioning gaze he says, “the Cookie Monster fucked Elmo.”

It all started with that fucking Tickle Me Extreme Cookie Monster toy.

Levi wasn’t fond of them, those fuzz-coated, boggle-eyed, shit-your-pants scary robots marketed to brats as young as his own and he can’t see the attraction, doesn’t understand the way Samson claps his hands and spits his laughs, all wide-eyed and full of joy as the fluffy little demon chuckles it’s weird, demonic laughter and rocks in time to the wriggle of Samson’s grubby, tickling fingers.

“Toys shouldn’t move,” he says one day, arms crossed and brow furrowed as Hange takes to the floor and sets the doll in motion. She rolls her eyes, and puffs a lock of hair from her face.

“Say hello to the twenty-first century, short stuff,” she says as Samson dives for the Cookie Monster with a kind of undignified gusto Levi rarely sees in him. Hange stretches to her feet, bends to press a kiss to Levi’s pouted mouth and scoops Leelu out of her chair.

“If this is the twenty-first century, I want out.”

Leelu stretches tiny, sticky fingers and grabs at the air in his direction. Levi lifts her out of Hange’s grip, and settles her on his hip, smudging a streak of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. She points down at Samson, points at the god-forsaken toy and says, loud and clear and bossy as ever, “want one.”

Hange barks out a laugh, rests her hands on her hips and tips her chin up and guffaws, entirely at Levi’s expense, like there is anything remotely funny about the idea of having not one, but twoTickle Me Extreme Cookie Monster’s shrieking their laughter all day, every day, for the foreseeable future. Levi chucks Leelu’s cheek and scowls.

“Little traitor.”  

**

In the end, they compromise.

On the plus side, no more Cookie Monster robots, and upon hearing those words Levi is about as happy as he can be with Leelu sucking the ends of his cravat between her tiny little teeth.

Instead, though, Leelu will receive her very own Elmo Live – in short, another hairy, beastly little android.

Hange unpacks the box while Leelu watches, eyes wide behind little, round-lens glasses, while Samson pulls tiny tufts of fur from his Cookie Monster and pretends he isn’t looking, too. Levi sips a cup of strong tea, resigned to this fate.

The minute the batteries are in and the switch is flicked on, Elmo rockets to life, voice high and nasal. He throws his head back and laughs, mouth gaping, eyes bulging, and Levi stares over the rim of his tea cup in horror as Leelu beats her palms together, and giggles along with the monstrous toy. Hange is smiling, wide and victorious and yes, a little malicious, too. She casts her eyes to the side, to Levi.

“I hate it,” Levi says, stiffly, blinking at the manic red bot. “I hate it so much.”

And then the Cookie Monster is off alongside it, bending at the waist and gyrating, busting out it’s awful laughter as Samson shrieks, nudges it to set it away again. Elmo is chatting with his mouth spread as wide as it goes, an empty, black pit yawning inside and oh my god, oh my god.

Levi thinks, as Hange steps behind him to rest her chin atop his head and the diabolical sniggering continues, that things absolutely, 100% cannot possibly get any worse.

**

Levi thought wrong.

It’s when he’s packing the day away that he realises his misjudgment. He crosses the room, scooping toy cars and Barbie dolls and Lego pieces from the floor and throwing them into the toy box, and on his final leg of the room, there they are.

They stand side by side, Elmo and the Cookie Monster, bulbous white eyes watching his approach. His hands are tentative as he reaches for them, half expecting the evil little bastards to spring to life in his palms, wriggling and chuckling, but they remain still even as he closes his fingers around their fat, hairy middles.

They remain silent as he carries them across the room, don’t utter a sound as he traps Elmo beneath an arm to make some room in the toy box, stay quiet as he drops them into place.

It’s only when he steps back, and turns to survey the room one more time that it happens.

The Cookie Monster starts it. His infernal laughter rips through the room making Levi jump, twisting and staring in absolute horror as the tiny beast’s body rests where he’d placed it, curled against the back of Elmo, chortling and grumbling phrases Levi can’t even understand and this is bad enough, this is the worst, most terrible thing he has ever witnessed in his whole life, bar none.

And then Elmo joins in.

Elmo shrieks, throws his mouth open and howls and the sounds are terrible enough, but there is one thing that is even worse.

Tickle Me Extreme Cookie Monster has one feature that interests and amazes kids, that has Samson’s eyes bugging out of his skull whenever he turns the damn thing on, and it isn’t his laughter, it isn’t his jolly little phrases, and it isn’t his touch-of-a-hand reactions.

It’s that he moves.

TMX Cookie Monster bends at the waist in jerky little movements; three down, and three back up, lather, rinse, repeat. It’s horrifying enough, watching the fuzzy blue devil do this alone, but right now his fat little body is curling and uncurling itself pressed right up against Elmo’s back.

And Elmo is still screeching, still belting out his laughter, head knocked back and mouth agape and Jesus Christ—  

“They’re fucking,” Levi says to no one, staring at the toys where they sit in the box.

He is hasty to find the off-switch, and he drops them back in the box, shocked and speechless, before shaking his head and abandoning the room.

They’re getting ready for bed when Levi brings it up, and he only thinks to mention it because Hange is wearing a slip of a nightie, the cool, thin silk see-through at the breast, riding high over her thighs. On any normal day he wouldn’t hesitate, but today he feels dirty. He freezes when her finger grazes over the skin of his chest, body rigid, and at Hange’s questioning gaze he says, “the Cookie Monster fucked Elmo.”

Hange frowns, pulls back and settles herself against the mattress, one leg folded neatly over the other.

“If you don’t want to have sex tonight you can just tell me,” she says, a note of humour in her tone. Levi shakes his head, shucks his jeans off and scrubs his hands through his hair.

“The toys,” he says almost desperately, and at Hange’s raised brow, he elaborates. “I was packing them away and they weren’t switched off, and the way they were lying…it looked like they were boning.”

“That’s,” Hange begins, blinking owlishly, “that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Levi doubts this, knowing the kinds of things Hange reads and watches to keep herself entertained through the day, but he doesn’t argue.

“Can we just go to bed,” he says instead, and Hange nods, shaking her head and chuckling low under her breath.

Sleep is difficult, dreams wrought with red and blue and high, squawking laughter.

**

It happens again the next night, but by the time he drags Hange out of bed and down to the living room they have stopped and they sit, silent and mocking in the toy box, unseeing eyes staring into the room.

The worst part is, it never happens to Hange. Night after night she clears away, slips every used and abused toy into the box, and night after night Elmo and the Cookie Monster remain still, and silent.

Years go by; Samson and Leelu age and outgrow the toys they once loved. and Elmo and the Cookie Monster are no exception. Leelu is five when the robots are packed in cardboard and hauled up into the attic, and Levi sets the box to rest with a smile. He’s never been happier to see the back of any inanimate object in all his young life.

New toys come and go, some horrifying, some begrudgingly kind of cool, and as the kids shift from childhood to their teen years the phones come along. Cheap, at first, with thick, fat buttons and black and white screens and Snake, and as the kids grow older the phones become more complex.

They flip, they slide, they twist, they have the entire alphabet squeezed onto individual keys and then they have no keys at all, the epitome of modern technology.

Samson is sixteen, tapping away at the screen of a phone too complicated for Levi to even comprehend, when Hange suggests they clean out the attic for more storage space.

It’s a good idea, Levi thinks – though it’ll create messes he has to clean up – as he re-positions the ladder beneath the hatch for the third time. He holds it still as Samson and Leelu clamber up, and it’s only when Samson yells, “whoa, some of these are from like, ten years ago!” that Levi remembers what demons they’ve buried in boxes beneath the roof of their house.

“I’m making tea,” he says, and Hange nods.

“I’ll grab a coffee before we get started.” She angles her head up the opening and yells, “be careful up there, guys,” before smiling, pecking a kiss to Levi’s cheek, and leading him downstairs.

**

“Man, Lu-Lu, you had terrible taste in clothes as a kid, too.”

Samson dodges the smack Leelu sends his way and crumples the voluminous snot-green dress back into the box

“I, on the other hand,” he begins, brandishing an item from his own box, but his face falls into a grimace at the sight of the bright orange tee and he folds it away with a quiet, “sure glad Mum and Dad don’t dress me now.

“Hey, shit-for-brains,” Leelu says. Samson looks over. “This is all our old toys.”

“Oh, sweet! I bet mine were all better than yours, too.”

Leelu kicks at his thigh as Samson crawls the space between then and he scowls, rubs the battered limb and settles beside the box.

“Hey, look!” He laughs, pointing inside, “the Cookie Monster!”

“He’s squashing my Elmo.”

“Well, yeah,” Samson says, “Cookie Monster comes out on top every time, sis. Everyone knows CM trumps Elmo any day. God, I even picked better toys than you. Nothing’s changed, huh.”

“You know, Samson,” Leelu says, cracking her fingers one at a time. “I’d hate to ruin a perfectly good day by shoving your egocentric fucking face through the attic floor, but I’m not above doing it.”

Samson splays his hands and nods his head in surrender, and then he blinks wide, glinting eyes and reaches for the box.

“Wonder if they still work.”

It takes one touch to set the Cookie Monster flailing.

Samson prods him with a finger and Tickle Me Extreme Cookie Monster thrashes in the box, his rhythmic bending and unfurling awakening Elmo, too. The pair of them screech and holler, decades old laughter ricocheting off the attic walls, and Samson barks, pointing a long finger and grinning from ear to ear.

“Randy little bastards,” he hoots, fishing his phone out of his back pocket and opening the camera.

Leelu stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“What the fuck,” she breathes, gazing in abject horror as her childhood crumbles before her eyes. Samson can barely hold the camera steady, shoulders shaking, tears leaking down his cheeks as the Cookie Monster—

“He’s railing him,” Samson cries, voice high and strained as he fights to get the words passed his laughter. He angles the phone to catch Leelu in the lens, body hunched and eyes bulging, as she stares in terror at their childhood playthings.

“This is the most sordid thing I’ve ever seen,” Samson wheezes.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Leelu says, quiet, monotonous, and horrified.

It takes a little longer before she thinks to switch them off, and when the idea finally springs to mind she hesitates to reach into the box. It feels dirty, touching them, and Samson wipes the tears from his face when the noise finally comes to a stop.

“I gotta show Mum,” Samson says, coughing out a few additional, choking laughs. Leelu follows him down the ladder in a daze.

**

“Mum, you’ve got to see this.”

Samson rockets into the kitchen, eyes alive, arm outstretched with his phone clutched in his hand. Levi sips his tea and raises a brow, gaze falling on Leelu as she drags her feet over the threshold and slumps into a chair. There’s something about the look in her eyes, a violated kind of shock that Levi has only seen once before, on himself, all those years ago, way back when…

Oh, no.

“Hey, Levi!” Hange laughs, setting her mug on the table. She peels Samson’s phone from his hand and turns it, tapping the screen. “Look what the kids found.”

There on the screen it plays, Elmo Live and Tickle Me Extreme Cookie Monster in all their sleazy glory. Levi jabs a finger first at the horror unfolding on the screen, and then at Hange

“I fucking told you,” he says, sitting a little higher in his chair to take one long, dignified slurp of his tea.

“My Elmo,” Leelu says. She looks at Levi a little imploringly. He shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s a long-standing affair,” he says. Samson claps him on the shoulder while Leelu buries her face in her hands.

“Taking it right in the childhood there, Lu-Lu,” Samson says, “just like Elmo’s taking it right in the—”

“Fuck the fuck off.”

“You didn’t believe me,” Levi says, listening idly as Samson and Leelu argue beside him. Hange replays the video and stares, laughter bubbling up in her eyes. Levi folds his arms, sniffing haughtily. “I told you those things were disgusting. Can we throw them away now?”

“No!” Samson wails, voice a little choked where his neck is hooked under Leelu’s arm. “You can’t punish them for love, Dad. I thought you were better than that.”

“Oh my god.”

“He’s right,” Hange says, grinning impishly, “I didn’t think you were the discriminating type.”

Levi scowls, then purses his lips.

“Can we just throw the damn things out?”

“I’ve lost all respect for you, Pops,” Samson says, and he tries to sigh, but his breath is gurgled when Leelu squeezes his neck a little tighter.

“Throw them out,” she says, “get rid of them.”

Levi kicks his way out of the chair, legs scraping over the kitchen tiles as Samson yells, strangled and desperate, “Injustice!”

Hange replays the video for a third time, tilts the screen first one way, then the other.

“It’s pretty impressive,” she says, “that they’re still working after all these years. And Elmo is way more flexible than I thought.”

Leelu tightens her headlock on Samson, choking off a snide, spit-heavy comment about stamina, and Levi drops back into his chair, tilting his head against the back rest to stare, resigned, at the ceiling. He listens to his children argue, to Leelu’s threats and Samson’s jeers, to Hange’s laughter and her half-hearted reprimands.

And to the monstrous, ungodly audio of toys fucking in his attic.

[tintentrinkerin]

adelphopoiesis

Author: tintentrinkerin

Title: adelphopoiesis

Requested by: @schaefchenherde

Header by: @wincestismyheart​

Divider by: @firefly-graphics​

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Sam Drinks Dean’s Demon Blood, Anal Sex, Not Canon Compliant

Content: Chasing your baby brother around the bunker with a hammer is fun, right? But what if you tickle his thing for blood?

Read here or on AO3

Dean’s most effective weapon is not the hammer he destroyed the door with. The hammer that’s stuck in the wall now beside Sam’s head. It’s not his physical strength, radiating like utter heat from his body, showing in the tension of his neck, the firm grimace of his mouth, his pretty mouth. It’s not the First Blade. A blade powerful enough to kill anything and anyone, but Dean himself. 

Sam’s only weapon is a lousy knife. A demon knife, that will barely leave a scratch on a Knight of Hell. 

“It’s all you”, Dean says, leaning in the knife, leaning into Sam’s half hearted attack. 

The way Dean looks at his brother, it’s tearing Sam apart in so many ways. Ways he thought he’d buried under guilt and hunts and lore and his shame. Sam gives in and takes the knife away, he will regret it so bitterly, he knows. Of course he knows. He can’t even lay a single finger on Dean. The demon in front of him wears the face of his brother but there is nothing left of his soft side for Sam. His voice, how he calls Sam, how he says Sammy, the hair, the determined look, the tongue against his teeth. Like he’s a predator and Sam’s the prey. 

Dean’s eyes turn black.

It’s a whooshing sound and it darts Sam’s ears the moment he thought he’d surrender and then, the First Blade, fast as an arrow lands in Dean’s hand. There is not a blink for Sam to react before Dean looks at him with a triumphant smirk. The knife glides through Dean’s smooth skin of his throat like it’s warm butter. Blood spills. 

Blood

Spills

Blood is Dean's most effective weapon.

Its smell is so familiar, so luring. So intimate and so…powerful. Sam turns and runs. He needs to go. He needs to get away. 

“Oh Sammy, baby brother, don’t run away!”, Dean mocks. 

Shit, he’s right behind Sam and Sam’s judgement clouds already. He isn’t even fast. It feels like running through molasses. The air feels thick and strong, pressing Sam down, and the smell of iron and lust and Dean, oh my God, it’s Dean’s blood! - He needs to get away! Sam manages to worm through the destroyed door to the electrical room, but he catches several splinters. Some even bite his face and he gets stuck with the cast of his elbow. Spraining the right elbow, why, Sam, why did that happen? Everything’s against him. 

Memories of Ruby appear in his head. Of the smell, the taste, her body, the sex. The grunting and the mind blowing orgasm, the banging against walls everywhere they went. The power, the trip. His increasing power, a stimulant better than any human known drug. It resonates all within him with the odor of Dean’s musk and his blood. He can smell its potential, its strong taste. Sam even imagines how it would make him feel. Running away never felt so hard like right now. He remembers the withdrawal and the pain behind his eyes blinds him as he trips in the hallway and tumbles against a wall. Stinging pain in his arm, in his head and his legs feel heavy. It’s like he has Dean’s breath in his neck all this time. Even though he can’t hear him come close at all. It sounds like Dean is far away, in another world. 

“Come on, Sammy, I know you want a sip of it. Makes you all giddy, doesn't it? I can smell you. All of you.”

Sam yells something, but he can’t even make out what he says. 

“Keep runnin’ if you must, but you know I gotta find you sooner or later. It’s my home, too!”

The alarm is blaring again and Sam has no idea how far he can run. There won’t be any walls that might hold Dean back. He’s regaining strength, the human blood wears off. Even that Sam can smell. How much stronger Dean gets with every minute. 

“I taste delicious, Sammy. Just fuckin’ delicious.”

Oh, yes, Sam bets he does, that’s exactly why he needs to keep running. The smell gets even more intense now and Sam wonders how much Dean can cut himself up with the First Blade. He should’ve given the damn thing to Crowley when he had the chance to do so. 

“Stay away”, he croaks. 

There’s another hallway, one leading deep into the intestines of the Forbidden Bunker, how Dean and him called it jokingly, when they discovered it. An area full of locked doors made of the weirdest materials. Only one chance is left for Sam, when he finds that one door he unlocked in these months without Dean. He had learned a lot about witchcraft since Dean left this note on his bed, when he left Sam for Crowley and a life as a demon. When the only way to save himself from Dean was to hide himself in a panic room again, hallucinate again, he would have to do it. He rather sees Lucifer again, Mary, Bobby, all the victims they couldn’t save than to fall for Dean’s lure. Drink his own brother’s blood. This was perverted, disgusting, twisted. Even for them. The monster hunters, the monster fuckers, the monsters themselves. 

“The longer you run, the harder I bleed, brother!”

Sam tries every door on the way, but none opens. Sam’s eyes sting from the smell. What the hell is Dean doing? Covering the walls in blood? That would be insane. Even Dean would faint at one point. It must be impossible to drain a body so much before it dies. Dean isn’t possessing a body, he still has his own, whatever that means for him and his physis then. Sam trips again, he falls, on his right arm of course. He tears up from the pain that fills his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He can’t survive that long if doesn’t find a hide-out. 

It seems to be near, because Sam still can read the signs on the doors and when he finds room 616, he pushes the door open with a long and agonizing cry and slams it shut. It’s the door he unlocked already, a room, bleak as an empty tomb. Cold and pitchblack, there’s no electrical light, just candles, but Sam won’t be able to find them. He can just hide in here, pressed against a wall, praying to Castiel, to Hannah. He even cries for Crowley inside, someone needs to help him. 

Footsteps.

The smell of blood. The First Blade scraping on the tiles, Sam knows it’s that. 

“Gotcha! I really thought you’d be a bit cleverer than that. Where’s the fun when you cage yourself like a mouse?”

The door bursts open, way too easily. None of the sigils and runes seem to be an obstacle for Dean. And when light shines in the room and Sam can see not only Dean’s silhouette but also his face, he knows. Dean is covered in his own blood. His face, his slit throat, still pumping blood in long and rhythmic spurts from the wound. His arms are drenched in blood and now, with a biting smile, Dean looks at Sam and the Blade carves an S in Dean’s arm. 

“Come here, Sammy. Come to your big bro and lemme get you something real good

The stench is so intense now that Sam first vomits in violent jerks and then faints. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely black is Dean’s triumphant, sweet smile and his eyes. His normal green eyes. 

When Sam awakes again, he is tied up. Bound to a chair. They’re in the dungeon again, how did Sam come here? His head aches like it’s been run over by a stampede of bulls and his mouth tastes like vomit and blood. He tenses immediately as he’s present enough to realize his situation. Dean has tied him up here, and now he’s sitting on the desk in one corner, right beside the blood donor box that Sam got from the hospital. His legs swing and he hums a strange melody. 

“Oh, look who’s up.”

Dean jumps on his feet. Sam can see the First Blade, the damn Blade, resting on the table. Then Dean takes the syringes of human blood and starts spilling them. 

“You won’t need them anymore, Sammy. I think I won our little chase.”

“Dean, don’t do that… please. I can still…”

Dean hisses. His eyes turn black.

“You can still what, brother dearest? I already told you. I am what I am now, I am free. I’m finally free. Of humanity. I’m strong now. Efficient. Deadly.”

Sam winces when he moves in the ties. The ropes cut in his flesh and Dean removed the sling on his arm. His elbow hurts so much, it’s taking his words away. 

“You were deadly before already. The Mark made you powerful.” 

“But guess what, I’m even better now. Dean Winchester 2.0 - I’m all in for my upgrade. You see it as a bad thing, but what I see is … potential. Chances. Oh Sammy, I can conquer the world. Hell. Heaven. You really want the boring Dean back, huh?”

Sam shakes his head but that makes him feel dizzy, he stops.

“I want my brother back. The brother I loved.”

Dean’s black eyes target Sam like he’s prey again and he hates being looked at like this. It makes him feel less human, less Dean’s brother.

“I am your brother. Nothing ever changed that. But I told you to stay away from me, I told you not to look for me. But you did. You plotted against me, with Crowley, with Cas. You tied me up in this chair, you tortured me with human blood. Against my will. For someone who’s all over the place with autonomy and respecting boundaries you violated mine just perfectly.”

Sam squirms. The problem is that Dean is right. But Sam did it for the greater cause, didn’t he? Dean becoming human again was the best for everyone!

“You make me sound like the bad guy here, that’s not fair”, Sam mutters.

Dean laughs and it’s a deep, rough laugh that makes Sam’s skin crawl. This is so much Dean, even darker than usual. And it shakes Sam to the core. 

“Good, bad… Who cares. Human categories, bullshit. Nothing’s fair, Sam.”

“I need something to drink”, Sam says faintly now. 

He won’t make Dean untie him, that’s for sure, but maybe Cas will come to the rescue soon, he can maybe delay things. Also he needs to get rid of the taste of old blood in his mouth. Dean doesn’t reek of his blood that bad anymore, Sam is very much aware of the pink line across Dean’s throat. A scar. The blade will cause scars. Or at least the weapon delays even Dean’s healing. 

Dean smiles. 

“Sure. But why waste water on you when I kill you anyway?”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Will you?”

Dean shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit at all.

“Thinking about it. But you’re my brother, as you keep on reminding me. Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes and let you live?”

“And how would you do that?”, Sam asks, winding in his ties. 

Dean goes away. Doesn’t say another word. Sam is stunned and damn, holy shit, he’s afraid. Dean will kill him. But what is it with the possibility of letting him live?

The smell of iron. Like a perfume, soft and silky. No. No no no.

“Dean? Dean!”, Sam cries and fights the restraints harder.

He did it again. He slit his fucking throat, Sam knows it. And this time, he won’t be able to run, he won’t be able to fight back. He’s tied up, he’s in pain, he’s weak. It’s not like with the other hunters who wanted to force him to drink demon blood. He could fight them off, but now?

Emaciated. Sick. Depressed. A broken arm. Hungry. Tied up. The addiction is pulsating through his veins, giving him the chills. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like crackling in the air, the heavy scent of blood and Dean, he can only say no.

Dean won’t take a no, why should he? He’s a Knight of Hell. Sam is human. His brother is back, his throat cut deep enough to see the structures of muscles, veins, nerves, his trachea, the pulsing blood. Sam vomits all over his shirt, but there’s not much left except bitter, yellow gall. 

“You’re sick, huh?”, Dean coos in a voice like he did when Sam was younger. It’s meant for comfort but now it just feels like mockery and Sam wonders how he deserves to see his brother slit his throat, twice, just to seduce Sam to drink it. It's so fucked up. It’s low, even for lean, mean Dean. Human Dean would’ve never provoked Sam’s demon blood addiction. 

Sam nuzzles against the hand that’s stroking his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips tremble. 

“Let me make you feel better, don’t pull away, Sammy…”

Sam cries out and some ugly big tears fall down his face. Is it so easy to break? He’s gone through so much pain already, through torture, rape, withdrawal. He was betrayed by everyone he loved, especially Dean. Dean’s hand is warm, but his skin feels like marble when Sam leans in, rubs his face in the palm of Dean’s hand. Is this still his brother? Is there any humanity left? 

But what would that change? They’re here now. In a bunker soaked with demon blood, Sam is tied up, Dean reigns. 

“Hush, hush”, Dean purrs, both of his hands holding Sam’s bobbing head. “It’s gonna be alright… Sammy, just give in. There will be no more pain, just us. You and me, against the world. Like it used to be.”

Sam opens his eyes but all he sees is blurry and red, it stinks of iron and vomit and Dean’s black eyes…

“I wanna see your normal eyes”, is all Sam can say right now.

A smirk.

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

And Dean’s eyes flash back to green and Sam can have the illusion of his brother just for a moment longer. Thick dark blood is pulsing out of Dean’s cut on his throat. 

“It looks disgusting, Dee.”

Dean only laughs.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful.”

Dean cups his hand before the dripping wound, collects a tiny lake of blood in his hand and then, gently presses his blood covered hand against Sam’s lips. 

The world turns upside down. Sam feels the spinning, the spinning, the spinning!

The taste makes him want to barf, violently, but the old creature, the blood sucking monster was waiting patiently beneath the surface. Patient but greedy. Now it’s unleashed it bursts out and the first drops, he swallows. His lips limp and curled in utter disgust, but now, oh now, there’s a jolt running through his body, he sits straight up, first ties grinding, the ropes won’t last. The shackles won’t last. 

“Come on, sweet baby boy, you want more…” Dean sings, eyes black as the night. 

And slowly, very slowly and enjoying, Sam’s lips brush Dean’s hand, collect the blood, a tongue, pink, hot sneaks out, licks the offered hand. 

The ropes break. The pain in Sam’s arm fades. It’s a movement even Dean didn’t see coming when Sam bursts out of all restraints he put on him and grips Dean’s hand tight, as tight as possible and sucks three of Dean’s fingers dry. 

The Knight of Hell rejoices, pulls Sam close, closer than they’ve been for a very long time.

“That’s it, Sammy, yes, that’s it, let me take care of you… such a greedy boy…” 

Dean’s voice is distant to Sam, distorted and hollow, he remembers their youth, the motel rooms, the flickering lights, the old tv, how Dean smelled of whiskey and beer. John’s passed out in an armchair, stained in blood, piss and vomit. 

He remembers Dean’s care. The kisses at night, the stealthy handjobs in the shower, how Dean ‘taught’ him how people do it. 

Make love. 

Sam was twelve. Dean was sixteen. And he was a grower. 

A slut. 

All of this drenched in velvety red tint.

The ritual.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy…”

“I love you, Dee.”

“Never tell anyone.”

And Sam never had told anyone (but Lucifer knew - he knew everything) and deep down, buried in his mind, these feelings were in peaceful slumber, violently dragged across the floor now, kicking and crying, 

A W A K E

Sam is awake. 

He remembers the awkward, painful, dry fuck in the back of the Impala after they killed the Wendigo, so long ago, and how they never ever said a word. 

Spit is shitty lube.

So is blood.

It roars. The monster roars in Sam’s chest. It’s in agony, it’s in joy, it’s free! 

And Sam is just a puppet, always been nothing more than a puppet. He watches himself suck Dean’s fingers, then sticking his own fingers in the wound, stir it, stir Dean’s insides. The gurgling, the retching. Dean’s satisfied moans, his hands all over Sam’s now healed body. 

“Yes, Sammy, let it all out, come on… Let it all out.”

Sam only hisses. This blood, Dean’s blood, the blood of a demon, of a Knight. It’s so much more potent than Ruby’s or any other demon’s he’s ever drank and tasted. Dean is delicious. Demon tend to taste like rotting meat, titan arum aroma.

But Dean tastes of all the good things. Dahlia, petrichor, amber. His musk makes Sam’s blood boil and his pants bulge. 

“Sammy.”

“Dean”, is the first thing New Sam says. 

What Monster Sam says. His voice sounds low, rough, barely in control. His body is shaking, too much force is withhold now. 

“Brother.”

The wound on Dean’s throat is closing up again already, the healing ability is really incredible. Sam will bite it open very, very soon, but first… 

Dean doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight back at all when Sam slams him down to the ground like he weighs nothing. There’s the crunchy sound of maybe, bones breaking, or just getting sprained, but even that, Dean will heal in no time. Dean lies on his stomach, attempts to get up. 

“Sammy-”

“Sammy is not here right now.”

There’s no surprise, no scare in Dean’s voice. Sam stomps his bare foot in Dean’s back and Dean stays, doesn’t even breathe. The adrenaline rush in Sam’s ears makes him deaf for most other things and seeing demon Dean down on his stomach, defeated so easily, it’s almost an insult. Sam crouches down, one foot still on Dean’s back, pressing him down. 

“You surrender?”, Sam asks, eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t mean to fight you at all.”

Dean chuckles, his voice raspy

Sam drags Dean on all fours, rips apart his shirt (the pretty red shirt, ruined with blood anyway) and Jeans and when he holds Dean’s hips, bends over and bites Dean’s neck, Dean hisses “Come on, Sammy, that’s it.”

That’s it.

Sam tears apart skin, Dean’s blood gushes in Sam’s mouth, warm and silky, smooth and delicious. 

“Is that what you wanted?”, Sam says in a breathless moment, before he starts sucking the wound dry, the bleeding will stop soon, way too soon for Sam to be satisfied. 

Dean growls deeply, pushes against Sam. Pleading. Sam pushes two fingers inside Dean, but feels very quickly, Dean doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want it. He needs Sam. He rips off his jeans, down to his knees and when that’s not giving him enough space, he just tears it to shreds completely. Dean’s ass is perfect. Round, juicy, firm. When he gives it a slap - a hard one - he enjoys the noise Dean makes. And then he thrusts completely inside, without hesitation. No foreplay. No gentle feeling ahead and preparing Dean’s wonderfully tight and delicious ass. He feels amazing, hot, tight, smooth. Dean hands grip Sam’s wrists tight while he fucks into him, raw, without anything to soothe the pain, make it easier, make Dean nice, slick and wet. But he doesn’t complain at all. 

“That’s it”, Dean chants, in his low, low “Let’s finish this game” voice. That’s it, over and over. 

This is no sex Sam would ever have if he was in his right mind. Covered in his own vomit, Dean’s blood, on the cold floor. Not that he has fucked any guy after he fled off to Stanford anyway. Dean is all he knows. He only knows what Dean taught him about fucking ass. 

Dean starts getting slippery with his own blood, Sam’s blood infused spit and finally, cum. Sam loses the feeling of time and space, all he can do is fuck Dean until one of them passes out, and if Dean passed out, Sam would continue anyway. 

The adrenaline rush plummets too early for Sam’s taste, the haze clears up and he’s getting aware of his ripped off clothes, the shreds of Dean’s. The fluids, the smell, the feeling. Crust everywhere. Dean is still on his knees, head sunken on the floor, his arms stretched out, breathing heavily. There’s no sign that he’s in pain. But Dean’s a demon, right? He will be fine. 

Sam drags him up, and the cocky smile, the perfect hair, it’s all gone. Dean looks like he’s had the same otherworldly experience. It’s a sight that makes Sam chuckle. 

“What are you laughing at?”, Dean asks, coming on his feet, gently swaying, but finally his wounds are closing up. 

“You threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth.”

“Not there yet, Sammy. Not yet.”

The situation is unreal, Sam feels unreal. He knows he will never be the same. Something’s broken inside him, crumbled - yet ready to expand again, into unknown territory. 

He doesn’t remember the coercion, Dean’s betrayal - or was it Dean’s way of deliberating Sam?

Sam, leaning on the table, watches Dean come close and he leans in, a hand in Sam’s hair, gently pulling. Their kiss isn’t gentle, nothing will be gentle for a while. Teeth clash, the table scrapes along the floor and the throbbing of Dean’s pulse makes Sam rise up again. Dean bites Sam’s neck, sharp pain - and Dean drinks. The feeling is satisfying and roughening Sam up at the same time. He pulls his Knight close, closer, grabs him and bends him over the table, both still bleeding, Dean high from Sam’s blood. 

“For a Knight of Hell, you’re very pliant”, Sam growls in Dean’s ear.

Dean chuckles.

“I just bend the knee to my King.”

Sam frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean hikes up and drags Sam to the mirror in the Dungeon.

“Take a look”, Dean hums, rich and satisfied in tone, “acknowledge who you are.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. First, Sam’s mossy eyes just look glassy, clear, beaming with desire for Dean. 

Then he draws in his breath with a sharp hiss. 

“You got your daddy’s eyes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes turned yellow.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 10

It is not better in the morning.

Previous

Read chapter 10 on AO3 or read below (but be warned, there’s mature content in this one):

Once again, it’s hard to sleep. I dream of kissing Cardan, who is actually Locke, and I am wearing Taryn’s pink prom dress. And that’s the tamest of them; I have more graphic nightmares that I won’t recount here, except to say that they are awful. Every time I wake up I am either too hot or too cold. I eventually decide I am most comfortable with one leg pushed outside of the blankets and fall into a light doze.

About two hours into my botched attempt at sleeping, I awaken to some odd noises and realize that Cardan is also awake. A moment later, I realize he must think I am still asleep, because when I look over at him there can be no other explanation for what he is doing.

As before, he is in slightly sharper focus than everything else in the room. I thought I’d find him lying down, but he is sitting up with his back against the wall, and his head is bowed forward. He is definitely trying to be quiet, but it is very clear to me from his weird breathing and the sound of skin on skin and the movement of his hand what is going on.

I shouldn’t watch. I know I shouldn’t. But I woke up turned on my side toward him and I can’t turn over or he might realize I’m awake. I can’t even imagine what would happen then. Would he stop? Would he come over? Would I invite him over? I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

His breathing grows more labored and he brings his free hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds that fall out of it. I hate the way my heartbeat skips at every one, the way every muscle in my body clenches with want, with need. I stay quiet, though, watching with hungry curiosity as he curls over himself and makes a strangled sound, almost but not entirely swallowed up by his palm. His shoulders shake.

When it’s over—and I am marveling at how I just watched him jerk off—he sighs, a long, exhausted sigh that somehow really endears him to me. I want to crawl over to him and nuzzle at his neck. I want to drape my body over his body so we can keep each other warm. I want to lick his hand clean, a thought that I recoil from even as I have it. That can’t possibly taste good, and yet—

“Ah, shit,” he whispers. He’s looking down at his hand, and my delusional omega brain wonders if I should go offer to lick it. But then he pulls off one of his already dirty socks and uses that. He got a shower today, but being stuck in a dirty room the size of my stepmother’s walk-in closet negates that fast. Honestly, after being stuck down here for days, I’m not sure we’ll ever be clean again.

Cardan’s head falls back against the wall. His clean hand grabs for something at his side, and when he presses it to his face, I realize it’s my sweatshirt. He exhales again, and it must be my imagination, but it sounds suspiciously like my name. He takes a few, deep breaths, then puts it back down and curls up on his side, using it as a pillow.

I feel like I have been holding my breath this entire time, but I keep holding it a little longer, just in case. There is a pulsing, demanding heat in me, concentrated between my thighs, but, as I always do, I push it to the side. I curl my knees to my chest, and hope it will be better in the morning.

---

It is not better in the morning.

When I open my eyes, it is to the migraine that threatened me yesterday finally breaking, like someone’s jammed a railroad spike into my left eye. The fever is roaring, too, and I pull my leg back inside the blankets and wrap myself up tight, but my shivering doesn’t stop. My muscles have acquired a dull ache that makes me think they’d be bruised if I could peel my skin back and look.

I think I half-expected to find that Cardan had crawled on top of me in his sleep. Then I would wake up, then he would do it, and it would be an awkward thing to work around while kidnapped but at least the worst of my symptoms would abate. But Cardan is still by his corner where I’d seen him fall asleep last night, except now he’s curled up in a ball around my sweatshirt. So there would be no morning hump session, which is good, because I am not yet at the point where that seems more alluring than scary, awkward, intimidating.

My mouth is dry, and I turn over to reach for the water bottle, but it is empty. When had it emptied? Did I empty it?

“Cardan,” I whisper. That’s all it takes to jolt him out of sleep. He sits up, and rubs his eyes, which then widen when he looks at me so I must look really terrible.

“Shit,” he says again, which brings back echoes of him saying it in the night, which just makes my entire body seize up because he’d been jerking off—over me? or over the situation?—and there was an increasingly urgent part of my brain wondering why he’d had his dick in his hand when he could have put it in me. And then, ow, a cramp on top of everything else. As if everything else weren’t enough.

I paw for the pills the Bomb left me and swallow them dry, hoping for some relief from the headache, even though it won’t be immediate. Then I start to push up to my hands and knees.

“No, no,” says Cardan, shoving out a hand but not coming any closer. “No, you just— just wait, I’ll get them. I’ll get you more water.”

“I can do it,” I insist, but it’s taken so much effort just to get this far up and I’m trembling holding myself in place.

“Jude, you look—” He trails off and shakes his head. It must really be that bad. I want to tell him he doesn’t look much better. The circles under Cardan’s eyes have deepened, and he’s already sweating so much that his curls cling to his forehead. But he just sets his mouth in a line and says, “Let me do it.”

In almost any other circumstance I would hate being bossed around by him, but I just flop onto my belly and groan, “Fine.”

Cardan, however, is wired. He must feel as jagged and sleep-deprived as I do, but I can see the extra jittery energy in his every step. I did make that joke about thrusting, but what happens when you box an alpha in rut in a basement with no outlet? Where does that energy go?

Apparently into his fist, because when he pounds on the door it’s so loud that I nearly jump off the mattress. My head throbs. “Hey!” he calls. “Jude needs water!”

There is no answer for a solid thirty seconds. When Cardan glances at me, I am frowning. “They’re usually right outside,” I say, and my stomach plummets at the thought that we’ve been locked in here and just left with no food or water.

“They’re coming,” Cardan replies, probably to reassure himself. He bangs on the door again, this time with even more urgency. “Hey!”

A few seconds later the door opens, and it is not the Bomb standing there, but the Ghost, dressed in black, his face an inscrutable mask. “Alright, I heard you.”

Cardan takes a half-step back from the door, toward me. I pull the blankets tighter around myself and flatten my back against the wall. This was the outcome we had worried about. Everything Cardan had said and done yesterday was to keep our captors out, and especially to keep the Ghost away from me.

“You need to leave,” Cardan snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I am surprised at the ferocity in his voice. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt people with a shove or a cruel word. I have never seen him like this.

But the Ghost is unimpressed. Probably because if it came down to a fight between the two of them, he would definitely win, even though Cardan has more muscle. “You can relax,” the Ghost says. “I’m a beta.”

Cardan blinks, and so do I. But then his eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The Ghost sighs. “Ask your girlfriend if I smell like anything. Her receptors are on overdrive. Even maskers wouldn’t help.”

I expect Cardan to protest that I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m about to open my mouth to say he isn’t my boyfriend, when he looks at me and asks, softly, “Jude?”

The urge to deny anything is knocked right out of me, and I inhale, concentrating. It’s difficult to get anything beyond Cardan’s scent and mine, both of which hang heavy in the stagnant air, but I do pick out something. I look up at Cardan. “Just hand soap. He smells like hand soap.”

Cardan looks skeptical.

“I’m less of a danger to her than you are in this state,” the Ghost says. “I can help her out of the room. Let me.”

In this state. He has to know, then. Uneasily, Cardan moves aside to let the Ghost into the room, tracking him as he walks over and crouches at my side. The Ghost presses a cool hand to my forehead while looking at my sweaty, tangled hair.

“Why didn’t you say you’re a beta?” I ask, shivering.

“Wasn’t relevant. When did you last take medicine?”

“A few minutes ago. What about the Roach and the Bomb?”

“Do you introduce yourself to people by telling them you’re an omega?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he then says, “We have to get you into the shower. I’ll help you up.”

I nod. I know what I look like and what I smell like, and I am not so proud that I won’t accept his help.

“Hey,” Cardan begins, when the Ghost reaches out to put an arm around my shoulder, but I give him a look and he doesn’t say anything else, although the set of his jaw tells me he’s unhappy. He crosses his arms.

“Cardan,” the Ghost says, “can you go turn the water on for her? The old heater takes a while to get started. Make it warm to start, not hot. She can turn it up if she needs to.”

“Right,” Cardan says, and over the Ghost’s shoulder I see him nod and leave.

“He listened to you,” I marvel as the Ghost peels the blankets from my body and helps me to my feet. I should feel more self-conscious that I’m wearing only a tank top and underwear and my thighs are definitely crusty with residue, but he isn’t making a big deal of it, so neither am I. Besides, between my shaky legs and my bad ankle, I am a little distracted by the effort of not toppling over.

“Alphas. Temperamental, but they like to feel like they’re doing something.” It seems like a joke, but he doesn’t smile when he says it. He supports my weight easily, and with his help I hobble out of the room.

“You really don’t smell like much,” I inform him. “It’s weird.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Right.” Mentally, I kick myself. And the Ghost doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either.

As he helps me across the little room, I am very conscious of my body pressed against his and his arm around my shoulder. My hormonal brain, ecstatic that I am being touched, is swimming, trying to tell me I am attracted to him. Am I attracted to him? I mean, I think he’s handsome, objectively. Should I have sex with the Ghost? I probably shouldn’t have sex with the Ghost.

But, of course, those images are provided to me unbidden because the omega part of me is ecstatic that I am willing to actually entertain my horniness. What if the Ghost helped me into the shower and he stayed there with me? And Cardan also stayed? And then what? My rational brain scolds. I don’t know anything about the logistics of having a threesome in a shower. It seems like an easy way to get more injured than I already am.

And while having sex with the Ghost would be simpler from an emotional standpoint because I barely know him, he is a beta, so it would not actually solve any of my current, heat-related problems. Also, Cardan would be sad.

Do I care that Cardan would be sad? That’s an uncomfortable thought.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, when we finally reach the bathroom and I see Cardan pacing back and forth in the little hallway and hear the shower stream hitting the old yellow tile in the bathroom. I can’t wait to be clean. I can’t wait for these heat-induced intrusive thoughts to go away either, but unfortunately that’ll take a little longer.

“Do you need any help getting undressed?” the Ghost asks, in a tone so dispassionate that even my omega hindbrain wilts at how obviously uninterested he is.

“I think I can manage,” I say, mostly because I can, but also because Cardan looks like he’s on the verge of tearing the Ghost’s throat out, and I still think the Ghost would win that fight but I’m suddenly not sure. We’ll all be glad when this is over.

So I limp into the bathroom, close and lock the door behind me, and tear off my sweat-soaked tank top and my underwear. Instead of standing in the shower, I grab the soap and sit right down, not caring if the floor is gross. I nearly start crying when the water hits my skin, and am almost surprised it doesn’t start steaming around me. It feels cool, so I turn it up a little until I’m comfortable. Then I begin scrubbing myself all over.

It takes a long time before I feel clean. My body still reacts to the lingering traces of Cardan’s scent that cling to my skin and hair. But I discover that someone’s stocked the shower with a set of floral shampoo and conditioner that claims to be “scent-dampening.” Small text on the back advises that they “may have diminished effect during periods of heat or rut,” but I pour a good third of the bottles out into my hands and wash and condition my hair, detangling it with my fingers. I wash my pubic hair, too, just in case it’ll help.

When I step out of the shower, feeling much better, I eye my gross clothes and dread putting them back on. But on the closed toilet, neatly folded, someone has left me an alternative: one of those loose maxi dresses you can find hanging on a rack in the back of a Walgreens, for cheap. I pull it over my head; it’s olive green, and too long, but it fits okay otherwise. There are also some soft black shorts, which I put on under the dress. There’s no replacement for my underwear, so I wash it in the sink, wringing it out as best I can, and leave it to hang dry on the towel bar.

When I step out, Cardan, who has now taken to pacing the main area with his head bowed sulkily forward, perks up. “Hey,” he says. “You look… wow, a lot better. Your scent’s— you’re better.” His nose wrinkles. “The shampoo’s a little weird, though.”

“Not a fan of lavender?”

“It just doesn’t really…” He gestures vaguely. “...like, go with you. It’s the opposite of what you are.”

I limp over to an empty chair and ease myself into it. Because I am so tired that my filter is totally worn away, I ask, “What do I smell like to you, anyway?”

“It’s…” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I notice his feet are still bare, and nearly blush, remembering what had happened to his sock. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I probably smell like a lot of things at once to you, too, right?”

I nod. “But if you had to choose,” I press, and brace myself, trying to anticipate the worst thing he could say. Methane gas, rotten fish, a dump?

“Cinnamon, I guess,” Cardan admits.

“What?” I sit forward in my chair. “You hate the smell of cinnamon?”

“No, I.” He looks flustered, but tries to channel it back into haughty and irritable. “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to go shower.”

“But—” I begin, perplexed, but Cardan has already disappeared.

The Ghost, who had been leaning silently against the wall, pushes off of it to approach me. “I should change your bandages,” he says, crouching down to expect them. I open my mouth, but he anticipates me and looks up, adding, “I know you have questions, but I’m only going through this once. Better wait until Cardan gets back.”

I press my lips into a thin line. I can be patient when it’s important, but I am feeling frayed right now. As he is re-wrapping my leg, I blurt out, “How do you know what to do if you’re a beta?”

“What, with your leg?”

“No, with—” I look down at him and find him raising his eyebrows. He had been joking. I sit back in my chair, pouting.

“My dad was an omega,” he explains. “My mom was an alpha. I saw all sides of it growing up, even if I didn’t go through it. Three days every few months I’d be on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“It was what it was.” He gives me another look. “Now wait.”

I scowl at him. “Can I have a mandarin?”

Maybe happy not to be talking, he gets up to get one from a bag slumped on top of the mini-fridge. I catch it when he tosses it to me, and alternate between picking at it and taking sips from a fresh water bottle until Cardan emerges from the shower, damp and cleansed of sweat. He sits down across from me, and I scrunch up my nose. Lavender doesn’t really suit him either.

“I told Jude I’d only go through this once,” says the Ghost, who seems happier to remain standing. “But I think I can guess your first question. Yes, we all knew what was going on. Pretty much from the get-go. We didn’t say anything because you guys were being cagey for some reason, but we figured we could get you the supplies you needed anyway, no harm done. I only said something because I’m the only one here, and Cardan wasn’t going to give me access otherwise.”

Cardan shifts. I ask, “Why are you the only one here?”

The Ghost blinks at me. That wasn’t the follow-up he was expecting. “The Bomb and the Roach were called away.” He shrugs. “Might be good news, might be bad. Hard to say. They figured I could handle things alone while you were in heat. It’s not like either of you are in a state to go anywhere.”

“So, what, you’re all betas?” Cardan asks, cutting me off before I can follow up.

“Yes.”

He frowns. “We thought you were using maskers.”

“It wasn’t a bad assumption,” the Ghost says. “People in our line of work often do, so we can’t be traced by scent. Betas make good spies, too. Any profession that requires stealth.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. “So were you recruited because you were a beta, or…” My stomach sinks as I consider another possibility. “You were all, like, born… nobody made you this way, right?”

The Ghost hesitates, then says, “I was, yes. The others’ stories aren’t mine to tell.”

Cardan gawps at me. “You’re thinking they were… what, de-designated? Why? To make them better at… crime?”

I shudder. Forcible de-designations were categorized as human rights violations by the United Nations in the early 1970s after certain unethical human experiments came to light. Sure, there are de-designation therapies out there for people whose designations cause extreme dysphoria or health complications, but they take months. The forcible de-designations are quick, and brutal, and painful, and if the subject survives the physical complications, they might not survive the psychological.

“I hope not,” I say, quietly, telling myself that my discomfort is brought around by the idea of anyone suffering such a painful ordeal, not because I like our abductors. I change the subject. “But you were recruited?”

“Yes.”

Man of few words. I hug my arms around my stomach. “Must be nice.”

“The job opportunities or being a beta?”

“Not having to deal with…” I peel one hand away from my abdomen and gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t envy that.” The Ghost looks between us. “Although I do sometimes wonder what I’m missing out on.”

I glance at Cardan, who, to my surprise, actually looks angry. “If you had fresh clothes for Jude the whole time, why didn’t you give them to her?” he demands. “Why didn’t anybody stay with her? She was stuck in her gross clothes and she was alone, all day.”

Again, the Ghost looks slightly taken aback, although he smooths his face into his usual inscrutable mask in an instant. “The Bomb got these for her yesterday, but she was curled up in her nest and we didn’t know if she’d want to move or be bothered.”

“My nest?” I frown. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have a—”

“It’s a sad nest, but you did pile all the bedding in the room up in one corner.”

“No, that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—” I look at Cardan in horror, as he is the one who put all the blankets and pillows on me, but he is looking away from me. I shake my head, and some wet hair falls into my face. “It’s okay that I was alone. I think it was better. Don’t worry about it.”

I feel the Ghost watching me closely, and shift in my seat. “It’s not shameful, what’s happening to you,” he says at last. “Plenty of people go through it all the time.”

“Not you,” I retort.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough and seen enough to know there are upsides to being an omega.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

The Ghost’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Cardan, who’s slouching in his chair and pretending to ignore both of us. “Tell me how my life doesn’t totally suck right now.”

He looks at me, then at Cardan, then says, “I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Next

[devillain]

Wardrobe - Wonderland Masquerade

Carlos’ outfit is one of the first he made entirely on his own in Auradon. He did get help with the patterns and fitting for the suit from Evie. But the mask is entire his creation and idea. Its an homage to the family name, and talk is it could be something his mother made, back in the hey day of her company. The pieces she once made are now collectables, and rare and part of fashion history, and Carlos has the potential to be right their alongside her if he wanted. But his passion lies elsewhere, but it was nice to create something for himself instead of his mother for once.

inspired by @clippher / @zzozo / @tiderider because chey is always inspiring

[hala-hala-at-me]

Werewolf Series : Wooyoung (M)

Genre: humor, fluff, smut

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Wooyoung never really took notice of you even though you shared the same apartment until he imprinted on you.

————————————————-

“Guys, I think I’m in love.”

That elicited a groan from all of his friends, the seven boys knowing where this was going.

“You said that about the last girl and look what happened.” Mingi rolled his eyes as he reminded his friend.

Jung Wooyoung ignored his statement and focused on you who was currently on the other side of the café. You were nibbling on a piece of chocolate cake as you kept your focus on your book that you were currently immersed in.

“Seriously. She’s so…beautiful.”

Seonghwa exchanged a look with Hongjoong while San nudged Yunho as he leaned towards the other.

“I think he’s actually serious.”

They all decided to follow his line of vision to see who he was ogling and to their shock it was someone they were all familiar with.

“[F/N]? Her?!” Mingi yelled, abruptly standing up from his seat and earning the attention of those in the café including you.

“Be quiet! She’s staring at us now.” Wooyoung hissed as he smacked the boy’s arm and told him to sit.

“Wooyoung…she’s been your roommate for over a year and you suddenly fell in love? That sound’s like…” Hongjoong trailed off and Wooyoung made a noise of frustration.

“Yeah…I know. I was so busy dating any girl I saw that I didn’t even pay attention to [F/N] until I imprinted on her a few days back.” He revealed and he saw how his friends were trying to take in the news.

“Well, that’s great. At least she knows you’re a werewolf.” San mentioned and Wooyoung smiled as he remembered the day you found out.

It was like any other day at your apartment except for the fact that there was a giant wolf sleeping on your sofa. You held the urge to scream but it became tough when the wolf suddenly transformed into a human who looked like Wooyoung. A very naked looking Wooyoung. The boy had woken up the next day to find a blanket covering him and he figured out straight away that you had seen. The only scent he could detect on the blanket was yours which was how he realised. You were hiding in your room when he decided to confront you. He was really nervous to talk to you but when you showed that you weren’t scared and that you trusted him, he was in shock for two reasons. One, you had taken the situation too well and two, he had imprinted on you.

“I’m such an idiot for not taking notice of her. I mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous and I just want to hold her and kiss her and kinda wanna take her to my bed and ravish her-”

“Okay, it’s getting too graphic for us. Please stop.” Yunho cringed as he covered his ears while Wooyoung looked offended.

“What? I’m just telling you all how I feel.”

“Yeah but we don’t want that much detail.” Yeosang said as he took a sip of his coffee.

“So, how are you going to approach her about this?” Seonghwa decided to drop the bomb and Wooyoung sighed, slumping onto the table as a sign of defeat.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know how to. We’ve been roommates for the last year but we didn’t really interact with each other until she found out. So, things are still pretty awkward.”

“Your heat is coming soon so if you don’t tell her, she will find out then. Oh, did you order those chains from the internet like I told you to?” Hongjoong informed before bringing up the next topic through a question.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to arrive today…” Wooyoung looked at his phone to check his package but he trailed off as he saw that it arrived.

He then looked towards the table you had been sitting by and noticed you were no longer there causing his heart rate to increase.

“I got to go before she see’s it.” The black haired boy rushed out of the café before his friends could say anything and he ran with all his might to get to the apartment he shared with you.

As soon as he stumbled through the door, he looked across for his package and froze as he saw his package box was ripped with some of the chains sticking out.

“I brought your package in for you but your item fell out through the bottom of the box which explains why its ripped.” You pointed out before he could accuse you of being nosy.

“I-I can explain-” You raised your hand to stop him, a smile soon appearing.

“I’m not here to judge you, Wooyoung. If you’re into that sort of kinky stuff then so be it. Who am I to say anything?”

Wooyoung grew mortified of your words and parted his lips to speak up but you were already walking into your own room. The boy fell onto his knees before slumping to the floor, the utter embarrassment he felt taking him down.

————————————————–

Mingi was on the floor along with San as the two clutched their stomachs that began to ache due to how much they laughed.

“I-I can’t breathe!” Mingi choked out and Wooyoung felt his eye twitch.

“Don’t breathe then!” He growled as he moved forward to attack the two.

Hongjoong held him back with the help of Yeosang while Seonghwa went over and gave them each a ‘light’ smack making the two finally get up and calm down.

The eight were already making a scene in the college cafeteria and if it wasn’t for you, they would have been kicked out. You had approached their table and Wooyoung quickly sat down, his nerves spiking up but he couldn’t help feeling giddy that you had chosen to come to them.

“Hello, I wanted to ask you all something, if you don’t mind.” You asked and Hongjoong gave you a nod as he scooted over to give you room.

You bowed in a thankful manner before taking a seat and facing them all with a neutral expression.

“So, when I found out about Wooyoung being a…you know…I wanted to question if you all were also the same.” You started off, looking at each of them until you stopped at Seonghwa who gave you a warm smile.

“We are a pack which is why you always see us together. Hongjoong is the leader who takes care of all of us.” He explained in a quieter voice so only you would hear.

“I see…I also wanted to ask Wooyoung about the chains because I may have misunderstood yesterday but then I did some research on my own using the internet and fortunately, I found out why.” You turned your attention onto Wooyoung and he grew startled, a pink blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Where exactly did you find the information on the internet?” Hongjoong asked and you took out your phone.

Placing it on the table, you then showed them all a blog called 'The Truth About Werewolves’. They all sent a look to Yeosang who returned it with a raised brow.

“What? I couldn’t stand the way media wrote about us so I made a blog. It’s very popular.” He informed.

“It was very helpful, thank you.” The two of you shared a smile while Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

“Wooyoung, do you want me to help you with anything when you go through your heat?” You innocently asked.

The boy had been drinking his water but as he heard your question, he choked causing him to cough violently.

“You don’t need to do anything. I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t leave his room so don’t worry.” Seonghwa mentioned quickly as you grew confused over his reaction.

You did read information on werewolves but it seemed you hadn’t looked too into it since you sounded way too innocent as you asked that particular question.

“Okay. That’s all I needed to know so I’m going to take my leave then. Goodbye.” With a quick bow, you left the flustered boy with his snickering group of friends.

————————————————–

“Hello, Seonghwa.” You had opened the door to invite the boy in and he sent you a smile as he walked in with a bag.

“Has Wooyoung been okay?” He asked and you paused to think back on how the morning went.

“Other than him cornering me to a wall this morning and then running away to his room, he’s been fine.” Seonghwa almost smacked his forehead with frustration but he held himself back and sent you a nod instead.

“I’ll take care of him now and [F/N]…please, do not go in his room whatsoever. Until he is better, he cannot see you.” He warned but you blinked in confusion, the older boy noticing this.

“Is it dangerous?” You asked and he hesitated, not knowing how to put it the right way.

“Not dangerous but more like, he would end up doing something that you might not be happy with.” He explained and you still didn’t understand but decided to give him a nod to ease his mind.

With that sorted, you went to your own room and left Seonghwa to his own duties. The male walked up to Wooyoung’s room and with a little bit of confidence, he walked in and took in the sight of Wooyoung who was lying on his bed, shirtless.

“Hyung…” Wooyoung groaned as he grasped his bedsheets, his eyes squeezed shut as the pain in his body was unbearable.

Seonghwa knew what he was going through, since he had been going through the pain himself merely two weeks ago.

“I’ve got to chain you down before you pull off anything.” He whispered as a way to comfort him but Wooyoung, shook his head.

“Can’t I just be with [F/N]? I know she will make me feel better.” Wooyoung held in the moan that almost slipped past his lips as his thoughts of you became dirty.

“You are not yourself at the moment, Wooyoung. I can’t let you near her.” Seonghwa spoke in a tone that was final and Wooyoung growled but he fought the urge to fight his older friend and nodded.

Wooyoung was chained down after a bit of a struggle and Seonghwa decided to leave the boy to himself as he resided in the living room with you who was focused on studying. You bit into the apple you were munching on as you turned to the next page of your textbook.

“For someone who recently found out about werewolves, you are taking this pretty well.” Seonghwa didn’t want to bring it up but he couldn’t help but feel suspicious of your behaviour.

“Strange. I know but I’ve been told about mythical creatures by my grandfather when I was young and how he met a few himself. Obviously, I was a kid and believed everything but as I grew up, I lost that belief up until Wooyoung decided to reveal himself that he was a werewolf, right here.” She pointed at the spot next to her and glanced to see Seonghwa make a look of understanding before it morphed into guilt.

“Don’t be sorry, I understand where you were coming from.” You mentioned with a smile.

He returned your smile before focusing back on the TV he had switched on earlier. The sound of chains smacking against the floor brought you out of your studying faze and you looked towards the door in concern.

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?”

Seonghwa released a sigh before turning towards you.

“Once you step into that room, you will know exactly why I’ve been stopping you from entering.” He told but you shrugged off his words and moved towards Wooyoung’s room.

“[F/N]?” He called before you even placed your hand on the door handle.

You stiffened at the fact that he could detect your presence even without seeing you but you shook away the thought and focused back onto confronting him.

“Wooyoung, I came to see if need anything…” You walked in as you spoke, wanting to get straight to the point but you trailed off as you took in the sight of Wooyoung’s toned chest and abs.

“Fuck, you smell amazing.”

That was not what you expected him to say so you gawked at the boy as you were rendered speechless.

“Come here.” He whispered, loud enough for you to hear.

“W-Why?”

Oh crap. You were losing your confidence.

“So I can kiss you and then take you as mine.” He growled, his eyes alternating to a golden shade.

“Kiss? Take me?” You repeated dumbly and the male was getting frustrated.

“Come here before I rip these chains off and get you myself.” He hissed and you had to admit, he was scaring you.

You backed away with the door pressing to your back and the male dropped his aggressive behavior and put on a more softer look.

“I-I’m sorry, [F/N]…I’m just in a lot of pain because of the heat.” He placed his gaze onto the ground and you quickly made your way to him in worry.

“Do you need medicine? Will that help it go away?” You asked as you placed a hand on his back and the boy groaned at your touch.

“No…I just need you.”

You gasped as Wooyoung’s hands managed to reach out and grab your waist. He pulled you towards him causing you to fall on top and place your hands on his chest to support yourself.

“Wooyoung, what are you-”

He cut you off by connecting your lips with his and you froze, too much in shock to respond back until he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. His hands were still clasped around your waist and he used them to help you grind against him. The boy broke the kiss as soon as he felt the friction and he tilted his head back, eliciting a moan.

“Wooyoung…we need to stop.”

He looked back at you and a smirk painted his lips, taking you by surprise.

“Why? I know you want this as much as I do. I can smell how wet you are.” To emphasise his point, he decided to lick his lips in a way that took your breath away.

Fuck.

This was not how things were supposed to turn out but Seonghwa had a feeling it would be so he handed you a needle containing a fluid that would help Wooyoung go through the pain for a few hours…and also put him to sleep.

“I’m sorry…”

The boy was confused by your sudden apology until he felt a small prick on his left arm. His eyes widened and his lips parted to speak but a sudden wave of drowsiness hit him causing his eyes to suddenly shut. You moved yourself from Wooyoung and quickly made your way out, shutting the door behind you slowly as to not make a sound.

“How was it?”

You face Seonghwa with a troubled look as you spoke up.

“H-He was kinda horny…maybe a lot…okay, a bit too much.” You admitted and the other smiled but more in a smug manner.

“I told you.”

————————————————-

“But, Hongjoong…I know…Who’s going to take care of Wooyoung? Okay…fine.” Seonghwa hung up the call and faced you but his expression softened as he took in your nervous look.

“I have to just go out for a few hours but I swear I will be back so you don’t have to worry about wooyoung. Just don’t go into his room no matter how many times he calls you.” He said and you nodded.

You watched as he left your apartment and as soon as the door shut, Wooyoung’s voice rung throughout the apartment.

“[F/N], can you come here?”

You pursed your lips, holding back the urge to speak up and instead focused on your phone. You decided to watch a few videos on YouTube but it didn’t seem to help as Wooyoung wouldn’t stop calling for you.

“I can’t.”

Just as you answered, the sound of something snapping was heard and you turned your head towards his door, your heart rate increasing.

You slowly stood up from your spot and made your way to check Wooyoung, calling his name with a tiny voice.

“Are you okay?”

You peeked through the door to check but your eyes widened when you no longer saw Wooyoung tied to his bed.

“Oh no-”

You released a noise of surprise as you suddenly found yourself pinned to the wall with Wooyoung looking down at you, his golden orbs flashing with lust but there was a spark of hesitation that was holding him back.

“I’m not getting any better being chained to that bed…I need you to help me.” He was begging at this point and you searched his eyes to see that he really needed you.

Seonghwa had warned you not to do anything because he was worried you would regret what was about to happen but if you were being completely honest, it had been a while since you’ve had any action since you wanted to focus on school instead so, with this opportunity to do it with the boy you’ve had a crush on, how could you refuse.

“Why me?”

But, you still wanted to ask why he suddenly gained a huge interest in you when for the last year, he had practically ignored your presence until that day when you found out his true identity.

“I imprinted you.” He revealed, his voice sounding so strained as he was holding himself back.

Your scent was intoxicating his mind and if you didn’t give him permission now, he didn’t know if he could stop himself from taking you right there.

“Okay.”

That was all he needed to hear before he placed his lips onto yours, his hands gripping your waist to reveal how desperate he was for your love.

“A-Ah…” You release a mewl as he moved to place hot kisses against your neck and his grip on you tightened, revealing how pleased he was to get a reaction from you.

“This need to be off. Now.” He ordered as he rushed you into removing your top and bra before he got rid of his own clothes.

Wooyoung couldn’t help but stare at your breasts and you began to feel shy, moving your arms to cover them but he growled, bringing your arms up and pinning them above your head.

“Don’t cover yourself. You’re too beautiful.”

You heavily blushed, taken aback by his compliment and looked away as you tried to calm down but your attention went straight back to him as soon as he leaned down to flick his tongue over your right nipple. You squirmed in his hold, your eyes shutting as small waves of pleasure hit you and traveled to your lower region.

“W-Wooyoung.” You breathed out in a way that made him mumble a curse.

“Say my name again, baby. That was fucking hot.”

You called him out but louder as soon as he sucked your pink bud while his free hand moved down to rub your clothed sex.

“I just want to take you right now…can I?”

The fact that Wooyoung was still asking for permission even in this state caused your heart to flutter and you gave him your answer through a light kiss.

“I’m on birth control so you can cum inside me.”

Your words excited him to the point where he ended up ripping off your loose shorts and underwear. You couldn’t even complain to him, a gasp leaving your lips as Wooyoung lifted you up before entering you without warning. The male groaned and buried his face into your neck as pleasure struck him.

“I’m not going to hold back.” He warned and he wasn’t lying when he began his erratic pace causing you to cling onto him.

“You take me so well, baby.” He praised as he pounded into you, your wet juices sliding down your thighs.

You could feel your high approaching and your nails dug into his back as a sign.

“Does my baby want to come?” He asked and you nodded but he suddenly slowed down making you whine.

“I need an answer.” He ordered and you whimpered.

“I want to, Wooyoung. Please make me come.” You begged and he bit his lip, turned on incredibly by your words.

He increased his pace and you didn’t hold back on your voice as the ecstasy had taken over your mind, your senses clouded by the pleasure to even realise that you were being too loud. You knew as Wooyoung became more rough with his pace that was getting close and you intentionally squeezed around his cock causing a stutter in his movement.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

He couldn’t finish his words as he reached his peak with you but he didn’t want it to end the moment just yet. Moving his attention onto your neck, he sunk his fangs into your neck and your lips parted, a moan escaping while tears pricked the corner of your eyes as it became to much.

You both breathed heavily as you made an attempt to calm down before you both looked into each others eyes.

“You okay?” He asked and you chuckled.

“Just peachy.”

He pulled himself out of you before taking you towards his bed where you both laid down.

“Are you feeling better?” You wondered and he answered by placing a kiss on your forehead.

“The pain is going to come back later.” He revealed and you moved your hand forward to grasp his.

“I’ll be here for you.” Your words made him smile and he leaned forward to place a kiss against your lips.

(a/n: starting a werewolf series for my boys since no one else wants to lol. Who should I write next? Vote below the member and if you want to be tagged just mention that too with your vote. ☺️)

(a/n: oh and if you have any spare change, can you buy me a ko-fi please?)

[kryptored]

Fall

Would you look at that, huh? I finally finished mine and get to post it for all of you to see, especially @bbwoulfc who I wrote this for and provided me with wonderful prompts.

Here’s to my first time participating in the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Valentine Exchange Event 2021. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Cross-posted from AO3.

Organizing his room isn’t something Luka learned from his mother, but it’s what he makes into a habit after living with her his whole life before moving out. His apartment isn’t as messy as La Liberté is after leaving it alone into his mother’s hands, but that doesn’t excuse him from cleaning his own domain every now and then. And so on that’s what he ends up doing on a Monday, free from other obligations that would’ve prevented him from cleaning.

He starts off by clearing out a particular box stained with multi-coloured paint, sitting at the bottom of a shelf in the corner of his bedroom. He wouldn’t have paid too much attention to it on any other day and just made sure to organize the chaotic stacking of whatever’s on top of it, but there’s something about the chaotic joy that emits from the box, calling out to him like a fairy in the forest. And so he sits down, clearing out the surprisingly spacious box filled with so many things. He finds old photos of him and Juleka smiling widely into the camera and showing off their missing teeth, a few forgotten guitar picks obviously painted by himself, some beads of what could only come from his mother’s collection, and an old shirt that he hopes was washed before sleeping in the box for years. But underneath all of those lies an even smaller box painted dark-teal with splatters of pink, rectangular in shape, and with a latch keeping it closed.

The box is small enough that he can hold it with his two hands, but the sound of shuffling tells him that something is hiding inside it. He opens the box carefully, mindful of any stray glitter that he might’ve forgotten about (something he’s learned in the past), only to find something else. He picks up a small notebook that appears to have something stuck in between its many pages, and he realizes they’re pressed flowers – daffodils, rose petals, violets, daisies, and even bluebells. He carefully closes the notebook, making sure that the flowers are left undisturbed, and notices something written on the first page. He recognizes his handwriting and his pathetic attempt at writing his name in cursive, Juleka’s, but there’s a third name that’s written by someone else’s. It looks much neater than his, so it’s easier for him to read it, and his finger gently brushes against the years-old charcoal on paper: ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’.

All of a sudden, the name of a long-lost friend unlocks memories of the past. Memories of children spending most of their days together, running around and splashing each other with water and sharing snacks while sitting under a tree. He sees memories that unlock something that has been planted in his heart a long time ago, spending years in silent hibernation, until now.

He blinks his eyes multiple times, trying to shake away the wistfulness and longing of what he thinks is already gone, and puts the notebook back in its place. As he does so, he notices a necklace chain lying at the corner of the small box and picks it up. Strangely enough, nothing is attached to it. He thinks hard on what could have been there, and whether or not it had been lost during one of his previous cleaning before, during, or after moving out. He’ll have to ask his mother and maybe Juleka about that. For now, he pockets the chain and puts the small box right by his bed as a reminder to put it somewhere else.

Not wanting to get too distracted, he quickly and carefully puts the rest of the trinkets away and continues with his cleaning. Despite that, though, he spends most of his cleaning time thinking about the past and a girl he once called Marinette.

While he clears out the dust gathering from every corner, he remembers the softness of her hand whenever they held hands.

While he sweeps the floor, he hums the tune of an unnamed song he remembers singing to her after tripping and scraping her hands and knees.

While he washes, dries, and folds his laundry, he smiles when he remembers the sound of her laugh.

While he cooks dinner, he remembers the smell of grass that lingers around them after rolling around it for hours.

It takes him until he’s lying on his bed, eyes wide open, fingers twiddling with the necklace chain that he realizes it’s always been there. The feelings have always been there, but he was too young to know until now. He closes his eyes to sleep, hoping to at least see her again - if not in reality, but perhaps in his dreams.

He wakes up in the morning, tears staining the sides of his cheeks, and he realizes he’ll never see her again.

A few days after the impromptu visit down memory lane, he walks into an arts and crafts store to buy some special paper to use for his band’s flyers. After asking an employee on which aisle to go to, he hums the same song that reminds him of her, and for now he won’t cry again. But as he turns the corner of the aisle, he halts his steps and his face is frozen with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

There, standing in the middle of the paper aisle, is who Luka can only assume is Marinette (if he remembers her features correctly). From the looks of the basket she’s carrying filled with paint and paintbrushes, she must’ve been here for a while now. She looks pretty - no, prettier - than how he remembers her, and he wishes he can take a picture of her in case it’s all he has left of her before she disappears again.

She looks pretty (what was wrong with repeating it?) standing there looking at the shelf of cardstock paper, her hair done up in a bun with a few stray strands brushing against her neck and cheeks. She’s wearing a peach-coloured blouse with a ruffled collar and short butterfly sleeves tucked into light-blue high-waisted jeans, and gold-coloured sandals.

Luka changes his mind and thinks that she’s not pretty - she’s absolutely beautiful.

“Marinette?” He calls out to her in a soft voice, unsure if she’ll hear him. Luka remains standing still, his breathing even caught in the moment, and that’s how Marinette finds him when she turns around at the call of her name. She puts on a polite smile, unsure how to address the stranger who knows her name, until she realizes it’s not just a stranger.

It takes her a while to recognize Luka, mostly because of the teal-dyed tips of his hair that apparently suits him well. He’s grown up from the lanky boy she used to grab onto whenever she gets scared, judging by how well the all-black raglan t-shirt clings to his arms. She notices how tall he’s gotten, what with how long his legs look wearing those dark skinny jeans and a pair of low cut white and mint green sneakers.

“Luka? Is that you?”

They simultaneously walk closer to each other, but still wary about whether or not they’re mistaking someone else for their childhood friend.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” He asks, and his heart beats a little louder and faster when he hears her laugh, the back of her hand covering her mouth to hide her smile and he so wishes to see it again after all these years.

“I guess it has been.”

“So… 15 years, huh?”

“Hm? Oh! Oh, yes!” She laughs again and he loves the sound of it. It sounds even better than he remembers it to be. “I can’t believe it’s been that long already.”

“Yeah, neither can I. So, uh… how have you been? How’re your parents? Do you live around here, too?”

“I’m doing fine and so are my parents. They have a bakery and apartment set up at the 21st arrondissement, so you should come by! They’d love to see you again, you know?” she holds onto one of his arms, and it feels so warm and he doesn’t want her to let go. “What about you? How’re you doing? And Juleka? Your mom?”

“We’re great,” he responds breathily, “I’m glad to see you again, you know? And I’d love to drop by at the bakery. And you said ‘they’ so, does that mean you…?”

“Moved away? Yes, I have.” She lets go, and he feels as if winter has come to hold him instead. “It’s actually not too far from them so, we don’t really miss each other that much.”

They continue with their small reunion, walking around the store while exchanging stories that they missed out on each other. They talk as if 15 years had never separated them at all, until their meeting comes to an end when Marinette sees that time and tells Luka that she has somewhere to be. Sad as it is, he finds comfort when they exchange numbers and have something to hold onto the other - to have something to remind them that they’re not separated anymore.

He waves her off from the store’s door, and it’s only when the same employee he spoke with earlier asks him if he’s found what he’s looking for that remembers he was there to buy paper.

Right, of course.

They spend the entire night after their reunion talking to each other, and it ends with them agreeing to meet up outside of Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore they’ve both been meaning to visit soon. They agree to meet the day after, and it leaves Luka feeling nervous as he picks out what to wear. After 15 minutes (he made sure to wake up extra early today) were spent looking through his closet, he finally decides on a white graphic shirt slightly tucked into light-grey chino shorts with a brown belt to secure it, and blue and white loafers. He grabs his dark-green crossbody bag, checks that everything he needs is already inside, locks his door, and leaves for the bookstore.

When he arrives at the bookstore, he sees Marinette standing outside looking down at her phone, and he can’t help but admire at how adorable she looks wearing a white oversized shirt with drop shoulder sleeves reaching down to her elbows and tucked into all-black shorts, black high cut boots, and a black bucket hat to cover her head from the bright sun. As he walks closer, he notices that she’s left her hair down this time, and the image reminds him of those times she and Juleka would practice different hairstyles on each other. Her other arm holds onto the strap of her own crossbody bag.

Luka coughs into his hand to catch her attention, to which she responds and he’s happy to see how bright her eyes are when she notices him.

“Luka, hi! You’re here!”

“Hello, Marinette.” He greets her, and the way those words leave him feels all too familiar until now. “You ready to go in?”

“I’m excited, actually. But I think knowing you’re spending the day with me makes it even more exciting.”

Unsure whether the weather is getting warmer or not, he clears his throat and opens the door for her. “So am I, actually. After you.”

The day goes well - even better than yesterday - and they spend it like good old friends who leave no time for awkwardness. They touch each other by the arm or by the shoulder, something similar to what they used to do, and yet they’re also more than that. Each touch is warmer and lingers longer than the last, and Luka can only hope that Marinette feels it, too. He thinks she does with how she turns around quickly after they brush their fingers against each other while reaching for the same book. His mind is stuck with the image of what he can only assume was a blush on her face, unable to respond to her squeaking out, “I’ll check the next aisle!”

He only stares at her back, initially scared that she’ll disappear again and never to see him again for 15 more years, but he calms himself and ponders on the tingling that tickles him from inside out. And for the rest of the day, they peek through corners of bookshelves and vacant spaces in-between books, smiling and laughing as they share their finds and decide on what to buy.

They leave the store to eat lunch at a nearby café, doing some more catching up with each other. They talk and talk and talk the entire day away, going from one place to another without a care in the world besides from knowing that finally, finally they’ve found each other again, and it’s like they don’t want to let go of each other again.

The next few days, unfortunately, do not cater to their sudden need for each other’s company, because of their own personal responsibilities. Luka and practicing with his band, writing and composing songs, and visiting his mother and sister while letting them know that he’s seen Marinette again. Marinette, on the other hand, finds herself busy with multiple card orders from her clients, helping out at her parents’ bakery, and definitely letting them know that she’s seen Luka again.

It’s not until a week and a half later that they get to see each other again in person for a picnic. Although they spend the previous nights texting and calling each other, there’s just something about seeing someone special to you without the physical limitations from their phones. Even when it’s summer, the days and nights they spent apart after reuniting could only make them feel like it’s winter.

The picnic was to take place on a field outside of the city, a place recommended to him by one of his bandmates (after some well-deserved teasing when they found out the reason for his asking). Because it was a bit far, Luka volunteered to drive them both there with his car. The lack of the typical urban noises they’ve grown accustomed to only serves as a plus, considering they were both the type to prefer a calm ambience.

Marinette had brought some home-made pastries for them to eat, as well as some water and juice to drink. She also brought with her a sketchbook and some pencils in case inspiration were to strike her and use it for any future cards to make. Asides from those, she also made sure to bring two small bed tray tables for them to place some of the food on. She also decided to wear a light blue V-neck dress just brushing against the top of her knees with circular cap sleeves extending down just before her elbows, and white sandals. Once again, her hair is left down to spread across her back.

Luka, on the other hand, was quite adamant to take responsibility for bringing the picnic blankets that could fit an entire class and more when they first planned the outing. Asides from those, he also brought some foldable chairs for them to sit on if the ground started feeling too stiff for their bottoms, and his guitar to pass the idle time by playing some music for both of them. As for his clothes, this time he went with a light blue button-up shirt with the first two buttons left open, paired with black shorts, and sand-yellow loafers.

After arriving at the field for their picnic, they choose to sit close to a small cluster of trees that would give them more than enough shade to protect them from the sun. They were taking out all of their picnic essentials from Luka’s car while also admiring the scenery in front of them, when Marinette said something.

“This is wonderful, Luka. Please thank your friend for recommending this place, and I really think we should start doing this more.”

“For sure, Marinette. And not that I don’t like it, but aren’t you a bit too early to say that?” He turns around from where he’s busy placing their food basket down, “What if you ended up hating the picnic?”

“Wha - no! As if!” Marinette looks over her shoulder quickly and he sees her eyes going wide, her hands clenching onto the blanket she was supposedly fixing, “Why would I even think that? Why would you think that? This place is perfect, the weather is perfect, the food is perfect, and - ”

“And the company is perfect?” Luka’s question was a gamble on his part, and he hopes that Marinette doesn’t notice the trembling of his voice.

“Yes!”

He also wasn’t sure that she’d even say something back, but he watches as her eyes slowly widen even more, the flush in her cheeks rapidly gaining territory of her entire face, and her mouth shaping into a large ‘O’ until -

‘Yup, there it is.’ He thinks to himself, unsure whether he’s referring to the lovely shade of red on her face or the fact that his childhood friend finally realizes what she’s said.

“I-I mean – it’s because – I wasn’t thinking properly when you – but that doesn’t mean that I think you’re – but you know what I – ” Marinette quickly turns her back on him, her shoulders tense and hunching, and just as Luka’s about to reach out and touch her shoulder for comfort, he’s startled when he hears her muffled scream.

“H-hey…Marinette, come on. It’s okay.” His hand finally makes contact with her shoulder and pats it gently. “I understand, so don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

He sits closer to her and gives her a side hug, rubbing her arm to try and console his easily flustered friend. It seems to work when her face finally surfaces from the safety of her hands, face still a little red, her brows scrunched up in worry and her eyes glossy from unshed tears.

“Hey, hey…” he coos at her, leaning even closer to her to the point that their shoulders are practically touching, “It’s alright. I get it. You know you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me. And besides, I am the perfect company after all.”

“Lukaaaaaaa!” she whines and hits him not too hard on the chest, inducing a hearty laugh from him.

“Alright, alright! Easy there, Marinette. How about we forget about this and go right ahead with eating. Sounds good?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Why don’t you get some of your stuff that’s still in the car, and I’ll set the food?” He gives her the car keys, implying that she can lock the car afterwards. Just as Marinette takes the keys, turns around, and walks away, Luka quickly turns his back towards her to hide his face that’s now rapidly gaining a new shade of red.

‘Magnolia and cherry blossom;’ he thinks to himself, referring to the smell from his friend, ‘like a walk at Champ de Mars.’

Before getting caught, he goes right back to taking the food out from the basket and sets everything down onto the blanket with shaky hands.

After eating and admiring the view, they eventually find themselves leaning onto each other’s back. They make no other noise asides from Luka strumming his guitar and the occasional scratch of charcoal against paper on Marinette’s end. After the slightly awkward chattering from earlier, it worries Luka that there had been little talk between them since then. And even when Marinette would keep on assuring him that everything’s alright, it worries him that perhaps after being separated for 15 long years, not everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Perhaps he is expecting too much, thinking of what ifs and could have beens, and he’s left clueless on how to keep their strange relationship afloat if the day ends on a sour note. Perhaps he should’ve kept his mouth shut, and maybe Marinette wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable anymore and -

A muffled thud rouses him from his deep thoughts, curious to know what could’ve dropped onto the blanket. Just as he turns back to ask Marinette what it was (if she would even answer him at all), he sees something flash from her small and soft hands.

There, sitting perfectly from Marinette’s hand, is what looks like an open pocket watch with its outside the colour of champagne. But as he looks closer, he realizes it’s actually a compass with a sundial instead of a watch with gold-coloured rims. Marinette notices him looking at what she’s holding, and before she can say a word, he beats her to it by asking,

“You still have that? After all these years?”

“Of course. It’s one of the few things I can never let go.”

Instead of saying something back, Luka immediately starts patting his shirt and shorts, before finally putting his hand in one of his pockets to grab something and pull out the same necklace chain he had found in the small box hiding in his room, and holds it out to her.

“This is its chain for it, right? The compass, I mean.”

“Y-yeah. You told me I could have the compass while you keep the chain, so we’d know there’s always a chance for us to see each other again.”

The words ‘and we did’ are left unsaid, but they still knew what it meant for them. What it means for them. No longer able to stop himself, he cups both her cheeks and leans his forehead against hers, close enough to smell the flowers on her again. Close enough to brush his nose against hers. Close enough to just kiss her.

But he doesn’t and she doesn’t. And frankly, they’re alright with what they have right now.

They end their picnic in the late afternoon, with the sun still up and hinting a shade of orange in its yellows. They pack everything back inside Luka’s car in silence, but the kind where they are comfortable and content without the words. They spend the rest of the drive back to the city basking in a new kind of understanding, one that they’ve chosen to keep among themselves, hands bashfully brushing against each other every now and then, and eyes sneaking glances at one another.

They don’t talk again until Luka drops Marinette off, helps her put all her stuff back in her apartment, and stands outside of her door.

“Thank you again for the picnic, Luka.”

“And thank you for the company, Marinette.” Instead of getting flustered at the reminder of what happened earlier, she only offers him a small smile.

“You know you can stay a little longer if you want,” she offers, “surely you must be tired from driving.”

She wraps her hands across herself, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. Her hair is now tied into a loose side ponytail, her sandals replaced with soft home slippers in light pink.

Luka scratches his right cheek with a finger, his eyes telling her without words that he is more than ready to accept her invitation. His left hand is hiding within the confines of his pocket, fidgeting as much as possible with his phone.

But just as Luka opens his mouth to verbally accept her offer, they hear something buzz. Luka immediately takes his phone out, sees his mother’s name and excuses himself, walking a few steps away from Marinette. He notices her glancing away, giving him some privacy.

His head is filled with today’s events, even as he listens to his mother’s words through the phone. He can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they’re not just childhood friends anymore. That maybe, just maybe, these feelings between them can grow just as they have. But as soon as he comes to that conclusion, his heart drops at what his mother tells him.

He hangs up after bidding her goodbye, puts his phone back in his pocket, and walks back to Marinette. For every step he takes, he dreads of the disappointment he’ll see on her face as soon as he tells her,

“Sorry, but I can’t stay.”

The guilt eats at him as he watches her smile drop, her bright blue eyes looking from up at him to down at her shoes, her brows a little furrowed from -

‘Disappointment. She’s disappointed I can’t stay.’

“So, uh…” he clears his throat, “I really want to stay, but Ma called me to – ”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Marinette finally looks up, and Luka’s glad that there aren’t any tears. “Just tell her and Juleka I said hi.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

He remains standing in front of her, still not ready to leave her in fear that it’ll be the last he sees of her. They remain standing in front of each other in silence, the gaiety from today slowly slipping away until it leaves them with a cold hug. All of a sudden, it feels like winter during a summer night. It doesn’t make sense; not in the slightest, and Luka hates it.

“I guess I’ll just call you when I get home?” He asks her, his arms opening up to invite her for a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” She walks into his embrace, and he’s not even ashamed of letting out a sigh of relief when he feels her hands wrap around him. “Let me know when you’re back home.”

He hums in agreement, even when bites his tongue to not say ‘I am home. With you.’

They separate after a few more seconds, but only enough that they’re still wrapped around each other, Luka looking down at Marinette’s face. He looks into her eyes, and he sees the same blue sky that often smiled upon them when they used to be children, and he wishes to see the same sky now that they’re no longer that young. He looks at the small blush that finds itself spreading onto her cheeks like the picnic blankets they used, and he sees the sunset that used to smile down on them whenever they bid farewell and went back home; before the last goodbye turned into years instead of a night and day.

And suddenly, he has an idea.

He has an idea, and it’s a very bold one. He has an idea that has been whispering suggestively at him from the very corner of his mind, persisting to catch his attention and never going away. He has an idea that persists on calling out to him, screaming at him, telling him to just –

He leans down slowly, his eyes looking into hers before falling down onto her lips. He looks into those lips that he keeps thinking whether they taste just as sweet as the pastries she bakes.

Instead, he gently presses his own lips onto hers, and all he tastes are blueberries and lemon. He thinks he’s kissing pure bliss, but perhaps it’s happiness.

He feels her hand cup his cheek, slightly putting pressure onto the skin and pushing him closer to her, and suddenly happiness turns into elation. Marinette is responding and it’s utterly delightful. Luka doesn’t want to let her go anymore – because he’s finally telling her what’s been gnawing at him – but he pulls away, nonetheless.

He hears her whine in disappointment, and he mentally berates himself for making the habit of disappointing her.

“I have to go now.” He whispers to her, but with where he’s looking, neither knows if he’s telling Marinette, herself, or her pair of lips.

After gaining the confidence to look into her eyes again, Luka believes his knees are going weak.

“I really have to go now.” He tells her, and he leans onto her hand when her fingers start caressing his cheek.

“I know.”

He finally lets her go and steps away, unwilling to turn his back around; afraid that he’ll lose sight of her and never see her again for years. Or ever at all.

“I’ll call you later?”

Marinette can only smile at the boy she once knew 15 years ago, tucking stray hands of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll wait for you.”

He smiles back at her before walking away,

only to quickly turn back around to kiss her like sunlight with the flowers on fresh, spring morning.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Workout.”

Forgive me for being short today, But I have a Russian test in less than an hour, and it is on numbers which is the most excruciating part of this language lol.

Hope you all have a good day :)

The human pulled to a stop huffing and puffing, hands on his knees as he took in great big breaths. Krill could see ribs through his skin as the great bellows expanded and then contracted. Sweat slicked the skin as the body desperately tried to cool itself.

“Heart rate 165.”

The human straightened himself out coughing once or twice to clear his throat, reaching out and wiping his face with a towel.

He threw the towel over one shoulder and stretched the large muscle groups in his chest, stomach and back pulling tight.

Sunny leaned against the wall just to their right both sets of arms crossed over her chest, “So, what is this supposed to be fore. Is this like a dominance thing or something.”

The human wiped his face again and raised an eyebrow, “IT’s exercises,  Sunny. You know so I can be fit enough to pass the UNSC PT exam, or perhaps so that I can do my job better, or maybe because I look better whenI’m more fit.

Sunny turned her head to look at him, her eyes scrunching down a little as Krill went to take notes on a clipboard.

“You mean…. You didn’t just grow to being that size?’

The human glanced down at Krill incredulous, “IS she serious? Do the Drev like, not have to work out?”

Krill shook his head, “Drev do not have subcutaneous fat deposits like humans do. Any acquired deposits are stored below the carapace between the connective tissue, padding them down and giving them more protection.”

Sunny looked between them in confusion, “Wait, hold on…. I’m confused.”

The human towelled off his hair, “I have to work out to look like this sunny. IF i don’t use it, I lose it.”

She turned to look at Krill.

He tucked the holo-pad under one arm, “You see, Sunny. Humans are meant to adapt. They can adapt mentally, and they can adapt physically. The body changes to match the requirements of its environment. Sometimes this takes years to do, for instance if you take a light skinned population of humans and put them somewhere with a lot of sun, and keep that population in complete isolation, after a few generations, the skin will darken to compensate for the increased UV light. However these things happen on a smaller level. The body fluctuates to adapt to the amount of physical work which is required.”

The human nodded, “Exactly. Running strengthens the heart, and it increases the hemoglobin in my blood, so that I can run for a longer time with more oxygen. If I were to stop running, I would loose all of that and have to work back up.”

Sunny stared at him incredulous, “So, you have to force your body to be able to perform correctly. Like, It can’t just DO what it needs to do, but you have to convince it over years of training to be able to do what you want.”

The man shrugged, “Well anything sucks when you phrase it like that.” He turned and motioned them to follow, “Historically, humanity was evolved in an environment with little food. We ate a diet heavy in proteins, fiber, and natural carbs from fruit. Fat is an essential part of a human’s diet, but it is relatively difficult to find in nature because of this, the body adapted to make humans love and crave fatty and sugary foods for energy. Well since well into the twentieth eighteenth century, fatty foods were becoming commonplace, and easy to get our hands on, but the body wasn’t aware of that, so it continued to treat these new fatty foods the way our bodies would have treated them back when we were hunter/gatherers storing every last bit up for use later.”

Sunny followed after in fascination, “I see, so now you have…. Too much of a food that your body craves.”

The human looked over his shoulder, “You got it, and the body doesn’t know when to stop storing fat. It’ll just keep going. So if I were to sit on my ass all day eating chips, I would lose the muscle and I would get bigger as fat deposits were stored up for energy.”

Sunny shrugged, “What is the problem with that?”

The human tapped his chin lightly, “A few things, I guess. For me, at least, if I were to just stop working out, I wouldn’t be able to do my job as well, I wouldn't be able to run as far, or to jump as high, or to lift as much. And lifting myself up in a pullup would be impossible, and considering the amount of times we have all almost fallen off a cliff or had to haul ourselves up rope, you would think that would be a bad idea. Not to mention that the larger you are the harder your heart has to work as the blood supply is forced to expand, and since you aren't working out your heart it gets weaker but has to do more work, which --in turn-- increased the risk of heart issues. Compounding all that I wouldn't be able to sit in a cockpit or pilot a jet properly.”

Sunny shook her head, “That seems like a very… annoying model. You can never just relax. You always have to work to keep your body where it should be. And the amount of self control you have to have….”

The human laughed, “You have no idea how much self control  I need when a box of doughnuts gets in my way.” He sighed, “Keeping my abs as been a real struggle, but the UNSC drilled some self discipline into me when I was still young.”

“So you weren't always this big.”

The human snorted, “no not in the slightest. In fact, I was so skinny, you could see my heart beating through my rib cage.

Sunny grimaced.

“Yeah I know, kinda gross. Those are your two directions. If you don’t work out your either super scary skinny, or you get a bit big. If you’re working out right you get muscles.” He turned around flexing proudly for them to outline the lines of his biceps, chest and stomach.

Sunny would have rolled her eyes back into her head, but she supposed, now that she knew he had to work for it, she was at least somewhat proud of him.

“Ok, I have a question  then.”

“Shoot.”

“Can you get bigger?”

More laughter, “Oh yeah, totally, but I’m not THAT dedicated.”

They were just coming around a corner when the commander skidded to a halt eye to chest with an absolutely massive human.

Even sunny stepped back in surprise.

This human was large enough to look sunny in the eye, with shoulders about as wide as her, and a chest that looked like it could have benched a small car.

It was almost comical, a moment ago Sunny had assumed that the commander was a large human.

“Wow there big mean. I’’d rather not get steamrolled today, thanks.”

The large human glanced down at the commander.

“Sir.” He grunted before stepping around and walking up the hall.

Sunny watched him go, “What do you have to do to get that big!”

“You practically have to live at the gym.”

They turned the corner walking into a large room, with strange machines of unknown use.

ANd in here there were humans of all sizes and shapes, but most of them absolutely massive. Those who lacked height, did not lack muscle.

Male humans, female humans, all of the above.

A tiny female human stood at one of these machines carrying a bar on her shoulders with enough weight that sunny assumed it might crush her. Instead she squatted down to the floor and stood back up.

The captain blinked, “Holy shit.” He motioned towards her, “She squats more than me by the way. You see these guys are insane. I work out to maintain, these guys do it because its their hobby.”

Krill floated upwards to whisper in sunny’s ear, “For the muscle to enlarge, the fibers must tear open, and then the body comes back and repairs the tear to withstand the pressures that tore it in the first place.

Sunny stared at Krill incredulously, “So you're telling me, they just…. Tear themselves apart to get like that.”

The Commander left them standing in place walking over to the wall and jumping upwards, catching his hands around a black bar welded to the wall, the muscles in his back, just below the shoulder blades flexed as he pulled himself upwards, the muscles in his shoulder blades rolling under the skin.

They continued to watch as the commander did his set, a little bit of everything for demonstration purposes. Getting off one of the leg machines, one of these large female humans walked past sitting where he had just sat reaching out pulling out the peg and and bringing the weight almost to the bottom of the plates.

The commander leaned in, “See her, she could probably crush your skull using just her legs.” He sighed, “Man, I only WISH I could be that  badass.” He looked up at sunny, “Sometimes I come here just to knock myself down a peg.”

Across the room, one of these massive humans was hauling a huge bar lined with weight on either side up over his head like it was nothing.

“You see that, that would probably invert my spine if I tried to do it.” “Must you be so graphic?” Krill wondered 

“Yeah, because that’s how much of a wuss I am.”

Looking around, Sunny wasn’t convinced entirely of his status as a wuss. He had all the requisite muscle groups of, even the largest humans, and more than some. There were great swatches of the human population who,even here, were missing some things. 

A few of the humans had large arms, ut small legs, small legs, but large arms, no chest, or  chest and no abdominal muscles.

Yes sure, he may have been smaller than their largest, but he WAS well rounded arms, chest, stomach, legs, back and shoulders.

She found herself surprised at the smug satisfaction in comparing her human to the other humans.

Sure her human couldn’t bench THAT much, but he also had better legs, so there.

“You ok, Sunny?”

She turned her head to look at him.

“Just thinking.” She said 

He shrugged at her and returned to his work. 

It’s hard to be a human.

They have to work for everything they have, especially when it comes to their body. 

[wroammin]

Tech Troubles

Part 1 (You are here!) | Part 2

Ao3

Pairings: Prinxiety

Word Count: 1,089

Warnings: there is one (1) curse word

Summary: Roman is a lead in his high school’s musical, but when tech runs always seem to go wrong for him, he decides to do a little investigating

A/N: remember when i used to post my writing?? haha well me neither apparently!! but in all seriousness, i forgot how fun it was to write prinxiety banter, so this was completely self-indulgent. enjoy.

Roman’s arm whipped upwards to block the harsh incoming light that was shining directly onto his face. He stepped out of the spotlight and blinked his eyes to adjust them to the darkness, then rubbed them when it didn’t work.

“What’s going on up there?” The director called out, looking backwards and up at the tech booth. A clattering sound escaped from the enclosed booth, and the spotlight quickly shut off. The director frowned, “Please be careful. I know it’s just the fifth week, but we do want to keep our cast’s eyes intact.”

“At least let me memorize the script. Then, blind me all you want.” Roman smiled good-naturedly as he spoke. He couldn’t see who was in the booth, but whoever it was clearly didn’t appreciate his joke, since they remained completely silent.

“Let’s just take it from the top, Roman.” Mr. Sanders, the director, told him as he turned back toward the stage. Roman nodded and flipped back through the script.

That was the first of multiple mishaps involving the tech booth and Roman. Music for his songs would suddenly cut out or start too early, spotlights were either too bright or too dim, and they didn’t follow him around the stage at all. Mr. Sanders did his best to hide his frustration, but Roman could tell he was nearing his limit. It seemed that most of the mistakes occurred during his scenes, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. It was some time around the second month of rehearsals when he finally decided to knock on the door to the tech booth.

After a few minutes of silence, he called out.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” No response. Roman frowned and opened the door, which was thankfully unlocked. He peeked in, then opened the door fully upon realizing he was in a small, closet-sized room. Attached to the back wall was a vertical ladder, which Roman set upon climbing.

He gracefully pulled himself over the ledge and into the suspended booth over the auditorium. It was really more like a long, dark passageway with barely any headroom. Near the middle of the hall-shaped room, he could see a bit of light coming in from the auditorium, filtering through a rectangular window carved into the side of the wall. Roman slowly approached in the dark, keeping his hand on the right wall for balance.

His hand floated over grooves and marks etched onto the wall that spelled out names and years, remembering the presence of previous techies who manned the booth. Some scribbles were more graphic.

Cables were taped down to the floor and the walls. Roman followed their paths back to the spotlights that were peeking out of the rectangular window, then to the figure who seemed to be messing with them.

“Hello!” Roman spoke up, perhaps a little too suddenly, since the figure jumped away from the light they’d been working on and hit their head on the low ceiling.

“Shit,” They hissed, clutching at their head.

Roman stepped forward quickly, hands out in what he hoped was an apologetic gesture, “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t-”

“Wait… Roman?” The figure turned to face him now, and Roman did not recognize the boy who was standing in the light. He wore a dark black hoodie and ripped jeans that were somehow an even darker black. He was slouching, but Roman got the feeling that the boy’s poor posture was not due to the low ceiling.

“That is I.” He responded, hesitantly coming to a stop just inside the small box of light in the room.

The other boy searched his expression for something, then scowled (yes, scowled) at Roman when he appeared to not find it.

“You don’t recognize me.” The boy said. Roman winced at the bitterness in his tone. Who exactly was this guy?

“I’m sorry to say I don’t. But that’s what I’m up here for! To meet you, that is,” The other boy quirked a brow, “And everyone else. Not, uh, not you specifically.” Roman added with a small smile.

The boy looked him over and turned back toward the spotlights without even saying a word.

“Where is everyone else, by the way?” Roman asked.

“Rehearsals are over. They all went home.” The boy avoided his eyes, “Maybe you should follow.”

Roman looked at the exit, then back at the other boy. “I… I’m truly sorry I don’t remember you, uh–”

“Virgil.” He supplied begrudgingly.

Roman frowned and tried to think. “Virgil…Oh, of course, Virgil! We had English together last year!”

“Nope.”

Roman grinned and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Worth a shot.”

Normally, people liked it when he smiled, saying it made him look charming and princely. This boy–Virgil– clearly did not. Roman let his smile drop.

“What about Pre-calc?” He tried again.

“No.”

“Honors U.S. History?”

Virgil lifted his chin, looking defensive. “I took AP, thank you very much.”

“Well,” Roman huffed, running a hand through his hair, “we don’t have chemistry together, that much is clear.”

“Of course we don’t have chemistry together, that was a sophomore-year class.” Virgil’s mouth quirked upwards at Roman’s groan of frustration. Maybe this unexpected visitor could be more entertaining than he’d initially thought.

“Right.” Roman gave up, and Virgil leaned down to adjust some cables.

He quietly watched him for a moment, then turned to look out of the small viewing box. Roman let out a small whistle.

“Nice view up here.” He said, glancing down to see if the other boy would react.

Virgil remained silent. Roman didn’t take the hint, staring back out at the empty auditorium.

“Do you like working in crew?”

Roman heard a cable snap into place, and a spotlight suddenly flickered on, lighting up the exact center of the stage.

“Sometimes.” Virgil leaned back up, eyes following the cone of light the spotlight was emitting. “When no one else is up here, it can be pretty chill.”

Roman’s brows furrowed once he realized what Virgil’s comment meant. The actor pointedly decided to ignore it.

“Should they really let you mess around with the cables? I mean, what if you get electrocuted or something?” Roman questioned.

“If it was your brother up here, maybe I’d be worried.”

Roman’s eyes suddenly widened in realization. Virgil finally looked up with an entertained smile.

“Remus… Oh, no. You’re one of my brother’s friends, aren’t you?”

Roman could still hear Virgil’s laughter when he went to sleep that night.

[unknownblanked]

Shameless self promotion

Main character: OC

Pairings: OC x Reborn

My fic:

*Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn*

*Rating M*

Summary: I have never wanted anything other than to be a boss. Sorry dear brother of mine, but I will become a better boss than you would ever become. Warning: M for a reason, not for innocent souls. 2 days updates

Kinda BL since MC who used to be a girl became a guy after transmigration. But idk what to even say at this point

Genre: fantasy/adventure/romance

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13908034/1/

First chapter preview:

Chapter 1

"Eff you! Eff me! Eff the world!" She shrieked with her lungs, hand pointed at the sky.

"I wanna hold guns and look cool in suits! I wanna be pardoned by university to become a boss! I wanna have a gang while playing background music!"

"IF I EVER REINCARNATE TO KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN, I'LL BECOME VONGOLA DECIMOOOOOOOO!"

Darkness enveloped her as she sunk deeper into the abyss, not knowing what was going on after that flash that blinded her eyes. Could it be isekai truck-kun? She scoffed at her own words, not believing a single thing that came out of her own thoughts. She felt a shuffle, then a thump as her whole world lifted in the air. Suddenly, a baby's cry chortled beside her, screaming.

What was going on? Was she being carried into some kind of ambulance? A hospital? Did she give birth-What? But she was still 19 years old and never touched a man's hand! The baby's cry grew louder, almost piercing her in the ears.

Was it even possible for her to remain conscious even though she couldn't open her eyes? She tried lifting her eyelids, but it remained glued shut, as if this impenetrable force was clamping down her eyes, telling her not to look.

A waft of air blew on her chest.

"[Papa! Look at them! Twins!]"

A woman's voice rang out loudly, but her tone was soft and melodic as the sounds of humans floated into her ears.

'...Japanese?'

"[Ah, but one isn't crying.]"

A man's voice rang out this time in front of her as she tried deciphering the words with all her experiences of watching anime for over 10 years. Crying? Did the man just say that 'one isn't crying?' Was he pointing to someone in the room?

She felt her whole world tip over before trying to flail, confusion ringing inside her mind before-

Slap!

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

'What the eff, bro?!'

She felt so sensitive-so...naked!

'Call my lawyer! I will sue you till you don't even have the freedom of speech! Lawyer! Lawyer!'

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalw!" She yelped her syllables that couldn't pop out of her mouth and tried again.

"Wawawawa-"

Something was weird. Very weird.

"[I think we've got ourselves a little weirdo from the get-go!]"

Her butt stung as she tried blinking her eyes, gasping twice and shaking her head to wake her up from this bad dream. Her vision stung the moment she did, lights blinding her as she screamed again, trying to bat away the light with her flimsy small fists. Through her blurry vision, she saw a man grinning from ear to ear before throwing her over his shoulder and patting her on the back. She humped, dry launching from the action as the woman's soft laughter rang from behind as her own eyes closed shut again.

What did she see? She didn't see clearly, but the world was so...colorful.

"[I think I have a name for this little weirdo already!]"

Name? What name? What the hell were these two strangers talking about? And why in the hell was she able to understand Japanese so clearly? And they messed up her pronouns-and-

She tried hard, fighting her clamped eyes, 'Almost there!'

"Sawada Isago! Golden dust for my career!"

Isago slammed his eyes open, blinking rapidly at the man who was now throwing his small body into the air, his golden-amber eyes completely dazzling Isago.

"Waah da dak."

His first words were swear words in English.

She stared absentmindedly out the front porch. No, he stared absentmindedly out the front porch this fine morning. The sky was bright blue while Isago glanced at the buzzing street of Namimori, a small town located at the edges of Japan. In the corner of his eyes, he saw a small bird land on one of the tree branches before someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Isa..go! Let's play!" Tsuna smiled sweetly at his younger brother, holding up his teddy in one hand. They were at the young age of four, Tsuna being born just minutes earlier than Isago. They seemed like twins, but one preferred a shorter hairstyle than the other, and their hair was in different colours.

"Hm...sure! What do you want to play?" Isago answered like how a four-year-old should and pushed himself onto his feet. Tsuna squeezed his teddy, pondering a bit before tilting his head to the side.

Tsuna was exactly the same in the anime, with spiky brown hair and brown eyes that shone brightly in the sun, his soft features held more of some baby fat than what was portrayed in the graphics, but still, Tsuna resembled Vongola Primo.

'Definitely a descendant of the Vongola family,' Isago quirked his lips as Tsuna explained his game of hide and seek, except the purpose was to hide and find teddy.

"Sure!" Isago chirped, holding his hand out for the teddy. "I'll go first then, since you never do, Tsuna."

Tsuna beamed brightly at his younger brother, giving his teddy over before Isago pointed to a wall in the corner of the room and Tsuna plodded over, covering his eyes as he started to count down from 100. Isago smiled slightly, tip-toeing to the washroom and turning on the lights to hide the teddy behind the rows and rows of shampoo bottles in one of the cupboards.

Isago frowned a bit when he realized that he couldn't reach the board, placed the teddy on the table and walked to the toilet that was beside the sink. He stepped onto the toilet, using it as his stepping stone and slammed his small hands onto the table, heaving himself upwards. Snatching the teddy from the original spot, Isago opened the cupboard and organized the bottles as a coverup, arranging the bottles so that not even the ears of the brown toy were visible from an adult's point of view.

Isago stepped down the table, plopping quietly onto his feet before listening to the countdown from Tsuna's mouth at the number 40. Isago smiled carefully, closing the lights as his gold eyes flashed through the mirror once, and Isago made his way to Tsuna's bedroom. Mom was cooking in the kitchen and humming about dad's arrival today.

Isago had retained his father's golden eyes, and yet had a shade of mocha as his hair color. Neither dad nor mom had the hair color, but Nana assumed that it was because her predecessor's hair color was close to black in the past. In contrast to Tsuna's spiky hair, Isago had flatter hair and was long, to the point that it was possible to tie it into a semi-ponytail. He had bangs covering the front in a slanted way, almost completely contrasting to Tsuna's cute and fluffy hair. Well, not that it mattered to Isago.

What was concerning to Isago, was that he was born as a boy.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Isago heard Tsuna call from the bottom of the stairs before his small footsteps plattered onto the wood. Isago stared momentarily at the door before purposefully closing it and plopping down on Tsuna's bed. The bedsheets ruffled, crinkling a bit and Isago stared at his own crotch.

What the heck, this was so weird to have. It was so tiring to constantly have a thing dangling in between his legs. Even though it didn't hurt or feel uncomfortable, this new addition was a very mind-blowing...experience. Manspreading was also a new thing.

"Isago…?" Tsuna's face peeped into his own room and giggled before skipping over to his brother. "You must have placed teddy here!"

"I don't know," Isago replied with a small smirk. "Why don't you try and find it?"

"Teddy! Teddy!" Tsuna called cutely as if the bear was able to reply back to him.

"Tsuna, if you can find it then I'll ask mom to make your favourite Salisbury steak that she only makes when dad comes home!" Isago called as Tsuna's eyes fired up intensely.

"Steak! Steak! Steak!" Tsuna batted his fists on his crouched knees and started to chant it like some kind of song. Joy could be seen all over his face as he rustled his piles of stuff in the closet, then turned over to his desk and started rummaging in the drawers.

"Steak, steak, steaky, steak-"

Isago smiled secretly, knowing that Tsuna had no knowledge of dad coming home today. Honestly, Isago didn't know what to describe his dad. A good dad? No, he left his wife basically widowed from the moment they were born. A bad dad? You couldn't say that either.

Then again, mama never worked, so it was plausible to think that the house was bought and supplied with money from dad every year. Not to mention that the house was quite large for a family of three. Dad was probably also preparing the house to be the main hideout for the future Vongola.

"Iemitsu Sawada, huh?" Isago murmured his dad's name under his lips.

There was a reason why his dad stationed his family near the unknown town of Namimori. It was probably in order to protect them from the mafia. So in the end, was he a good dad? Isago watched Tsuna's fluffy hair swish in the lights as the sound of tires echoed into the neighborhood.

Isago lifted his eyebrows at the sound, turning his head to Tsuna's open window to see a short black car parked a few meters away from the Sawada residence. Isago stood up slowly, walking towards the window and hopped onto a small step box and leaned on the wall, crossing his arms together as he peered outside.

"Tsuna, let's rank this game harder. You have exactly 100 seconds like the countdown to find your teddy, or else the promise is off," Isago turned to Tsuna who's eyes widened like saucers, gasping before throwing his hands into the depths of his drawers.

"That's not fair, Isago!" The boy whimpered as Isago started to count the numbers from 100, forcing the small boy to sweat. Inside, Isago spotted a blond head popping out of the driver's seat.

The man was wearing orange overalls that were only pulled onto his waist. His dirty sweatshirt was worn in a fashion that showed his armpit hair clearly even from far away. The sight was disgusting.

"Men," Isago made a face, recognizing that it was his father. "66...67...68...69…"

"Isago! Slow down!" Tsuna wailed and rummaged through his toy box, tears streaming down his face at the decreasing numbers. Iemitsu pulled a construction hat out of the front side, then walked to the passenger's seat, opening the door to reveal another man wearing a blue vacation shirt with pink flowers on it.

The man stepped out of the car, smiling widely at his assistant who passed him a straw hat. As if the man noticed, his eyes flashed to the window, meeting the gaze of Isago. There was curiosity and wonder that passed through the male's eyes, but then greeted the child by lifting his hat and giving a salute which Isago returned with a polite nod.

'Vongola ninth,' Isago addressed the man quickly, curling his lips at the status before turning back to Tsuna, the numbers ending with the last count of zero.

"Isaaaagoo!" Tsuna sobbed into his long-sleeved sweater, sniffing as the sleeve soaked up his snot. "I couldn't find it-I'm sorry!"

Isago's eyes softened at the small boy, hopping down from the stepping box before crouching next to Tsuna who was on his knees.

"Tsuna, Tsuna, why are you sorry?" Isago patted Tsuna on the shoulders. Tsuna threw his arm down, staring at Isago who had a soft smile on his face.

"Be-because Isago's favorite...also steak…" the young boy blew his wet cheeks and Isago chuckled, pulling his brother into a large hug. That was not exactly true, Isago's favourite was sweet parfaits rather than savory main course meals, but Nana had never brought the two to a sweets cafe so Isago had made up his preferences to match Tsuna's.

"How about this, I'll magically transform the steak onto the table if you promise me one thing," Isago patted Tsuna who blew into his shoulder. Momentarily, Isago made a face of disgust, but once thinking that they were from the same blood, a smile was forcefully plastered onto his soft features.

Tsuna also realized his own misdoings, instantly freezing before wiping his own sleeve on Isago's shoulder, trying to correct the snot, only to make it smear even wider on the hoodie.

"I'll have to change my clothes," Isago sighed before pushing Tsuna away and walking to his own room. Tsuna followed like an abandoned puppy. His two fingers fiddled as he watched Isago pull his T-shirt off, and grabbed a random sweater before pulling it over his head.

"Mm sorry Isago…" Tsuna trailed off, staring guilty on the ground as Isago's head emerged out. "I will promise anything that you want! Forever!"

'What a dangerous promise, Tsuna,' Isago's eyes glimmered before turning towards his brother. The shadows in his room casted upon Isago's face as his grin widened almost too maliciously.

"Then promise me Tsuna, no matter what the circumstance you must not harm me. If you do, then our relationship as brothers are over." Isago's hair fell over his eyes as he brushed it back, getting a clear look at the boy's small face.

"Harm?" Tsuna tilted his head curiously at the word, repeating to make sure he pronounced it correctly. "What's that?"

"It means that I will be gone from your life forever, Tsuna," Isago's voice deepen with glee at the horror that flashed through the boy's face. Tsuna's hands instantly clutched the sides of his shorts, shaking his head furiously.

"I will never harm you! I will never! Never!"

"Good," Isago walked closer to his dear brother, jerking his thumb under Tsuna's teary eyes. The young boy looked fragile and broken at Isago's words, almost as if he couldn't imagine living without Isago.

"Because I love you so much that it may serve as a double-edged sword to both of us," Isago gave little Tsuna a small peck on his cheeks, smirking at Tsuna's pouting face as his fingers clutched the edges of Isago's sweater.

"I wove you too," Tsuna buried his face into his brother's sweater, murmuring the phrase until the front door was pushed open and mama's clear voice rang through the house, calling the two boys down.

It was true, Tsuna was a precious little brother to Isago, even if Tsuna was legally the older one. But that didn't matter in front of power. If Tsuna stood in the way of succession, then Isago would cut off Tsuna's arms and legs to prevent Tsuna from overtaking the throne. That was how cold-hearted Isago was.

But then again, was Isago able to do it?

That's why Isago would give Tsuna the choice. He would not harm Tsuna until his own brother decided that Isago was a threat to the family and his life. He would let Tsuna break their relationship, and make him wallow in despair. As long as Tsuna loved him, Isago would let him go. But if Tsuna disobeyed, then everything will be over.

"Come on, brother," Isago gestured towards the door, stepping forward with Tsuna holding him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Iemitsu was grinning at both boys, arms extended.

"Weirdo Isago! TsunaTsuna! Papa is back home!"

The two boys huddled over to their papa, Tsuna waddling towards him while Isago was pulled into a large embrace, dad's hand ruffling in his hair as Isago grinned at the man. The smell of sweat and tobacco filled Isago's nostrils, instantly making him suppress a sour face at his own father. Mama giggled at the family reunion while Isago's eyes trailed to her, gesturing for a group hug.

"Oh, dear!" Mama threw herself into the group hug and Iemitsu kissed her sloppily on the cheeks, rubbing her face with fondness. It was then Tsuna noticed a stranger behind dad, smiling sweetly at the family after Tsuna opened his mouth with quivering fear.

"Oh, Tsuna! Don't worry, this is Timoteo-" Dad looked over at the grandfather figure, releasing all of us as he gestured politely at the man. "-My boss."

"Welcome!" Nana grinned, lowering her body into a 90-degree bow. "Thank you for taking care of my husband all this time!"

Isago glanced towards his mom, then followed, repeating the same words of thanks. Tsuna only stood there, confused and not knowing what to do and hid behind his mother, clutching her apron.

"Tsuna!" Mom bickered with a sigh but smiled soon afterwards. She patted me on the head as a 'good job' before apologizing for her son's imprudence.

"That isn't a problem," Timoteo said, softening his eyes at us before crouching down to our eye level. "I have to thank you for having such a wonderful father that I can trust."

'Of course, you're literally naming his son as successor,' Isago thought bitterly before pulling Tsuna out from behind mom. 'So who is it going to be? Tsuna, or me?'

Vongola ninth had to choose between the two of them because they were the only ones that would be left in the Vongola bloodline. If what Isago remembered was correct, there was more than one successor to the Vongola line, but they all died, which left Tsuna being the only one that could inherit the family.

Tsuna's hand started to quake before Isago squeezed it reassuringly, giving him a small nudge. Tsuna was still hesitating so Isago started first.

"I'm Isago, this is Tsuna, my older brother!" He deliberately said, lowering his head as Tsuna, this time, followed his younger brother's lead.

"Oh, he's the older one, huh?" Timoteo turned his gentle gaze towards the older brother and nodded. Isago pleaded that they were going to leave the throne of successor to the worthy, not the older. Isago was going to prove himself worthy, prove himself, to be a better leader than his brother.

Tsuna was not suited as a leader, maybe in the long run of taking care of his family members, yes, but Isago was more of a leader in the expanding and influential way.

'Give the role of successor to me, and I will hold Vongola to its glory. I will make Vongola the strongest in history, and it will flourish more than the past ten generations combined.'

Isago wanted the Vongola position. He wanted it desperately.

As if Timoteo could hear Isago's thoughts, the grandfather's eyes turned to the younger sibling, staring at him hard. Isago didn't move his eyes, only stared back and tried to convey the message through his gaze.

'Give it to me, I want it. I need it.'

Timoteo's gaze deepened, opening his mouth to say something as conflict passed through his face, then clamped his mouth shut. Iemitsu, sensing that something was sort of amidst, invited his boss into the house, telling the group that he was famished. Nana gasped, pardoning her forgetfulness before guiding the guest to the table.

Isago let go of the breath he held inside, looking towards Tsuna who was staring at the grandfather.