#so maybe he's just up against contrary forces / the messaging is out of his hands

[slythereen]

vasseur's behaviour recently baffles me bc charles spoke so highly of him recently, saying that he's exactly the type of principal he needed after the one we shall not mention. also charles was literally his golden sauber child that got him points even with a B list car. i dont know why they make so questionable decisions recently and prioritize carlos over charles even in scenarious where charles would make more sense to be the #1 priority.

PREACH. like... charles speaking so highly of fred back in august made sense. sure, fred had been a little sus, but growing pains and faith and all that. charles continuing to be glowing in praise in october, after The Horrors™? makes less sense. like sure, this is around the same time that charles told espn (austin) that the car is being developed in his direction and next year's project is looking good, etc. so it could just be part of charles' overall branding and the image he is/was cultivating as being faithful and supportive of the team. i don't really think charles would lie about supporting fred though, so...

anyway but as to fred: he baffles me too. literal sauber golden child may or may not have hand-selected you to be team principle for ferrari and you... squander him? he seems sensible and ready to throw down for charles sometimes. other times he sounds like he's giving the company's line in interviews. did the politics get to him?? is there a plan in there somewhere?? is it all just laying the groundwork to have a huge marvelous turn around in 2024??

[crying-fantasies]

Walking over clouds

Masterlist

It's still a mystery how the insecticons got their human, or their "queen" as they often referred to the then young human.

Some think you got near their nest in the middle of nowhere because they don't like to interact with humans a lot, they feast on what is around and in case food is scarce they'll migrate to better areas to keep on with their big necessity of organic matter to transform it to energon, so while ones think they dragged you inside by force some think you went with them out of you own volution, because no one wants to think about a little organic being forced down by one of them, maybe some do but most decepticons still have bad memories and recharge when they remember Kickback consuming a very much alive cattle mammal whole after Sharpnel told him so, the cleanup was hell.

At first some were worried about this, no matter who you ask, everyone is going to tell you the truth: the insecticons are awful, even their former decepticon partners will tell you so with more force because they had to interact with them.

There was always someone asking you to say the word, only one, or move or give some kind of signal, blink twice or whatever, to start your rescue, you only smiled while Barrage came to you for some snuggles, poking at your side with delicacy, purring, a bloody digit hanging from his mandibles and presenting it to you, "there is nothing wrong", maybe not for you but the bot or person that tries to "help you" gets the message quick and clear while one of your husbands look at them dead in the optics or eyes.

For years, to everyone's surprise, again, you have been the only partner near them, and somehow you've given them way more less destructive manners to obtain food while being accepted by other humans, avoid authorities involving.

A production has ended and they'll burn down the remaining weeds? Your husbands can eat them for free and also burn the rest to ensure a healthy new harvest.

Are there some kind of plague? Be it animals or diseases in the harvest they can eat it in a day.

They like to see you happy, so they listen to what you have to say, and when a problem raises and you have to say: "Ransack, not the sheep" while you stop any of them in their shit you can already see the culprit almost falling to their knees, if you are near then it's better, since they can't go against your will, and if they're caught red handed, just like Ransack, he would not be allowed into your chamber for the next month if he really consumed the animal because one, the farmer wouldn't let you or them near to their farm again after the transgression, one less food resource and one more headache to you, and two, because it's every bot for himself when it comes to times for cuddles or interface and there is only one you, and if they have to kick away one or two of them so they can use the time of the disgraced one for themselves they'll do it without thinking twice before you forgive the culprit and bring him back to your open, loving and forgiving body.

You're good like that, another welcomed characteristic of a good queen of the hive, a good mother of the hive.

No one knows how it happened, but, one day, their usually awful eating behavior stopped almost to the bare minimum before it got even worse, wiping out any life on the place except for the farms because you said those are important (should've been more specific and said that they couldn't eat what is of others in general), the near cities were also assaulted, mostly supermarkets and drugstores were whipped off of vitamin supplements and food edible for humans (also baby formula), it was Chop Shop (there was no evidence but also no doubts), and then the usual once a year strange chitter sound they made was nowhere to be seen or heard for at least five years, some even believed they finally consumed something that ended up with the whole hive, only to be show with the contrary.

The Insecticons were still pretty much alive, with a new member.

Cloudjolt was born in the first days of summer, to everyone's surprise and for no one's too, being the pride and joy of the whole hive even when he is a mech, at first you believed they would be more thrilled over a femme than a male since, well, that's how other hives and insects act in Earth's nature, but no, it could also be result of Cloudjolt being the very first child born and also so small that he could be mistaken with an underdeveloped baby if not for his obvious cybertronian characteristics and the lack of a formed face or limbs that appeared with time.

And, as expected, totally protected from the outside world for most of his existence.

Did he want to go out? Not before you are 50 years old, and then you go out with someone at your side.

Did he want to befriend something out of the hive? No way, humans are trouble and animals are food, Cloudjolt had some problems with that because his carrier is a human, Bombshell's words got back at him like a boomerang and he moved awkwardly while trying to touch your hip tenderly, visor looking at you and asking for forgiveness.

Maybe Venom was being overprotective and paranoid, as usual, with so much rules (the list got to the 154th one and he was being lenient), but none of them was taking any chances, there was no way they would lose or let anything happen to your sparkling, even if all that protection ended with Cloudjolt seeing his first sunshine light when he finally reached 5 years old and his derma finally hardened.

All of that resulted in the youngling practically shouting "ENOUGH" when one of his sires gave him a piece of fruit, totally frustrated with his situation and getting his things, the ones he could take easily with him at least and decided to go out of the hive alone for the first time, all by asking his carrier for permission and taking advantage of your words to the max, taking advantage of the power your words had over your partners and running away from home the first chance he got, he was just so feed up with everything!

You were worried, of course you were when looking the giant beetle flying away to where you couldn't reach when Buzzclaw got you to the exit of the hideout and got next to the others, all your partners looking at the horizon while their wings dropped at their sides in obvious stress.

"Cloudjolt left us just like that"

"He is awful"

"He is heartless"

"..."

"He has grown to be such a fine mech, mech"

"He is a true decepticon now"

Were you surprised by their words? not really, you're more confused on where they got their napkins to dry their tears, apparently proud ones, since they were acting like that then maybe it was normal for Cloudjolt to finally go see the world for himself in this way.

Still, you totally forgot to talk a little bit more with your baby before he jumped helm first to the outside world.

"Cloudjolt, what did you say just now?"

"What?" Why was everyone looking at him like that? "I just said that I miss the warmth of my carrier's gestation chamber", the young bot crossed his arms above his chest, he was purring, or something like that, trying to mimic your EMF to bring himself some calm and less homesickness.

"You remember that-? No, of what gestation chamber are you talking about?!"

He laughs, drinking his cube as if nothing happened, "What? I came from my carrier just like any of us, isn't that right?"

"..."

"You came from your carrier..." Mariah tries to make him correct her, desperately so, while she moves her servos to form a little body, one of an average human, "your very much human carrier"

"Well, yes, of course, I only have one carrier and I'm pretty sure I came from there, I may not have the complete memory but I do remember after I came out, quite gushy and full of fluids but it's understandable with all the flesh"

"..."

"Bro" of course, only Sabersky said shit and that's what he can say from outside in his own altmode.

"Why are you guys looking at me like you don't know..." He can't even finish his question, quickly catching on what is possibly happening, "wait, where do you guys come from-?"

"Enough!" Astrotrain changes back and gets them out of him, no one wants to be crushed inside when he gets back to root mode, looking as he is having little tremors on his derma by only thinking about it in his own way of expressing physical disgust, "Why can't any of you be normal, for Primus' sake?!"

Ah, maybe Cloudjolt would visit you and demand answers from his sires, but really, what is he expecting? Answers in how he was created? How they nursed your body to top healthiness in order to have you survive the whole ordeal? How Bombshell adapted your body slowly but safe within the years? How Sharpnel got his transfluid first to create him? How all of them gave a little portion of themselves in the transfluid that helped to create his body for the new spark, slowly molding inside your body to create a new life? How his own gestational chamber is way less sterile and more functional than most cybertronians?

The insecticons are awful and everybot knows it, now Cloudjolt understands why other bots look at him like they do.

[cyberrat]

87th Batch Of Fics: 8th Fill

Vox/Alastor's Shadow – Part 1/3 – Alastor's shadow stole itself away from its master for a night of fun with Vox who it has always been kind of in love with.

---

It’s deep at night when Vox becomes aware of an odd flickering in the corner of his vision. He lightly squints that eye, pausing in his reading on the reports his assistant has put in front of him some three hours ago.

However, there is no error message appearing in his field of vision and he can’t say that his migraine has become severe enough that it would cause his synapses to misfire just yet.

Odd.

He blinks his eyes back open, tilting his head forward- and there it is again. That little movement just outside his vision. Not the flickering of his screen threatening to burn an image into itself, but the dark movement of a shadow.

He can feel a spark rushing down his spine, sitting up straight and whirling around in his chair in the blink of an eye. One of his hands has curled into a claw, electricity sparking from one sharp fingertip to the next; but there is nobody behind him.

Nobody has dared to sneak up on Vox, as it should be. Then what…

There is the movement again. This time more obvious, dancing along the glass of his tanks and teasing the sharks behind into an eager frenzy.

Vox’ eyes glance from the shadow to where it logically should originate from but there is nothing there. Even infrared does not show any hidden invader that is dumb enough to think they can play games with him.

Really, it is embarrassing how long it takes him to figure out what is going on. It’s the late hour of the night… and his migraine. He is sure. But finally he manages to focus long enough on the flickering darkness to make out the shape behind it all. His processors kick it up a notch in the immediate wave of excitement grabbing a hold of him.

“Oh… Whatever are you doing here? Has your Master let you go out by yourself?”

Finally, the impish dancing along the glass stops just seconds before one of the sharks would have rammed the divider full force. Instead, it disappears, only to reemerge right in front of Vox: Alastor’s shadow form, a jagged grin dividing its otherwise featureless face.

It shakes its head, lifting a hand and apparently giggling into it. Vox’ own grin widens as well. He leans back in his chair, his legs spread lazily.

“So you went without him knowing? How naughty of you… He’s sure to be livid when he realizes you missing.”

Alastor’s shadow contorts itself briefly, then shrugs its shoulders. It takes a small step forward, then seems to hesitate. Vox chuckles into the palm of his hand and extends an arm.

“Oh, don’t be shy on my account. You know I love playing shadow puppets with you, sweet little thing.”

The shadow’s ears prick up at that. Even without a face it looks so very eager, coming forward and kneeling down in one fluid motion between Vox’ spread legs. He only needs to put a hand up toward its face for the shadow to push its cheek against his palm.

It’s far more affectionate than Alastor could ever be. The fact that an uptight bastard like the radio demon could have such a very naughty, very lively shadow seems like a hellish punishment in and off itself. What sweet irony.

And how fortunate that the shadow was so very partial to Vox as a playmate.

The light coming off of his screen plunges the shadow into a deeper black and makes its edges stand out sharper than ever. Maybe that is why it feels so drawn to Vox. Or maybe it just likes being contrary in the face of its master.

Vox doesn’t mind it either way. It’s an unexpected boon during an otherwise uneventful night. The shadow vibrates in his hands, pushing its head into his hand and letting him feel up its ears in a way Alastor never would have allowed him to do.

It feels ethereal and corporeal at the same time. It’s not flesh and fur that he is touching, but it comes close enough anyway. It feels silky and luxurious. Especially when its grinning maw plunges itself over his claws and suckles on them.

“What a good boy you are,” Vox murmurs, electricity sparking between his antennae when he feels the shadow trembling with mirth.

It is an agent of chaos; much more like Valentino than Alastor or Vox, but somehow that endears it even more to the demon than anything else.

He stands, claws beneath the shadow’s chin urging it to do so as well. It does not need to move any muscles that are, in fact, not there; it just moves its shape until it is standing in front of him, its edges trembling with anticipation.

“Do you want to play, you poor little thing?” Vox croons. He curls an arm around the slender waist that is just a negative of Alastor’s and gives him a shock of sick satisfaction. “Come… I will play with you all night if that is what you want.”

The shadow’s mouth is open. It looks like it is laughing but no sound comes from it. Vox feels it passing through his body. The sensation is alien and exciting. It forces his systems to stutter for a second, a blue screen momentarily flashing across his face before he has himself back under control.

He turns around to follow its movements and finds it leaning across his desk, its dark doe tail perked up and eager.

Vox chuckles as he reaches up and loosens his bow tie, eyes taking in the velvety black dip of the shadow’s back and the coquettish flick of its ears.

This, at least, is something he is very much used to from Alastor. This teasing. This continuous scratching at his boundaries. Feeding him on with looks and touches and the swish of a hip and then not letting him go through when he’s good and hot for him.

The shadow is not like that. It is more than eager to let him mount up; to let him plunge deep into its warm, velvety insides and fuck it until it stops being corporeal.

And all it took to endear it to him was a bit of puppetry. An odd flight of fancy one afternoon, seeing it be bored to death behind Alastor and catching its attention with a few odd shapes he projected against a wall.

Now, decades later, it still is very much eager and loyal to him. It still seeks him out, wanting to play. Wanting to have some fun.

And who is he to deny the poor little critter?

“What a good boy,” he says again, low with static making his voice sound like silk. He curls a hand around that shadow tail and feels it trying to flick in his grasp.

The shadow shudders. Its head moves until he has the unsettling feeling that it is sitting at a complete 180 on its neck, staring straight at him. It’s all too difficult to make out, though.

“I will treat you tonight, doll. I am a showman, after all.”

[p-antomime]

DILF 4 u!

𖦹 minors don’t interact. ┊ wc: 0,8K.

𖦹 content: sub!reader, service dom!kiyoomi, unprotected sex, heavy breeding kink, mating press, nicknames, (huge) age gap, mention of pregnancy, overstimulation, impregnation.

𖦹 pairings: dilf!sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader.

ᥫ᭡. request! ┊ haikyuu masterlist! ┊ taglist!

"Lemme ask you again, yeah? How old are you?", you curled up against the mattress of the bed trying not to let your breathing get any faster than it already was and answered his question before seeing his eyes return to your face as his hand finished spreading the juices of your pussy across your sensitive folds, "Gosh, yeah, you're so young, when you were entering high school I was already dating girls old enough to be your mother."

You licked your lips watching him bring his soaked fingers to your mouth and let him place them against your tongue to suck on them.

"Is my age a problem for you, Omi?", was what you tried to ask even though you knew he had become interested in you precisely because of your age.

"Oh, my pretty lil’ angel, quite the contrary: your age is perfect", Sakusa replied massaging your thighs and making you moan against his fingers before they left your mouth empty, "Perfect for me to put a baby inside you and make you the next mom of my children."

If you denied that your pussy clenched around nothing in the face of his confession, you would be blatantly lying.

Just the thought of having him fill you with cum already made your head dizzy and your pussy so wet it was embarrassing, but knowing that he definitely wanted to fuck a baby inside you without any kind of protection afterwards made you almost cum again, and it hadn't even been five minutes since he had made you reach that state just by using his nimble fingers.

"I don't think I'm ready to be a mom, Omi", you were talking out of your mouth; he knew this and smiled at your calculated response.

"Be a mom? Angel, that's just a consequence, your too young brain hasn't gotten my message yet, has it?", you looked at him a little confused before intercepting Sakusa pushing your knees against yours tits and guiding you into a mating press position that gave complete perfect view of your pussy while he wasn't burying himself in it.

Perhaps his experience was overriding your urgency and need.

"Fuck, such a young, tight pussy, don't you think this pretty thing here deserves to be breed?", you tried not to let a moan escape, but what ended up coming out was a whimper in the shape of his name that made you want to hide your face in shame, "Oh, it deserves, I know, I know"

He used one hand to place the tip of his dick close to your entrance and you almost forced hips to take him right away.

You were too impatient, your anxiety was screaming louder than the desire to enjoy the moment of finally having the cock you'd been drooling over for months to get.

"Wanna be breed, pretty?", Sakusa asked you and you desperately nodded before answering between deep, gasping breaths: "Yes, yes, please, that's all I've been wanting all these–" and his voice interrupted you with a whisper, "Months? Yeah, I've seen you drooling all over my cock, but you wanna be breed even if your little pussy can't make everything stay inside?"

Again, you shook the head positively, but this time also brought a hand up to your pussy going around his arms pressing your knees against your bust and opened your wet folds in front of his dick.

"Please, Omi, breed me”

That was the last thing Sakusa needed to hear before he slammed deep inside you and made your eyes roll up at feeling him so deep.

He was better than guys your age, especially the way his hands gripped your hips as if they wanted to both mark you as his possession and leave as many fingerprints as possible so that you wouldn't forget whose hand it was that left you like this.

And Sakusa didn't give you a good enough time to get used to his fat girth, so maybe that's why you were reduced to a drooling mess that could only look at him with a fucked-up face and moan his name like it was a holy mantra.

You're such a cutie little thing for him, all fucked up just by being stretched, it even looked like you'd never tasted a cock like his.

His tip kissing your cervix again and again, his cheeks turning pinker and pinker with the force applied to fuck you and balls ready to pour every last drop of his hot, thick cum against your womb with no intention of letting you go home without at least having enough cum to lick the bottom of your panties.

That day, your favorite DILF came deep in you with his head falling back and a loud but hoarse moan escaping his throat; you could even see the veins in his neck standing out as you felt his cum fill you completely and even leak down the sides of your little pussy too small to contain the entire amount.

"But, we're not over yet, little angel, that was just round one, I know you need more of my cum filling your pretty pussy", Sakusa whispered looking back up at you and opening a mischievous grin before slamming back inside you; causing overstimulation for both of you.

Maybe he could now call you a breeding doll, and not a little angel.

ㅤ🏷 tagging: @festive @inu1gf @mizurimirai @sleepy3 @kuroaka @slut4manjiro @qudvxnkanx @wakasa-wifey @vlyntage @dessceased @goldenmnr @semisgroupie @k-ryuuguji @amaejiki @fuyuus .

[seijohsbabe]

Necking

Ship: Bully!A.Miya x Reader

Tw: smut, nicknames, kinda Exhibitionism, humiliation, swear words, degradation, bullying, noncon

Wordcount: 2,5k

a/n: Please im craving for feedback or some love, I’m so sensitive rn lmao, need some confirmation that my stuff what I write is good for you guys <3

When they said high school was going to be a great time, it was a huge lie. It was hell. It wasn't the school stress, your grades were good, but there was someone in your class who kept an eye on you for no reason. Unfortunately not as you would have hoped, but the complete opposite. Atsumu Miya, pro athlete volleyball player. When you started school two years ago, you were seated right next to him. He looked nice, with his nice lazy grin, and his perfectly styled hair. But at some point evil emerged from behind this facade.

It started very small. Your things were broken, your locker was broken open, and things in there were stolen or destroyed as well. You didn't know who it was, but it wasn't a great feeling. But the whole thing really started in your second year. Right on your first day, Atsumu spilled hot coffee on your blouse. Of course, you thought it was accidental, happens to everyone. But as Atsumu became more and more aggressive with his actions, you slowly became suspect. He started to pull your hair as you walked by, put one leg in the middle of the hallway so that you flew in the middle of the floor, your skirt slipped up slightly and your books scattered all over the aisle, while Atsumu and the rest of the group just kept going. At some point, you turned to a tutor, but he denied everything.

,,Atsumu our professional volleyball player? No way“ Your parents don't let you change schools anymore, it would be too much effort, it's only 1 1/2 years left.

And so your judgment was made, another 1 1/2 years of hell with Atsumu Miya.

Half a year later, at the beginning of the last school year at this school, he exceeded all limits. He was getting more and more touchy with you.

You still sat next to him and it didn't make it any easier. In the middle of class, his long, strong hands grabbed your thighs to get higher and higher. Your hands clapped against his in protest, but he didn't mind, on the contrary, while the teacher turned around and you two sat in the back row anyway, he put your hair back so that your neck was free to attack it with his mouth, to make a big red mark.

"Now everybody can see what a slut you are." He only whispered before he wrote something for the class, which the teacher dictated without even give you a second glance.

He didn't stop with anything until today. Instead, he did even more to make your life hell. You didn't know why, and why exactly you, but unfortunately you got used to it. Falling down, the tease in class, hurting you in any way, no matter whether emotionally or physically. Today it was that time again, history and Atsumu was next to you again. He came into class with his smug grin as always, every girl turned around, but he didn't pay any attention to any of them, instead, he looked straight at you. The other girls followed his gaze to give you a dark look, but that left you cold. Only Atsumu was able to scare you. You never knew what he was up to today, what he had new on the reservation, the last time it was a volleyball that was wrongly set in your face, while you only wanted to get a message to one of his team colleagues, another time he had spilled juice over your perfect notes for class. In front of the teacher, he apologized to you several times, but you saw his big grin after the teacher turned again and the class continued. It was a vicious circle that you could never escape.

So when the lesson took its course and everything was going well so far, it wasn't long before you felt his hands on your thighs again. He only wandered up to your skirt hem and down again, but this time he even went under what your eyes read wide. He wouldn't? His face stayed calm and focused, he even nodded sometimes, but his fingers slowly pushed your panties to the side to slide his finger through your slit. It made you gasp and press your thighs together. But he just pinched you, and a small, "Let them open."

You didn't want to push him to go any further, thinking how should you push him further? He was just passing one of the last borders. His fingers ran repeatedly through your cunt, while you had to bite your hand in order not to get too loud. "Oh you Lil slut, I know you want it." He whispered softly and deliberately. But you couldn't answer at the moment, luckily the hand was still buried in your mouth while he suddenly sank 2 fingers into you. This time you couldn't help but moan softly.

,,Y/n? everything okay?“ the teacher asked.

,,Y-yes, I'm just tired." Fortunately, the teacher didn't notice anything from the hand under your skirt, but this left Atsumu unimpressed and got faster and faster with his pace, while he watched you briefly with an amused grin that you have to groan loudly, but it wasn't going to end well, so you clench your teeth and try to think of something else.

He hissed in anger that you were taking it so far. So when he tilted his fingers a little and hit your point, you groaned. It was unexpected that he hit that spot. With an evil grin, he looked over at you, his fingers now taken back.

,,Y/n, I think you should maybe breathe some fresh air don't you think? Atsumu Kun, please stay with her.“ Your teacher spoke again.

If he came with you now, what would he do to you?

,,No it's okay I can go on my-" you tried to talk yourself out of it, but a certain someone had to talk over you, of course. "Oh no y/n, you will fall over afterward, you're already so pale, come on.“

And with that, he pulled you out of the classroom followed by several strange looks from the students and the teacher.

He pulled you by your upper arm as you stumbled behind him. You dared not speak, too afraid that he might come up with a stupid idea. Nobody was in the hallway, everyone was in their class. Your steps could be heard in the whole corridor, until he suddenly stopped in front of a door and you slammed in his back. Your eyes examined the door before you were dragged in. It was the boy's toilet you were dragged into.

He pulled you into one of the cabins to lock it behind you with one click. Then he pressed you firmly against the door, holding you completely captive with his size, with no way out. He looked down at you, with an omniscient grin. He had something bad on his mind and you just hoped that you would still live after that. Of course, he noticed your fear and clicked his tongue a few times while he shook his head thoughtfully.

"Oh my little y/n-chan, don't be afraid, I'm gonna show ya something real‘ good. Believe me, you'll like it."

But you didn't like a thing he did, so you just looked up at him suspiciously. His blond hair fell slightly on his face, his brown eyes glistened at you. Slowly his hands sank down to get under your skirt. This time your hands pressed onto his well-trained chest while he clasped your cunt.

"Still so wet for me, my lil slut hmm?" Your head shook, but he just grinned wider.

"Oh you will see, later you'll be begging for my cock." With these words, he tore your blouse open and then tossed it on the floor next to you. His gaze wandered over your body, back up to your eyes. You just stood there, looking at him, no clue of what to do. He moved quickly to take off his uniform to show his muscles that smelled of strength. He leans down to stop just in front of your face. One hand leaned against the door the other brushed through your hair. You looked at him dreamily, you were just too much in thoughts of what to do when he caught your lips with his lips. It caught you by surprise, with widening eyes. You already had your first kiss, but this one was nothing compared to this one.

Atsumu was dominant, demanding, and quick. He thrust his tongue into your mouth to exude even more dominance. Until it went down and down, leaving a trail of spit until it met your collarbone, to stop there and suck onto the skin. Your hands found themselves in his hair again, pulled tight, which made him grunt. After a while, he broke away to look at his work of art from afar. He looked satisfied, and ran his thumb over it until he stared into your eyes again.

In a short time, his hands were back on his shoulders to push you down with force. You couldn't fight it and let yourself fall with your knees on the floor. It made you wince, the stabbing pain went through your whole body. His hands were now on his pants to slowly open them to let them and his underpants in one moment fall. His cock jumped against you. It pulsed. The tip was already leaking pre-cum. The size alone made you swallow. He just laughed down at you while he saw your amazed face. His hands were now in your hair to twist them around and have a closer grip on you.

"Suck" he directed you with your lips to his penis. "I don't think I-" and again he interrupted you, "Oh you can baby, and you will, now suck." He said with an annoyed tone. Your hands clasped his penis. They just fit drum. You started with little kitten licks along the tip and the length, but that wasn't enough for him. He pulled your hair to make you look up. "Take it in your dirty mouth you slut."

You just nodded, to look at its length one time again. Your mouth opened slowly to lie over the first few centimeters, but Atsumu was impatient, rolled his eyes, and directed your head down. Quickly his tip tapped against your throat and you had to gag, but there were still a few centimeters left. His hand in your hair, the strong grip made you wince while he guides your head up and down at an even faster pace. Your gagging noises echoed in the whole boys toilet, your spit ran out of your mouth down on your chin.

His other hand leaned above you on the door, his head hanging down, eyes closed. "Fuck- just like that baby." He groaned while his rhythm slowly decreased. Your eyes watered, and tears ran down your face.

Suddenly he pulled you away from his cock, and looked at your weeping face, spit ran down your face mixed with your tears.

"Look at you, already so fucked out." He laughed more to himself. Then he tugged you up on your hair, your scalp burned. When you were on your feet again, he finally let go of it. He suddenly turned you around and pressed your face to the door. Your cheek squeezed against the hard material as Atsumu tore your panties under your skirt. "I needed them!" you whined to him.

"Not anymore." He lifted your skirt slightly to collect your wetness again with one finger.

He took it with relish in his mouth as if he were trying the most delicious chocolate in the world. With a "pop" he let it slide out of his mouth, and groaned at your taste.

"You know y/n-Chan, I've always dreamed about that right here, and finally I can do it in real, it's just fuck- so much better than I imagined."

Your hands pressed against the wall of the cabin, which was getting hotter and hotter as you tried to see what he was going to do. However, when you felt his cock stroking along your entrance, the panic came up.

,,Please Atsumu! Dont do this please!“

But before you could continue, he buried himself in you with a jolt. To be filled with the stabbing pain all at once was not exactly pleasant. Especially with his size it was not really easy to accept the whole thing that fast. But he didn't even give you time for that, as he began to pounding right inside you while his hands were on your hips. Now you had to let out a moan too.

Although it burned, the feeling of being completely filled was so pleasant. So lapsed in lust you didn't notice at first that he hit you on your butt. Only when he hit it a second time you had to let out a small cry. "You like that don’t you? My lil cumslut. Fuck your sucking me in, so g-gready for my cock huh?“

And with the constant pace and one more hit on your butt, the knot of lust burst and you saw stars. You were afraid your legs were going to give up so much they wobbled. Your moans echoed trough the whole boys toilet, maybe even on the hall.

Worst of all, Atsumu kept his tremendous pace. The overstimulation was too much for you to make you cry. But he just grinned as always and gripped your hips even tighter.

Out of nowhere, he turned you around to pick you up by your thighs and push you against the cabin door. The door rattled loudly, you were almost afraid it would fall apart.

He picked up his lost pace again while your senses are completely out of order. All you felt was his length in you. The tip kissed your point with every thrust. Your hands, which were still just on his shoulders, were now holding on to his neck to pull him closer and press his lips tightly onto yours. You needed something to hold on.

The pace slowed down for a moment, because he was probably surprised, but didn't let himself be confused for long until he hammered into you again. You both moan into the kiss until Atsumu broke up and took you one more time into consideration. Your eyes rolled back, your tongue peeked out a little, and your hands went up to pull on his hair. "Aw come on, another one, you can do it." You just cried towards him, the pleasure overwhelmed you completely.

The knot got bigger as Atsumu put pressure on your clitoris while he penetrated your point further. „Fuck, im cumming! Come on, come with me baby.“ He groaned head back in his neck. Your legs clasped him tightly while the pressure rose again and everything is twice as sensitive as before. ,,I-I, too much Atsumu-" you've mumbled. And with his last final snap you cummed together. He shot his semen into you, white long strings painted your walls white while you were trembling. He groaned with you together until he let go of your legs and let you sit on the floor.

As he dressed again like nothing happened, he looked at your trembling figure, completely fucked out, cum dribbling out of you. He stuck a finger in your cunt to push the cum back in, and took your chin between his fingers to make you look him in the face. "Better not to waste any of my present, you dumb Lil’ bitch alright?" And with that he walked out of the cabin even hummed a little song while you were completely out of your mind on the floor, trembling.

[jungxk]

just one (viii)

summary: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

notes: first of all i wanna thank the people who supported me and encouraged me through one of the worst writers blocks of my life. all the messages and comments are the reason why i finally managed to post this. special thanks to @whippedforkook for helping me with the monstrous tagging process as well as giving me so much praise. and also @lonelyending for cheering me on for a literal YEAR bc thats how long i cried over this fic! this story is so special to me. we’re in the home stretch now x

warnings: mentions of illegal drug use and distribution, swearing, brief smut.

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 8k

tagging: @cutechim @benz-biarritz @gyukult @bangulin @eatersanonymous @alyssa1926 @skivv1es @a-sucker-for-them-sappy-shit @moonights @jeymuffins @juuneaux @catsukiii @andreaisaac @whatheydontunderstand @sreveles @noruls619 @henryharios @just-a-fuxked-up-kid @befriendswithj @btsbesharam @poemsandpunani @taelha @misosoup-forthesoul @jikooksmut @heart-eyedmf @the-piano-woman @angrysunshine @chaoticpaperfanhoagie @jsungshine @ci-yen @faby-montana @shinypeanutsportshero @jooniestrivia @alucards-s @cynamyngirl @jiminie-angel @myskoova @jkshoneybuns @smokintae @remmykinsff @majinbuwu @jangx2manboongx2 @potatodogs @seul-queen @alpharyth @blenxxxg @plsky @th-singularity @bapbaptothetop @hermiones-enchantment @stomachfilledwithbutterflies @euphorora @supachloe94 @jiminxjimout @ggukkieland @just-another-fic-recs-blog @jalexad​

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

x

4 years ago

x

jimin hated yugyeom.

well, maybe hate was a strong word. he just didn't like talking to him, being around him, hearing his name or interacting with him on any level, social or otherwise. he really tried though, since he was one of jungkook's closest friends and still respectfully referred to him as hyung above all else. and if anything, jimin would always have a soft spot for jungkook, the kid he used to coddle when his own brother wasn't around. but having said that, there wasn't really much basis for not liking yugyeom. it was just a gut feeling jimin couldn't explain, a very subtle callousness about him only jimin could pick up on. for the most part he was just like very other mild mannered boy by day and party animal by night, but jimin still ducks when he sees him enter the library.

"fuck," he hisses under his breath, scooping up his laptop to stride behind a book shelf for good measure. because sometimes, contrary to popular belief, jimin wanted to be alone. he didn't want to make small talk or listen to someone tell him about how well they scored on their last paper or complain about their annoying girlfriend. sometimes jimin wanted to have no thoughts and listen to fleetwood mac as per his human rights. which is why he shoves into the first private study room he sees.

and not an empty one at that. there's a girl inside, sitting cross-legged in her chair at a desk with an array of dried up paint tubes and brushes surrounding open sketchbooks. you don't look annoyed or even that phased, just amused as you give him a once over before going back to painting. "on the run from solji?"

jimin blinks, back still pressed against the door. "huh?" he regards you properly. "i'm sorry, have we met before?"

"not really," you admit with a sheepish smile, which is when jimin suddenly realises that you're...attractive. "solji is in my stats class. you hooked up with her last week at some party and she told me about it."

"oh," jimin takes in your plethora of art supplies. "you don't look like a stem student."

there's a glimmer of something in your eyes, and though you hide it well jimin knows he's struck a nerve. "yeah, i get that a lot."

"it's not solji by the way," jimin clarifies. for some reason. "that i'm hiding from. just a bellend i don't have the energy for right now."

you smile. "it's fine. you don't owe me your life story."

"i do when i'm about to impose on your...study time," jimin peers through the window in the door, wincing when yugyeom enters the hallway. "what would it take for you to let me stay in here for a while?"

you pause for a second. "honestly? just be quiet and leave me alone. is that okay?"

jimin perks up, a weight leaving his chest. "perfect, actually."

x

x

x

[jungkook 11:42pm]: why does it say wings on it

[jungkook 11:42pm] where is it flying

[you: 11:43pm] ffs kook

[you: 11:44pm] im still on the toilet can u just hurry up

[you 11:44pm] grab some tampons too pls

[jungkook 11:46pm] fine what size pussy do u wear

[you 11:46pm] i hate u

[jungkook 11:53pm] ???? ? ? well? ????

[you 11:54pm] REGULAR 

jungkook giggles at his phone, already having left the women's sanitary aisle to grab some chocolate. months later and teasing you was still bundles of fun. he knew for a fact that you were sat there with that angry pout on your face, nose crinkled. he had never bought anything like this before, but jungkook had enough brain cells to know that chocolate was another necessity for that time of the month. after grabbing a large hazelnut bar, he pauses beside the oreos before grabbing a packet of those too. just for good measure. he strides to the self checkout - because even he wasn't man enough for the cashier yet - nearly dropping his array of sanitary products and confectionary when somebody calls out his name from behind the queue.

"kook!" the voice is unmistakably yugyeom's, confirmed by the hand that clamps jungkook over the shoulder and swivels him round before he could think about hiding his socially compromising shopping items. it takes a second for yugyeom to notice, doing a double take at the pads atop his small tower of goods. he holds back a laugh, balancing a bottle of gin in one hand while he waves back at some friends to continue. they were clearly making their pit stop before a night out, probably pre's if they still start as late as jungkook remembers. with his hair styled and expensive cologne lingering, jungkook almost forgets he probably looks unrecognisable in his sweats and cotton-fresh hoodie. friday nights weren't for cuddling. still, yugyeom's smile is welcoming and familiar. "got the munchies? and maybe also a uterus?"

"shut up," jungkook grumbles, averting his eyes. he shifts to his other foot uncomfortably. "my friend just needed a favour, that's all."

"uh huh," yugyeom gives him a teasing look. "is this friend the reason why i barely saw you at jin's the other week?"

jungkook blinks back at him. "wait, you were at that party? i had no idea!" a boyish smile breaks over his face. "why didn't you call me? i haven't seen you since-"

"minseok-hyung's new years eve party," yugyeom throws his head back with a laugh. "remember how we ended up on a boat after the ball dropped and-"

"spent all of new years day detained by the coast guard!" jungkook finishes with a mischievous cackle of his own, nearly dropping the tampons in the process. "fuck, that was so much fun! we need to meet up again, i haven't been out with the guys in so long."

"well no wonder," he quips a brow at jungkook's shopping again. "word got out you're a family man but i didn't believe it. until now, that is."

jungkook's smile falls. "what do you mean?"

yugyeom looks at him for a second, confused by jungkook's surprise. yugyeom was never quite as diplomatic as namjoon or yoongi, to put it lightly. and definitely nowhere near as accomodating as jimin. which is why his next words make jungkook's back stiffen. "bro, look at yourself. you got dairy milk in one hand and tampax in the other. on a friday night. the next time i see you i wouldn't be shocked if you had a baby buggy and a mortgage." still, yugyeom throws him an apologetic look. like a mouse caught in a trap. "face it, kook. you're old news."

"what? that's not true," his brows furrow unhappily. "i don't know what you're talking about. it's not like she's my..."

he can't say the word, but it hangs between them like a dead weight.

"yeah, right," the condescending look on yugyeom's face was starting to agitate him. "you totally blanked us at jin's after she showed up. not even just jin's..." he thinks twice about holding his tongue, but as always, decides against it. "i don't know you, jungkook. whoever this new jungkook is. it's been months. you used to hit us up and be independent and spontaneous and wild and now you're just...someone's boyfriend.

"stop fucking saying that," jungkook snaps, all visible signs of friendliness gone.

"why?" a beat. "do you even use a wrap with her anymore?"

jungkook splutters, heat rushing to his ears and hands in a stinging combination of anger and embarrassment. "how is that any of your business? the fuck are you asking me something like that, as if you-"

"thought so," yugyeom looks away from him with a sigh. if anything, yugyeom knew never to overstay his welcome but that clearly backfired tonight. "whatever, jungkook," he looks over his shoulder at him. "guess you're the last one to find out you're officially married."

"you're ridiculous," jungkook scoffs. "all this over condoms? grow up, yugyeom."

"only couples do it raw," yugyeom turns away from him, alcohol in tow as he waves a hand over his shoulder to join his friends like jungkook was nothing but a lost cause. "you would remember that if you still had game."

jungkook stands there, dumbfounded while the group of boys exit the store noisily but he can't hear a thing. the siren that had been itching the back of his mind all this time was suddenly there at full force, right between his eyes. the glaring truth that yugyeom might be right makes his knees buckle. all those rules jungkook once had, all those measures he kept in place to protect his liberty, to prevent this very occurence - where were they? what happened to them? as the sweet and accommodating counterpart to jimin, why had you never complied? though, the blame wasn't on your hands alone. he got complacent, comfortable. lenient. and now without even realising he was here, a scene from a romcom in the middle of the night, with nothing to say for himself but fuck. the realisations wouldn't stop racing, one after another on the conveyer belt of his anxiety.

the photos on his phone; mostly you. time spent, usually with you. the portfolio for his latest photography module also had some resemblance to your interests. charcoal pencils, night drives, orchids. like the ones you always drew on any scrap of paper lying around. now that he thinks about it, he's seen nothing but your orchids for months. and not just that - you wore his clothes sometimes too. his bathroom had your toothbrush, contraceptive pills and coconut shampoo. his closest friends, his hyungs...not one of them was devoid of affection for you. he wasn't even confident that if the choice was presented, they would still pick him over you.

by the time jungkook finishes paying and practically sprints to his truck in a daze, he can hardly keep himself from shaking. he palms the wheel compulsively, he could feel the sweat in his sideburns, hoodie suddenly suffocating him. it smelled of you.

and then, like a final curtain call: was he just your latest fixer-upper project? some good girl wet dream to play out in the wake of your emotionally traumatic past? a slap in the face to seokjin, maybe, and nothing more? when you were done, when he was out of your system, when you knew his taste by heart and had nothing new left to try - would you stay? did you even know how to?

did he?

jungkook starts the engine. he drives to your door, drops your bag of snacks and pads on the porch, and texts you before leaving. he does not go inside.

x

x

x

"you sure you'll be okay with just the boys?"

you scoff at seulgi when she pins you with a worrying look, taking some of her clothes out of her bag to re-fold them just so you had something to do with your hands. jisoo had already left for the long weekend with her family, so there was no one there to fill up the empty space between your awakward reply. you didn't know how to tell the girls that jungkook hadn't contacted you in nearly a month. and even though he was a notable flight risk from the beginning, you couldn't help but feel like there was hostility there. every now and again he'd at least send a nude or have a quick phone call when he was drunk or high at three in the morning, but you hadn't heard a peep from him. you couldn't stand the idea of someone you cared about harbouring comtempt for you, but the fear of reaching out and somehow making the situation worse outweighed it tenfold. 

you look up to see seulgi still staring at you with concern. "of course i'll be fine! they're boys, not piranhas."

"at least piranhas contribute our ecosystem. boys just cause problems for the hell of it," seulgi lays a hand on the crown of your head like a berating big sister, swivelling you to look at her in your fit of giggles. the urge to nestle you under blankets like a baby bird made her chest heave, and you could tell. "i'm serious. if jimin tries anything, call me immediately okay?"

"jimin?" you snort. "out of a room full of delinquents, my ex, and taehyung, you're worried about jimin of all people?"

seulgi wrinkles her nose. "god, when you say it like that its like i'm throwing you to the dogs." she pauses. "something's up with jimin. i don't know what it is, but he's...off."

you tilt your head innocently, remembering the brief interaction you had with hobi at seokjin's party. you had been so caught up in jungkook - or lack thereof - you hadn't thought to press him about it afterwards. in truth, jimin remained as...jimin as ever. if he was acting differently you certainly couldn't tell. "you think so?"

"mmm," she leans on the lip of the open suitcase thoughtfully. "but maybe with jungkook there, he'll behave himself."

you gulp, fiddling with his watch on your wrist anxiously. "maybe."

x

x

x

you nearly yelp when you feel a big hand swivel around your waist, bucking into the kitchen counter reflexively. jungkook always did this before rubbing his boner against your ass, but the light scent of citrus and short squeeze lets you know immediately that its taehyung. hoseok, jimin, namjoon and yoongi were still in the living room playing video games, giving taehyung the perfect opening to intercept you. namjoon and yoongi had insisted that you come over to their place after finding out you'd be alone for the weekend, and you had completely refused before taehyung's coaxing. and of course, jimin's persuasive nudging. even though you felt safe and relaxed here, it felt wrong to be in jungkook's friends' place without him. almost like a breaching of an unspoken boundary.

and clearly, taehyung picked up on your discomfort by the way he stared at you so softly. his back was to the sink, his sillhouette particularly long and lean this evening. "you need to lighten up, princess. you keep looking over your shoulder so much it's making me nervous!"

your visibly droop with a sigh. "i'm sorry tae. i've had a lot on my mind lately, and..."

he claps his hands on your shoulders, teeth peeking through his grin. "you're not doing anything illegal by being here without jungkook."

you wince at his name. "have you always been able to read my mind like this?"

"absolutely," taehyung's brown eyes look so rich up close. "you're allowed to have friends that are also his friends, because - and try to stick with me on this - relationships between people are allowed to be independant from the primary circles they met in. mind boggling concept, i know."

you wack him on the chest until he laughs. "stop making fun of my anxious thought processes! its called mental illness, sherlock! i can't help it!"

his nose scrunches cutely, enjoying your first fiery outburst of the day. "whatever. i call it not getting laid for a month and losing critical thinking abilities from it."

you gape at him indignantly while taehyung roars with laughter. "you're such a dickhead," you hiss through gritted teeth, yanking his hair and jabbing your fingers in his sides the way you would with jimin during a tickle fight. "whores have feelings too, taehyung! whores have feelings too!"

you both fall about with laughter, knocking over half the snacks on the counter in the process which only makes the pair of you laugh even more. it's such childish chaos trying to clean up the mess on the tiny kitchen floor that neither of you notice the front door open, or the gust of metaphorical and literal wind that follows. watching taehyung trying to salvage a bag of broken crisps is just so funny that the presence of an another voice in the living room goes unregistered, as do the footsteps leading up the hallway to the kitchen, so you have no time to brace yourself or properly pull yourself together with you see-

"...jungkook."

yours and taehyung's heads snap to the doorway. jungkook stands there with almost complete lack of emotion on his face to the pair of you kneeling in crumbs and napkins. there's a brief pause where the tension in your eye contact alone was so strong that it felt wrong to breathe. but it is shortlived. jungkook tiptoes over you like spilled milk, reaching for a glass of water. you and taehyung lock eyes while the tap runs in the awkward silence. "hey. you okay?"

"um," you're not sure whether to stand up, hug him, look at him, or even face him. "yeah! yeah, i'm fine."

he nods politely. "hyung?"

even taehyung looks visibly uncomfortable. "i'm good."

"cool. see you later," he says, downing the glass impressively fast before leaving the room just as fast as he entered it.

you and taehyung stare at each other again, not understanding why you both feel like kids caught eating cake before dinner. you could feel the sweat pricking at your back from the realisation. jungkook had no idea you'd be here, and given that interaction he'd probably want to leave now. there was always the inkling woven between his radio silence that he was done with you, but you never let yourself take it seriously out of logic. because how could months of passion and tenderness and honesty be undone so irrevocably like that? it didn't make sense. you hadn't changed. you were the same girl he hit on relentlessly and chased against all odds. so what was different now?

"____," taehyung calls your name gently, and it's only then you realise you're already up and trailing after jungkook into the living room. when you walk in he's already putting his shoes on to leave again, barely making eye contact with you while he chats absently to his hyungs so he can look busy. the four boys on the large sofa can only reply wearily, eyes darting between the pair of you like a firework was about to blow to soon. and it was.

you could feel it in your throat, under your breast bone, bubbling up your stomach. "wait, jungkook. um...h-how have you been? i haven't heard from you in-"

"i've been good," he keeps tying and re-tying his laces without looking up. "super busy. you know how it is."

his curtness makes you flinch. this same time last month jungkook used to kiss you senseless before he had both feet in the door. he'd ring the doorbell incessantly like a child and greet you with the biggest, toothiest grin you had ever seen. he'd make fun of your bed head and squeeze your cheeks until you'd snap at him. and now when he looked at you he hated every second of it. your mother had the same look. your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "yeah, i do. how is uni? your final project is due soon, right? what theme did you pick in the end?"

"the one i told you about," he stands up abruptly. "sorry, noona. something came up. i'll see you arou-"

"something came up?" you step closer to him. "something came up the second you saw my face? or did you really just trek all the way to your hyungs' place for a glass of water, jungkook?"

jungkook stiffens, but is determined not to lose face. and it's difficult to do under your big, accusatory eyes and jimin's death stare at his back. the whole room was waiting for his response, so he just shoves his hands in his pockets resolutely. "i needed to see yoongi hyung, but i can come another time."

you fold your arms. "well it's clearly important, and you're here now. so don't let me stop you."

"but you will stop me," jungkook snaps. "that's the problem."

"kook-ah," yoongi warns quietly, but he took one look at your face and knew the damage was done. jimin was already standing up, circling around the back of the sofa towards you. the red lights were all there; your watery eyes, your trembling hands. every breath you took looked difficult for you to complete and only jimin noticed.

"what are you talking about?" you squint. it takes you a second to understand; yoongi's guilty expression, jungkook's indifference. "oh, you're fucking kidding me." your resolve breaks for a second turning away only to glare back at jungkook with so much fire you can hardly stand it. "you're selling again? are you insane, jungkook?"

"see," jungkook's eyes are stony. "i knew you'd get this way."

"what other way am i supposed to get?" his lack of response only infuriates you more. it felt disrespectful. "jungkook, you're not a kid anymore. if you get caught with drugs the consequences are serious! forget the potential jail time, you could get kicked out of university, it would go on your record forever and-"

"stop talking to me like i'm a kid!"

"then stop acting like one!" you hate raising your voice, but it keeps climbing without your approval. "did you think about this for even five minutes? this isn't like just going to juvie like before and being done with it jungkook. your hyungs can't bail you out of everything."

"this is a lot of talk for someone who lapped up those fancy paints without a second thought," jungkook says darkly. his eyes aren't like you remember, his face solemn and near unrecognisable. "or did you think that getting that kind of money overnight is only something that's possible through daddy's credit card?"

dread blooms like a garden inside you. "that's...that's how you bought the paint set?"

"welcome to the real world," he quips. "as if selling overpriced weed to a bunch of pick-me-freshmans is considered a crime against humanity to anyone but you."

"you think that's why i'm yelling at you right now?" your voice was growing hoarse, desperate. "you think that's the problem i have with you being literal drug dealer, jungkook?"

he hates it. the sweltering silence, the judgmental eyes digging into his back, the slow realisation that the tears in your eyes were not at him but for him. jungkook's ears ring enough to make him sway on the spot if his feet weren't planted so firmly on the dingy carpet, this metaphorical ground. he couldn't shake the feeling that his lifestyle was only an issue now because of you, how he never felt a shred of guilt about any of this shit until he met you. and if there was anything that jungkook never responded well to, it was pity. and he could feel it from every person in the room, all people that that once cherished and coddled him until you came along. he swallows, throat dry from the way he couldn't look at you knowing what he was going to say next.

"you're embarrassing yourself, noona. you're not my girlfriend and you never were, so stop acting like it."

cotton. it's very faint, under the layers of conflicting cologne and beer and smoke, but jungkook still smelled of cotton while he spat acid. nobody could speak, even though jungkook never raised his voice let alone a hand to you, it still hit like a slap in the face. it sunk into the walls, your clothes, suddenly every hair on your body felt heavy with it. dirty. the shame came first, the humiliation next. and then the sorrow, the dread, and finally the defeat. you knew the stages well by now, and they were cycling through you like clockwork. how foolish you were, to make the same mistake again. nobody dared to move, everyone but jungkook staring at you in denial and horror. they couldn't believe their eyes when you nod steadily, bowing your head to the floor.

jimin is already slotting himself between you, his jaw tight. "that's enough, kook. just leave already."

"no," you stop him, unnervingly resigned. that single word cuts through all six men with ease. "he's right." you step around jimin, closing the space between you and jungkook. for a brief moment he wonders if you'll actually hit him, but somehow watching you unclasp his watch from your wrist and drop it on the coffee table in front of him is far worse. the sound seems to ring like church bells, definitive and umistakable. "you're right, i'm not your girlfriend. you win jungkook."

they all watch you leave in dismay, listen to the door closing softly behind you. within a second jimin sprints after you, calling your name, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. jungkook's stare could bore a hole into the abandoned watch on the table, still ticking away like nothing changed. like his eyes weren't burning, lightheaded at the realisation that he would never wear a watch again let alone the one he put on you.

x

x

x

to an outsider, you looked like you were coping well considering you just got dumped in front of all your friends. but jimin knew that face. your stony eyes, lips pulled thin as if to seal inside the collapse of a monument. you took the tea he offered, and then his arms, your face finding his chest with ease. muscle memory. his torso was a tad shorter than jungkook's, his heart closer to your mouth as if the steady thumps were asking for a kiss of acknowledgement. every time you close your eyes you could see jungkooks face, hard and unforgiving and nothing like the man you trusted all this time. but it wasn't a new expression; you parents looked at you similarly the last time you saw them. it was the look of someone who had no regrets cutting all ties. and now, jungkook was behind them in a lost list of people who chose to be strangers over loving you.

jimin sighs when you cry into his chest, brushing the back of your head gently. he had been ready for this for months, but he still hated to see you this way. again. it made his bones itch, his skin crawl uncomfortably every time you weeped. the only time he considered violence was when you were crying. but he knew what to do, laying down across the sofa so you could curl up into a ball next him, head on his bicep and face smushed into the crook of his shoulder. you used to cry like this for hours and hours, his arm familiar with the prickle of pins and needles. but it was the only place you felt safe. tucked into jimin's side is where you would always belong, and that truth was more glaringly obvious than ever now.

"lets get something to eat," he offers eventually, hand craddling the crown of your head like a child. jimin's other hand on your hip is warm and heavy when he pats you soothingly. in your episodes, you responded well to touch. "what about thai food?"

"not hungry," you grumble against him.

"we could make something together?" he peers down at your lack of response. "come on, babe. you gotta eat something. you didn't even have breakfast-"

"why am i so stupid?" you whisper, a fresh bout of tears welling up.

jimin rubs your thigh. "it's not your fault."

"yes it is. jungkook gave me plenty of red flags, and i ignored all of them-"

"oh, i meant you being stupid."

you scoff. "cheers."

"what?" jimin cocks a brow when you lift your head to look up at him. he wets his lips and you follow the swipe of his tongue thoughtlessly, distracted enough by his touch and proximity that you take a second to digest his words. "it's not like any of this exactly came as a surprise. you ignored me, remember? wanted to flex your big girl pants."

you pull away from him and sit up, forcibly shutting out the daze that jimin routinely puts you under. "what's wrong with you? can't you be polite and wait for a couple hours before laying into me like a normal person? jesus, jimin."

"so let me get this straight," jimin sits up, watching your back as you sit away from him. "you're mad because i'm not telling you what you want to hear?"

"no," you say, head shaking. "i'm not mad. i'm upset because i came here to be comforted by my friend and you're just making me feel worse."

"what do you want me to say, ____? that i had high hopes from the start?" jimin pushes his hair back, brows now at a sharp incline from frustration. "i told you starting something with jungkook was trouble but you didn't listen. why should i feed your victim complex when all i've done is try to help you?"

"victim complex?" you repeat, standing up slowly. the sudden steadiness of your voice causes jimin to panic.

"not like that. don't take it like that, it's just," he's suddenly before you, his warm hands palming up your arms warmly. "i didn't wanna see you get like this and it happened anyway, is all i'm saying." he sighs when your scowl doesn't let up. "if hobi hyung hadn't have given up so easy, then maybe…maybe this would never have happened. maybe if i had been harsher with him then you would have-"

"what are you talking about?" you ask quietly, searching jimin's face. "give up so easy? what's that supposed to mean?"

he looks away, hands slipping off you. "it's nothing."

"jimin."

he struggles to look at you, tongue in cheek. his lips purse for a moment, pink like roses. he's wearing that navy jumper you like. "look, it's not a big deal. he wasn't supposed to fuck you or anything, just take you out for a while. get your mind off kookie, show you a nice time."

your blood runs cold. "what?"

jimin's expression softens. "it's not as bad as it sounds-"

"really?" your voice is sharp, sharper than he's ever heard it. you recoil as if you had been struck for the second time today. "because it sounds like you asked some guy to keep me occupied like i'm a fucking dog. all because you can't stand the idea of me being within a meter of jungkook-"

he steps in, but you step back. "you know that's not true, _."

"don't i?" you scoff, covering your face in disbelief. "jimin, you've been hellbent against me even looking at the guy since day fucking one."

"because i didn't want you to get hurt!" jimin counters, eyes downcast. "i know, okay? i know how much of a dick it makes me sound, but its not like it hurt you when you had no idea! hoseok broke it off before you even knew about it so why-"

"because it's worse," you turn away from him. "you tried to control me. choose what's best for me because you think you know better than i do. sound familiar?"

his jaw sets, and it's like you can hear the twine snap in his head, the percussion of his heartbeat above yours even though he doesn't close the space between you. jimin stares at you for a long minute before drawing in a thin breath. "fine," he steps in, and you can't look away. "you want me to say it? fine. i'll say it."

suddenly the air is lace thin around you as you stare at him, waiting. jimin looks off somewhere else, somewhere you can't reach. "don't tell me you haven't thought about it, because i know you have. if i have you must have too. and lately its all i can think about - being with you, holding you, being the one who gets to touch you. and yeah, maybe it took having to see you with jungkook for me to realise how much i want all that, i put my hands up. but you have no idea what's it like to watch the person you love most get toyed around with by a time bomb like that. i've seen jungkook go through girls like underwear and i love him, god i love him, but even the idea of you being one of those wasted girls sitting outside a party crying over his sorry ass makes my fucking ears ring."

"j-jimin…" you whisper, but you have nothing to say. your hands shake.

"you deserve more than that, ____. you deserve more than waiting around for booty calls or living up to what the next guy wants. from jungkook, hoseok, anyone. you deserve someone's devotion and yeah, maybe all this time i've been too much of a pussy to give it. maybe all this time i was tiptoeing around my feelings for you because i knew if i admitted to myself that i loved you - if i admitted i was just like every other guy - i'd actually set the bar for something other than disappointment. id actually have to step up, and i didn't know if i could do it. i still don't. but if it has to be someone…it should be me."

suddenly he's holding your hands, calming the tremble that rattles them. his words bunch up together in your ears, the meaning lost amidst your awe. "jimin….jimin what are you saying? where is all this coming from, i don't...i don't understand wh-"

"i'm saying," he cups your face. "choose me." he pulls you in. so, so close. "choose me, not jungkook. not anyone else. me."

and there's a part of you that has already caved. that's already kissing him, melting into his arms like you've wanted to for so, so long. you're falling back onto the couch with him in a fit of giggles, curling back into his chest to hide your watery eyes, asking him why the fuck he took so long. you chat together between teasing kisses, pour your hearts out, maybe cry a little. later you would make tea and order pad thai and watch the office all night and fall asleep together in the living room well past dawn and then-

you close your eyes. "i can't."

"you can," jimin says, so passionately you shudder. his brown eyes are teaming with too much determination and ardour for his own good, and you both know it. its difficult to grapple with how huge a risk he's taking, because jimin never takes risks. it made the whole situation seem dire. "you know you can, ____. it's us. there's no one like us."

you don't know how you're not crying yet. you only have jimin to hold onto, hands balled in his shirt without knowing if you're about to push him away or pull him in forever. "maybe back then. maybe if you'd have said all this before," you feel empty, the beat of your pulse suddenly strong in your fingertips. "but it doesn't matter anymore."

he shakes his head in denial, his determination palpable. "of course it does-"

"i'm in love with him," you say. to jimin. to yourself. to the world, finally. "i'm in love with jungkook." holding jimin's stare isn't as difficult as you thought it'd be. "you know if you'd have done all this a few months ago…if you'd have just...i was always yours without question, jimin. and you knew it." it's his turn to bristle under the strain of your voice. "jungkook isn't perfect. i'll be the first one to admit that. he's made me cry, he fucks up, he makes mistakes. but he's never lied to me. he never made decisions for me. he never passed judgement on what i should or shouldn't do with my life. something that i never thought i wouldn't able to say about you, too."

there's a brief moment where everything stops. neither of you can believe what you just said. jimin watches you, frozen in his place as you take your bag, eyes glittering with tears when he calls for you. suddenly he's the time bomb he feared becoming, the panic in his eyes lighting them up like fire crackers. for the first time in his life, he stumbles over his words, and then his feet when you reach for the door, all composure lost. he was unravelling like a tapestry in front of you, never to be repaired, and he could feel it. "____. ____, please," jimin chokes, his cheeks blotchy. "i wanted to protect you, i was just trying to help. don't go. please don't go. i was trying to help you."

"no. you were trying to have me." you say, closing the door behind you.

x

x

x

you have no idea what time it is when you hear the bell ring incessantly.

it had been hours since you'd returned home from jimin's, but there was no way for you to keep track when your only priority was just keeping yourself afloat. you turned your phone off, drew the curtains, and resolved to alternate between sitting in seulgi and jisoo's rooms until they came back. you didn't know what else to do. when you weren't crying you were hyperventilating, and when that stopped the absence of emotion was so powerful you could barely keep your eyes open. you were exhausted but could not sleep. starving but could not eat. it was a miracle you even made it down the stairs, using what little strength you had to yank it open without even thinking about who could be on the other side in the middle of the fucking night. but at this point, you would gladly take a serial killer over jimin or jungkook.

"taehyung," you breathe when you take in his face, relieved. you must look like absolute shit because he scans your face and winces. 

"jimin told me," he says, the apology in his voice and expression was almost painful to register. "he told me everything. ____, i'm so sorry. i should have told you about the hoseok thing, i just thought it would be worse coming from me, and then i tried to force jimin into confessing but then he didn't because he's jimin, and now-"

"you're only allowed to come inside if you stop apologising," you say weakly, voice haggered from the hours of crying.

taehyung's pouty expression almost makes you smile with how cute he looks, gingerly stepping over the threshhold. "i really am sorry though."

"for what," you say monotonously, closing the door behind him while he takes off his shoes. "my inexplicably terrible taste in men? my uncanny ability to get manipulated by literally anyone who shows me a scrap of affection? or my absolutey shredded-to-shit attachment style thats barely intact let alone functioning healthily? after hoppping between the first two for a few hours i'd personally go for the latter. but whatever."

"please shut up," taehyung sighs, bringing you into his arms before you could have a second thought about it. "you need to amp up the misandry in this context. a lot of this had nothing to do with you and everything to do jimin and jungkook."

you're too tired to open your eyes, snuggling into the softness of taehyung's chest. you’re too exhausted to argue. "where did you learn the word misandry? have you been reading?"

"yeah," you can hear his big, pleased grin. "i know you and the girls have been calling me a himbo behind my back."

"affectionately," you add, peering up at him. he wipes the wetness off your cheeks, moving upstairs to your room with your hand in his. he fetches you a glass of water before putting you into bed like he's paid to do it. taehyung was the cuddliest person you had ever met, but you had rarely seen him dote on anyone. "girls love himbos. it's a compliment."

"not all girls," he mutters when he returns from the bathroom with a glass of water. "drink this, would you? you look so dry it's making me itchy."

you do as he says with a roll of your eyes. "what do you mean?" you finish your water with a big gulp. "jisoo loves dumb guys, what are you talking about?"

taehyung looks away from you, bottom lip rolling up under his teeth so fast you barely catch it. he pulls up your desk chair next to your bed, thinking long and hard before meeting your eyes again. "i don't mean jisoo."

you don't understand at first, but after staring at his face for a long minute your stomach drops. "don't. don't you fucking dare," another beat of silence. you rip the covers off you to scamble to your knees, grab your pillow and hurl it at taehyung's head. "taehyung, please don't tell me that the one remaining, healthy relationship i have with a man has also been shot to shit because i swear to god i'm gonna-"

"it's not a big deal," he says firmly, and he really does mean it. taehyung catches your wrists when you lunge at him, effectively ending your outburst before it can begin. he keeps hold of them while he stares into your eyes, watching the way they fill up with a fresh bout of tears. "i've had a crush on you for a while, so what? it's not anyone's business but mine so don't worry about it."

you try not to scream at him. "how long?"

"...since the start." he shrugs. "it's not like i could have done anything anyway. with jimin around. he’d never have it."

"but...! but..." you splutter, the highlight reel of your friendship suddenly marred before your eyes. "but you let me talk to you about boys! you gave me advice with hobi and jimin and jungkook and...! you encouraged jimin to confess to me. and the whole thing with jisoo?"

he wets his lips guiltily. "jisoo is a nice girl. i like her, but...not like you. i've always liked you."

you shake your head in horror, your face crumpling. bile rose in your throat. "so all of that...playing with my friend like that. was just to get to me?"

"listen to me," taehyung says firmly, gripping your wrists to make you look at him again. he's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on yours, and you never realised how large taehyung's torso was compared to yours before. he could have smothered you, but he didn't. in all senses. "the way jimin and jungkook handled their feelings is on them, just like how this is on me. it doesn't matter if i'm fucking you or not, you're my friend and i'll always want people to do right by you. and that includes me."

there was nothing else to say, so taehyung wordlessly wipes your face again and fetches you more water before retreating to sleep on the couch downstairs. all the while you sat there in your bed, confused and bewildered and thoughtful. the same bed jungkook fucked you on. the same bed jimin held you in. out of all the men in your life, taehyung was the only one who treated his feelings for you with reverence. there wasn't one interaction you could think of where he made his feelings clear, where he even hinted towards wanting something more. if he hadn't have said anything tonight, in the wake of one of the most emotionally tumultuous days of your life, you would still be in the dark about it all. and that was the scariest part. you didn't know anyone else who hadn't let their feelings for you effect how they treated you. so ultimately, it was possible.

and jimin and jungkook chose not to do that. but taehyung did.

taehyung did.

when you finally pad downstairs after hours of ruminating, jisoo's bedroom door is wide open. and that's who you should be thinking about now - your friend and sister jisoo - as the sky begins to lighten with the signs of morning. you hadn't slept for over twenty four hours, you were hungry and thirsty, delirious from the whirlwind of losing the two most important men in your life in one day. but still, you are drawn to taehyung. taehyung, who never asked anything of you. taehyung, who was as silent as he was selfless this whole time. taehyung who routinely put what he wanted aside in favour of what was best for you. taehyung, who protected you without needing credit or recognition for it. taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung-

"taehyung," you whisper scraping your nails through his hair. his eyes fluttered open, twisting his head to face you as you hovered above him. he could barely see you in the darkness. "taehyung, wake up."

"what is it?" he croaks, sitting up with half-lidded eyes and a yawn. he doesn't know how to read the expression on your face. he swings his legs off the sofa in a sitting position, wearing nothing but his boxers and tee, visibly alarmed. "what happened? are you okay?"

you take his face in your hands and kiss him. 

taehyung stiffens against you, breath drawn thin. you pull away to gauge his expression, desperately searching his eyes in the darkness. for discomfort, disapproval, anything negative at all. the absolute ardour you find instead could knock you down if taehyung didn't reach for your neck, kissing you again. you whine at the feel of his tongue, having no idea where such sudden and intense arousal was coming from. when you pull away with shaky limbs, you climb onto his thick thighs so he can feel your wetness through his boxers. taehyung grunts at the sensation, and again when you kiss him passionately and without abandon. the sweet girl every guy he knew was agonising over, suddenly in his lap. he's barely had his tongue down your throat for ten minutes and you're already rocking into him, his erection betraying his resolve.

it's better than he dreamed. 

"taehyung," you gasp, palming him now. he groans when he pulls away to look at your mouth, glistening with his saliva when you take his hand and guide it down to your arousal. "please."

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: So, here we go! 😁 Thank you so much for your wonderful support and lovely messages during my break my loves, they mean so much to me and ily! ❤ On my break, I binged a lot of shows, and Criminal Minds and Prodigal Son were two of them, but if you haven’t watched them don’t worry because it will not be following a specific canon plot😁❤Please let me know what you think and enjoy!❤

Warnings: Murder, drug use, serial killers, violence, manipulation

Summary: No one can choose their family.

If it were another time, you could’ve at least attempted to convince yourself how everyone had problematic childhoods. Focusing on something else usually worked, per the advices of countless psychiatrists your mother had forced you to go after the-

Incident.

Just the thought of it was more than enough to make your blood freeze in your veins, but you were soon snapped out of your thoughts when your phone started ringing. You checked the caller I.D, and heaved a sigh before you touched the screen.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re not going there.” Your mother’s voice filled the car and you pressed your lips together.

“Hi mom.”

“Every time you go there and visit that man in that wretched prison cell of his, he manages to get into your head!”

“That’s not what’s going to happen,” you said, keeping your eyes on the road, “You have no reason to worry.”

“I have every reason to worry!” she snapped, “We promised that we wouldn’t let him worm his way into our lives.”

“Yeah well, FBI begs to differ,” you forced yourself to say, “You’ve seen the news—“

“I don’t want to hear this,” she cut you off, then heaved a sigh, “It’s terrible enough to hear it once, let alone twice.”

You never really had the luxury of ignoring all the terrible things on the news, especially after what had happened. Ever since you were a child, the nightmares wouldn’t leave you alone, and you weren’t as good as your mother at ignoring what was happening while you were awake.

“You could’ve said no.”

“I really couldn’t,” you mumbled and she clicked her tongue.

“Well then,” she said, trying to pull herself together, “I expect to see you at brunch, even your sister is coming. It won’t take long, will it?”

“It won’t take long to see my serial killer father and find out whether he is helping another serial killer even if he’s been behind bars for years?” you asked, “No mom. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Sarcasm will give you wrinkles.”

“Oh yeah, tragedy.”

“Call me as soon as you leave there,” she insisted, making you smile. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said as you pulled over in front of the building. Even the sight of it was enough to make your stomach flip and you felt the bile climbing up your throat.

You did not want to see him.

You had managed not to see him for years now, but now, the news were full of different coverage about a killer whose method of killing was very similar to him.

A flower left in the crime scene, every damn time.

Naturally, FBI wanted a word with the original killer. Less naturally, the original killer refused to speak unless he talked to his younger daughter, who happened to be you.

Unfortunately.

Yet, the sooner you walked in, the sooner you would walk out, and that was the only thing that offered any kind of consolation.

“God damn it,” you mumbled to yourself as you left your car, and made your way into the building. They patted you down, made you go through the x-ray and sign the papers before you entered the hall.

There were two men that weren’t in official prison guard clothes, which made you think these were the FBI agents you had talked to on the phone. For some reason, you hadn’t pictured them like this, but you didn’t know any agents so maybe this was the norm.

If it were any other time, you could’ve noticed how handsome they both were, but your mind was way too occupied.

“Ma’am,” the dark haired one stepped closer to you, “I’m Special Agent Luke Alvez, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Even if Agent Alvez looked like the ideal FBI agent that was pulled out of an action movie, Dr. Reid looked more like a young, handsome professor, the ones that you dreamed would be at your university when you were still at high school.

Needless to say, that fantasy hadn’t come true much to your disappointment.

You shook your head, trying to focus.

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You shook hands with him, and smiled at Dr Reid, “Hello.”

“Thank you for coming.” His smile was soft, much like his gaze, “I imagine it’s not easy for you.”

You forced yourself to shrug, “Yeah it’s…” you trailed off and cleared your throat, “It’s fine.”

“So far we have seen five murders all over the country, in different areas but the crime scene has your father’s signature. It most likely means there are multiple copycat killers, and given your father’s past, he might be the mastermind behind it. He contacted us, but refuses to say anything unless he spoke to you.”

The goosebumps rising on your arms felt almost familiar.

“I haven’t been educated in any interrogation techniques.” You said, “And knowing him, he’s not just going to give that information to me.”

“People give information about a lot of things even when they don’t realize it.” Dr Reid said, “We will be outside, watching and listening.”

“I’ll talk to the guards to see if he’s ready, excuse me.” Alvez said and he walked away while you nibbled on your lip.

“How does a serial killer have this many privileges?” Reid asked you, “He has a private cell, books, TV…”

“Money,” you said slowly, “Money buys lawyers, lawyers buy freedom. Or the closest thing to freedom, given the circumstances. If you ask me, he should’ve been rotting in a hole but...” you trailed off, leaning back to the wall and took a deep breath, counting in your head.

“That’s a good exercise to calm down,” Reid said and your head shot up.

“What?”

“The 4 7 8 breathing exercise. I’m guessing a psychiatrist taught you that.”

“Several psychiatrists taught me that,” you stated, raising your brows, “You’re observant aren’t you professor?”

“Doctor.”

You clenched an unclenched your fists, your eyes darting around the hall,

“This is not helping,” you said as you exhaled a breath, “I need a cigarette, or twenty.”

“What do you do?” his question was so out of nowhere that you gawked at him for a moment.

“What?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a— I’m a wedding planner.”

He tilted his head, “What’s that?”

“Well you…you know, you help the couples with color palettes, decoration, overall aesthetic, and during the wedding you make sure nothing goes wrong with the venue and the food and the music, all that. You make sure the wedding is perfect, basically.”

He hmmed, “How do I tell if a wedding is perfect? If we were talking sense wise?”

“Well first of all, in terms of looks, the colors need to complement each other,” you said, remembering your favorite events, “When you walk in, you see the garden and it’s well lit, but not too bright. In terms of touch, I guess you would make sure the table covers and such are soft to touch. The music should be slow at first, at least until it starts.”

“How about smell?”

“You can’t really go wrong with faint flower scents. Scented candles are a nice touch too.”

“The food?”

“Something light, most of the time. No one wants to get into a food coma at a wedding and you—“ you stopped as your eyes snapped up to his, a small smile playing at his lips.

He was making you list all the things that would ground you without making you realize you were doing it, so that you wouldn’t lose yourself in panic. It was yet another trick your psychiatrists had told you to do whenever you felt overwhelmed, talking about what you could see, hear, smell, touch and taste. By making you focus on a pleasant memory and remember all those, he was offering you a safe place in your own mind.

But contrary to any doctor, he didn’t make it obvious.

“Well played, professor.”

This time, he didn’t correct you,

“Grounding works most of the time,” he stated as Agent Alvez approached you, “I know this situation is less than ideal, but we will be right outside. You can walk out any time you want.”

“They’re ready.” Agent Alvez said and you nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was slamming against your chest, then followed them to the door. Alvez opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, digging your fingernails into your palm.

His hair had more grays since you had last seen him, and his beard was longer, but that dangerous light in his eyes hadn’t changed. He looked up, a wide smile appearing on his face as his eyes searched yours.

“Sweetheart!” he said cheerfully, raising his hands a little so that you could see the chains attached to his handcuffs, “It’s been a while, wouldn’t you say?”

Pretending to be calm was something you had practiced so many times that your body knew automatically what to do. The door closed behind you and you swallowed thickly, making sure your face didn’t show any feelings. You slowly approached the table to pull yourself a chair, then put your phone on the table and started the countdown.

He wanted five minutes, and you would be damned if you stayed there a second longer.

“You look so much like your mother,” your father shook his head, “It’s uncanny, really.”

You gritted your teeth, still glaring at him.

“Not your eyes though,” he smiled, “You got your eyes from me. The window to the soul, hm?”

“My soul has nothing to do with you.” The words left your lips before you could stop them and he tut tutted.

“My petal-“

“Don’t call me that,” you cut him off, “I hate that nickname.”

That didn’t seem to break his enthusiasm though, much to your displeasure.

“Well, we should catch up,” he said , clapping his hands together, “Are you still with that young man from last year? He’d better be treating you well.”

You blinked a couple of times, “How did you-?”

“I have my sources too.”

“Your sources are slow then.” You stated, “We broke up months ago. Is that all? You brought me here to just talk about my personal life?”

“Why did you break up?”

“Are you really behind all these murders happening right now?” you asked back and he shot you a reprimanding look.

“None of that right now, petal. Business and family shouldn’t be merged, as you know.”

You felt like you would throw up, but managed to hold it together and stole a look at the countdown.

“Why did you break up?”

“Certain differences,” you said, cracking your fingers to distract yourself, and he leaned back.

“I get that,” he said, “If you’re different, you’re different. I always felt that with your mother—“

“Stop that.” You spat out, “Anything I do, including my relationships, it has nothing to do with you. I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh but you are,” he said, “It’s all in your eyes. In that deadly glare of yours. It’s there, isn’t it? That anger? Try to hide it as much as you want, it’s still burning you.”  

“There’s nothing burning me,” you said, “You’re fucked up, doesn’t mean I am too.”

“You know, there are many scientists that say murder is in the genes,” he stated, “So it would mean you’re contaminated too, no?”

The panic was pounding through your system, but you managed to keep your expression stable.

“Do you know why I didn’t ask your sister here? Or hell, your mother? Do you know why it is you?”

You stayed silent, your gaze focused on him.

“Your sister loved your mother, but you…. You were always such a daddy’s girl.”

“Wrong.”

“I don’t even think you cried for your mother whenever you scraped your knees, it was always me.”

“I didn’t know you were crazy when I was a child, guilty as charged. Doesn’t prove anything.”

“It does,” he said, “It proves more than you know. You are going to be my legacy.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine but you took a deep breath, resting your palms on the steel desk.

“No I won’t,” you said calmly, “Sorry to disappoint. I never killed anyone.”

Your father’s smile was almost as serene as your voice.

“Yet,” he pointed out, and you felt your throat tightening. “Ignore it if you want. It’s still there, petal.”

The beep of the phone made you snap out of it and you pushed your chair back, knocking it over in the process.

“Fuck you,” you said through your teeth as you gripped the door knob, “Have fun rotting in here.”

You swung the door open and stepped outside, still trying to catch your breath, and the door next to the interrogation room opened before Reid stepped into your vision. Your hands were still shaking and you desperately needed a cigarette and some fresh air.

But what you really needed was to get out of there.

“Y/N?”

“I hope you got whatever you guys needed,” you managed to say, wiping at your nose, “Because I’m never stepping a foot here, ever again.”

With that, you walked out of the hall, every cell in your body screaming at you to get away. You ignored the looks from the guards, tears blurring your vision and you left the building as fast as you could, as if someone was chasing you.

As if that could help you escape him.

Chapter 2

Taglist: @rhabakoli​ @theskytraveler​ @danyka-fendyr​ @alwaysadreamingoptimist​   @lettersofwrittencollective​ @dreamers-wonderland​ @lilliannaansalla​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​ @iblogabout-stuff​ @thinemineours​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @davnwillcome​ @chibi-liz05​ @demigoddesofchimichangagod​ @finnickfoxes​

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

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Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

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You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

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Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

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Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he��s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[writer-panda]

Hit on the groom and what became of it - chapter 1/I will keep missing you (if you don’t stop running)

Disclaimer: I don’t own DC or Miraculous. I’m just playing with some crazy concept. 

Chapter 1 (here)  -|-  Next

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

Ladybug landed on top of the Eiffel tower with practiced grace. An agitated worry roiling in her chest about the message Chat Noir left her. The urgency was one thing, but he sounded… pained. Like the weight of the world dragged him down type pain. 

Marinette knew Chat’s home life wasn’t perfect. Skilled at hiding it, maybe, but details leaked through the cracks. An offhand comment here, a muttered accusation there, a sour face yet again here. He lived in pain and tried so hard to work through it. 

She tried to help him whenever she could, both as Ladybug and Marinette. She may not return his feelings, but she always listened. For months during their third year as heroes, she left food on the rooftop when Chat’s suit revealed too many ribs. She wasn’t sure the reason and didn’t dare to ask, lest she learned too much, but she did try to help. There were times she thought she imagined the pained looks, and thin frame, and thinly veiled comments; maybe overexaggerating the situation in her mind, as she often did. After all, he always acted so cheerfully.

Then, Lila happened. 

The first strike landed swift, almost deadly, but she survived. It was what followed that made her reconsider. A prolonged fight, where Marinette chose to retain a cheerful mask to hide the pain. Along the line, she considered confiding in her parents. But what could they do?  Maybe take her from school, but that would mean Lila already won; the Liar would rule unopposed.

Which left Adrien, her last bastion of friendship. 

She still harbored a bit of a crush on him, but it was justified! Like a knight in shining armor, he stood, always ready to defend her. He always ensured her inclusion in class activities and saved her from several catastrophes. 

She still stumbled over her words with him, but when it’s minor stuttering or not talking to anyone, she forced herself to adapt. It was nowhere near as bad as it used to be. 

With the ability to spend more time with Adrien without acting like a spaz, Kagami also appeared more often, and proved to be a good friend. Marinette found a home with the two awkward rich kids ridiculously clueless and unaware of how the real world functioned. In the end, she even grew to accept Adrien might not be destined to be hers but chose to support him nonetheless. 

“My lady?” She was broken out of her musing by a familiar voice.

“Hello, Kitty-cat. I got your message… what’s wrong?” She turned to see Cat Noir slumped over the railing, with his ears tweaking nervously. She didn’t even know he could do it. 

“I… I’m sorry my Lady, but I can’t… I can’t continue to be your partner,” he declared.

“What?!” she squeaked. “What happened? What’s the matter?” 

“I’m… I’m getting married,” he announced, his ears drooping and tail tucked between his legs.  

Oh, that’s… not what she expected to hear. “Married? Congrat…” she drifted off, noticing his sour face. “Chat? What are you not telling me?”

“It’s… I�� My…” He struggled to figure out how to say it, but ultimately remained silent for a moment. “There is nothing to be happy about. It’s a… business marriage,” he spat, his eyes narrowing.  

“But… those are illegal!” Ladybug protested.

“Not when you make it look like a love match. Especially if you insinuate at a scandal.” He sneered, jumping off the railing and pacing along the empty rooftop. “My father holds all the cards and I… I’m in no position to oppose him.”

“I’m sure we can…”

He sighed, walking over to her. “Please… M’lady. Don’t try to give me hope. I accepted what I must do.” With that, he reached for the ring, but she stopped him.

“Chat. We can try… You’re my friend. You can’t… We will figure it out. Together.” In all they’d endured, suffered, and triumphed - Marinette had never seen him this despondent… this broken. 

He sighed, his eyes flat and dull. “There is nothing to figure out,” he said, forcing the ring off his finger. 

The transformation fell, leaving Adrien Agreste materialized in place of her long-time partner. Plagg’s sharp cry cut off, as he’s sucked into the ring the second he popped out of it. She stood there, too stunned to notice the blond boy pushed the ring into her palm and closed it. 

Marinette wasn’t sure what thoughts decided to rampantly rage through her head, but the train of thoughts probably broke the collective speed limit everywhere in the world at the same time. 

“M’lady?” Adrien’s soft voice brought her to earth when she was one step from panic.

“A-Adrien?” She choked on the word.

“You heard about me?” He looked dumbfounded. Ladybug, too shocked to say a word, gestured over to the building line. Even from so high and far away, his most recent billboard advertisement stood visible. “Ah… right.”

“Who… who’s the lucky girl?” Inside her mind, she wondered if Kagami right now faced a  similar problem. It was the most logical…

“Lila Rossi,” Adrien admitted, his shoulders hunching. 

Marinette.exe stopped working. 

A moment passed.

Another.

“Um… M’Lady?” The boy tried to prod his ex-partner to respond by waving his hand in front of her face.

“That… that lying…” Ladybug saw red. This could not be happening.

Adrien nodded, the despondent look on his face growing worse every second.“My father deemed her a suitable heiress to the Gabriel brand… I tried to warn him she was a liar, but he… I think he actually admires her skill…” Tears built in his eyes, and Adrien covertly tried to wipe them away. 

“Maybe… maybe you could… I don’t know!” she screamed in frustration. Marinette had several ideas about what Adrien could do, but none of them would help. 

Running away would be a problem. Leaking the story to the press would lead to his home life growing even worse. After dealing with Gabriel Agreste’s parenting, she held no illusion Adrien could win a court battle. The rich too often got away with whatever they desired. She could try to sicc Uncle Jagged on the case… or maybe Clara Nightingale… Nadia Chamack would probably love the news-breaking story, but it would all put Adrien in danger. Who knows what would happen before they could obtain results or protection against Gabriel’s extensive reach. 

Adrien sighed as if knowing exactly where her thoughts took her. Chat was no dummy, he probably scoured over his options more times than he could count. His resignation, the last resort in a long line of failed plans.  “I appreciate you trying, but I already told you I accepted it. Just… take me down, please. I… I didn’t really plan the location well…” He let out a weak chuckle. 

“Fine… I’m sorry kitty...” She grabbed hold of him and swung to the ground. Despondently she watched her best friend, her partner, walk away into the night; resigned to a life of suffering and isolation. 

There must be something she could do, she thought. She closed a gloved fist around the ring. She was Ladybug, and if she put her mind to it, there was nothing she couldn't do.  

-----------

A week later the press learned about the upcoming wedding. Adrien and Lila both left school for home-school. The press and the general public ate up the news story about star-crossed lovers that met in school and became inseparable. It didn’t help that the class kept commenting about how good they were for each other. 

Marinette resisted an urge to gag whenever she caught the sound of the vicious lies and propaganda.  She was asked for comment only once but chose to refuse. It didn’t earn her any popularity in class. Luckily, she convinced Nadia to stop a nasty side-story about her jealousy from being published. 

No closer to a plan, she despondently continued to push through her life without her friend. She, unsurprisingly, hadn’t received a single text or call. Marinette didn’t blame Adrien; his position couldn’t be easy. A month after Adrien departed from her class, Marinette convinced her parents to also home-school her. Without a single friend, the school became a burden. Of course, her reasoning to her parents leaned into her focus on her fashion business. Which wasn’t untrue. It was starting to pick up. 

The only upside to this whole debacle was near-lack of akuma attacks. It seemed Hawkmoth found a hobby. Maybe he wrote poems? 

Nah. Not his style...

Two months after the announcement  Marinette woke to surprise guests: Adrien, his father, and Lila knocked on the bakery’s doors. The bride-to-be in an especially sour mood, as much as she tried to hide it. Gabriel appeared to be devoid of any emotions, as usual.

She seated them on the couch and asked if they would like a drink. She didn’t bother to offer food, not wanting to waste good cake on the likes of Lila and Gabriel. Although, Adrien’s thin cheeks and haunted eyes made her regret the decision. 

All of them declined the drink.

“Madame Marinette, I assume you have heard of the Wedding?” The capitalization clearly discernible in his voice. 

“Yes… Yes sir!” she corrected herself. Trying desperately to mask her disgust behind a layer of nervousness. She couldn’t risk a glance at Adrien, even if this was the first time she’d seen him since that night on the roof. Making it through the meeting would be hard enough without watching him suffer.  

“While initially, I planned to prepare the dress and suit myself, my son convinced me to give a chance to someone else to shine.” Clearly, whatever it was Adrien said, it didn’t include a polite request. “I have seen the dress you made for Rock Star Jagged Stone’s wedding, as well as the suit worn by Nadia Chamack.”

“They are designs I’m particularly proud of, sir.” 

Play the part. Play the part. Don’t send him to the hospital. Papa and Maman would be disappointed. Well, Maman would probably join me… 

Her homicidal train of thought ended as she forced a smile to appear on her face. Contrary to Lila’s stretched thin lips;  Marinette’s smile shines bright and could’ve been mistaken for genuine.

“Indeed… I’ve come to commission you to design and make the gown and the suit for the sweet couple.” He announced like it was the highest honor, but there was an amount of bile in his words Marinette used to think was reserved only for Nino.

“I… I’m… I’m honored, sir!” She beamed. The excitement only half-forced. Her moral compass told her even entertaining the proposal was wrong, but at the same time, her brain furiously flitted crafting possibilities. 

Gabriel nodded imperiously as if her acceptance merely added to a foregone conclusion. “Good. My assistant, Nathalie, will sort out the details. Lex Luthor agreed to pay for the pieces as his wedding gift, so do not be afraid to ask for full price.” He informed her t as if he believed she would give him a discount. 

For a moment, a singular reckless moment, Marinette entertained the temptation to voice her thoughts about Gabriel being cheap. 

She sighed, no, there would be another day for career suicide. The group rose to leave, and Marinette finally glanced at Adrien; his model-trained smile paper-thin. He caught her eyes, and if he radiated sadness two months ago, it didn’t hold a candle to the devastation swimming in his eyes. The exchange broke when Lila gripped a hand tight around his arm and dragged him to the door. 

Gabriel handed her a card, and the group departed. Marinette collapsed onto the couch, the makings of a headache building in her skull. 

This would be awful.  

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

A week later Marinette held a separate meeting, consisting of Nathalie, Lila, Lila’s mother, and Adrien’s aunt. And her, obviously. 

She first asked what kind of dress Lila wanted.

Lila’s eyes lit up in an unholy glee; and she started talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

After the long and painstakingly thorough description, Marinette felt faint. Several reasons contributed to that, although the most prominent were the materials, the design, and the way she spoke. Obviously Lila had feelings, the kind likely to trigger an oncoming Auma attack if Hawkmoth hadn’t pranced off to who knows where, about Marinette designing her dress. 

Marinette was happy Adrien’s aunt pointed out the request’s complete madness, but Lila’s mother waved it off, quick to declare only minor adjustments to the request would be needed. 

In the end, Marinette presented several dozen designs, both hers and foreign to have a basis on which she could work. Lila, of course, chose the one that would be hardest to make.

“I’m sorry none of your designs were good, Marinette…” The liar cooed with faked sorrow. She hid a smirk the designer could clearly see. 

The notion was born because it was a picture and not a sketch. 

Marinette smirked, and rose from the couch, ignoring Lila’s irritated scowl at her non-reaction.  

She liked it even less when the girl brought in the ready-made dress. 

“I made it as the first design for Penny Rolling’s wedding, based on Uncle Jagged’s suggestions. I should’ve known Penny didn’t approve of his idea, but…” she waved it off.

Lila, now actively glaring at her, sat back on the couch. All of which was mistaken for amazement by the adults.

Marinette ignored the girl’s dramatics, it was the only way she’d survive this meeting intact. “Of course, there still needs to be several adjustments and personalizations. I will also need to order the amber you requested. And the platinum thread. And the white gold. And probably an industrial-grade 3-D printer… Is that covered by the expenses?” She looked at Nathalie, who nodded. “Great! I will need just a moment.” 

The women watched as Marinette practically leaped at her notebook and added in adjustments to the sketch. Fifteen minutes later, when she presented a new design, impressing them all (sans Lila, obviously) with the flowing lines and intricate details. They praised her talent (even Natalie), and Marinette played the bashful young designer role to a tee. The liar kept glaring though. She couldn’t back away easily, since she already made a scene about wanting that specific dress. Marinette informed them beforehand she would need to know about her specific wishes before she made any adjustments. 

The final design looked pretty much exactly what Lila wanted though, but she didn’t want to give her nemesis the satisfaction. Her entourage did enough of this. 

Under the cover of being too emotional, they ended the meeting. Nathalie remained to finish the deal and sign the contract. 

After all of them left, Marinette collapsed onto her chair. An hour later a notification from her bank came. She received the first half of the payment. When finished, the dress would officially be the most expensive wedding dress to date. Blessed be Lex Luthor and his deep pocket. She chuckled, remembering how much the billionaire got kidnapped because of his money.

Then, an idea shined in her head.

Oh. 

Oh...

She took off her earrings and dismissed Tikki, promising she needed a quick chat with Plagg about a new potential holder. When Marinette put on the ring, the Kwami of destruction popped back into existence. 

“So… figured out how to help my chosen?” he asked. 

What Tikki didn’t know was when Marinette said she intended to discuss potential holders for Plagg, they really worked on a way to save Adrien. It was their secret since Tikki would most likely disapprove. They didn’t want to risk her disappointment in them. Not until they crafted a fleshed out full-proof plan. 

She nodded. “I have an idea. Let’s hire someone to kidnap him!” 

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Did they hit you on the head, pigtails?”

“No. But look, the problem is whatever we come up with, Adrien ends up blamed or we land ourselves in jail, right?” The Kwami nodded. “So… if we make sure it’s a very public kidnapping and he disappears, we can stash him away until the heat dies down. After we dye his hair and apply fast-tan, he will look different enough no one will connect the two. I’m pretty sure I could get my hands on fake documents if I tried hard enough…” she trailed off thinking of all the minutiae to coordinate to pull this off. 

It would be hard. 

But it would be worth it. 

Plagg slowly nods. “Okay… Somehow, that both makes no sense and seems perfectly legitimate. It’s also your most chaotic plan to date, Pigtails. Let’s do it!” The Kwami cheered, happy to be soon reunited with his chosen kitten. “But what about the costs!”

Marinette already had an answer in mind for that question. “Even after I subtract the costs of materials and other supplies, the payment for the dress, together with my savings, will be more than enough. Now… let’s go wake Tikki up.”

That… ended with the Kwami of Creation vomiting a pile of handcuffs and other police gear at Marinette. 

“Um… Why?”

The little red Kwammi placed her paws on her hips. “Because you should familiarize yourself with those if you plan on going to prison for that plan. It’s no longer just a phone theft, Marinette! You’re talking about breaking more laws than I can count!” She dropped to the pillow below, bemoaning about where she went wrong. 

Marinette scooped up her wayward friend and tried to reassure her. “I just need to be careful. I’m pretty sure I can do it without detection. Maman taught me how to not be seen on the internet. Or in general. Come on. I need to order a secure laptop.”

“I will help!” Plagg offered. “I can cataclysm the internet after you do your thing.”

“What?! No! Think of the cute cat pictures!” Marinette protested. “And video games.” 

“Relax! It’ll just remove any trace of you doing anything online in the several hours or so…” He calmed her.

Tikki trailed after them, a bundle of nerves and worry. “Plagg! It’s irresponsible! You can’t possibly…”

“Pigtails and I have it all under control. What’s the worst that could happen?”

---------

Turns out, a lot. 

Before Marinette put out the hit (kidnapping, she made sure that it was plain as day), she needed to set a price. That one was harder. It wasn’t like you could Google how much you needed to charge to kidnap a celebrity. At least, not without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. 

She asked her mother, under the guise of pure curiosity. It was a normal question any teenage girl asked her mother. How much does it cost to have someone killed, how much cheaper/more expensive a kidnapping is, how to acquire fake documents, that kind of stuff. Not suspicious at all. 

So absorbed in her rant, she missed a merry glint in Sabine’s eyes. She also didn’t question how her Maman knew those prices. 

Finally, she needed to fill the form. 

Assignment: Acquisition and Delivery

Asset(s): Adrien Athanase Agreste

Value: 

Here, Marinette paused. 

Her mom gave her a lengthy lecture about pricing and all. According to her, a professional would take up to fifty thousand dollars for kidnapping and bringing the target to her. Marinette decided, since Adrien was a celebrity, she should double the price. More risks involved, more reward, right? 

But, she also wanted to ensure she hired the best of the best. Compare her work to Gabriel Agreste’s, she came to the conclusion ten times the price was reasonable to ensure only the best in the field would take the job. 

Then, there was the matter of safety and so on and so on. By the end, she settled on two million dollars, as her asking price for one Adrien Agreste. Plagg sagely nodded, agreeing with her assessment. Tikki didn’t comment, as she wasn’t speaking to the two, but also seemed more accepting after spying on Adrien and Lila’s home life. Not that she revealed that tidbit to either of them, lest they drop the plan and directly go at Gabe and the Liar. 

After a few more details and boxes in the form Marinette filled until she came to the end. Only one more detail remained: 

Sponsor:

Marinette stared at the word for a moment. After a quick race of thoughts, she typed slowly. 

Sponsor: The Seamstress

Perfect. Nothing about this could go wrong.

Of course, how could she predict just how big of a mess she would make? 

----------

[jediken0bi]

Embrace

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:

Ever since Spencer came back from Prison there's been a certain distance between him and Reader. It seems that this is going to be make or break for them. Are they willing to work through their issues or will their insecurities get the best of them?

word count: 2203

-

You would be lying if you said that everything stayed the same after Spencer got back from Prison. Actually, it's more than fair to say that there are times where you're scared there's not much left of the Spencer you once knew.

You didn't love him any less because of it but it is hard on you from time to time.

You guys would come back from a case and instead of cuddling up to you, he'd opt to either go to sleep immediately or shut you out completely to the point where you couldn't help but wonder if maybe Spencer was the one who was starting to lose feelings for you.

The thought alone scares you like nothing on the job ever could. These last couple of months have brought a lot of uncertainty with them but the one thing you never had to question was your commitment to Spencer. You are confident he's the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.

And before he went to Prison, you were confident he had felt the same.

Spencer can get a bit weird about people touching him. He didn't necessarily engage in a lot of activities that require touching one another before Mexico either but at least back then he had made an exception for you.

Contrary to what his friends and coworkers may think, Spencer was always incredibly affectionate with you whenever he had the chance.

He used to hug you tight every time you guys had come back from a case in order to assure himself you're both home and safe.

He always left little butterfly kisses on your nose, neck and forehead whenever he got close enough.

He would even hold your hand.

And you loved it. God, you loved it so much. The fact that Spencer reserved these soft touches for you only made you feel so incredibly special.

Which is why you felt so hurt once the touches stopped.

You understand that he went through a lot but you thought that this would bring you guys closer than ever. Instead you've never felt further apart from one another.

It's been almost a month and apart from the short hug when we got out and the occasional kiss goodnight Spencer hasn't touched you at all.

Enough is enough. If he wanted to break up with you then he would have to do it tonight. You love him more than he knows but you miss your boyfriend.

Right now, you're living with the shell of a man who once loved you.

You let out a big sigh as you got up from your spot on the couch and made your way to your shared bedroom.

You're wearing one of Spencers old CalTech hoodies. It hangs off your shoulders loosely as you try to open the bedroom door with your sweater paw. It might've looked ridiculous but it made you feel closer to Spencer. Almost like a hug from him. You missed those.

With wobbling knees you open the door and make your way to your boyfriend who's currently in the process of undressing.

It's been a long day and you can tell he's planning on going to sleep in order to avoid you again.

The realization breaks your heart.

"Spencer?" you ask in a small voice. You put one of your hands on his bare back and he almost flinches. You gulp lightly and tears are starting to form in your eyes.

He turns around to look at you and right as he opens his mouth to make up some excuse why right now isn't a good time, he notices your body language.

You look so tiny in his oversized hoodie and he almost smiles at the sight. But then he notices your tired eyes that are filled with unshed tears and the slouching in your posture which indicates you don't want to do whatever you're going to do next.

That look scares him. He's never seen that look before but he's got an unsettling feeling about it.

"Y/N, what's wrong baby?" He almost whispers. He cups your face in his hands and carefully turns it to either side to inspect if you got injured on this case after all. Had he missed it? He couldn't have. He kept such a close eye on you.

You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This is the most affection he's shown you all month and it almost makes you want to skip out on the following conversation. Part of you wants to be convinced that things will get better on their own account but that's naive thinking and you know better than to 'trust the process' in this case.

You put your hands over his and shut your eyes in order to avoid tears spilling over. You can't help but lean into his touch further.

You had it all planned out. You knew exactly what you were going to say. All that flew out of the window when you opened your mouth.

"Spencer if you don't love me anymore then please say so, so i can start imagining my life without you. Because right now that seems impossible and i can't be left behind by you out of the blue once you decide it's time"

Shit. Well that's not how you wanted to word it originally but the message behind it is the same.

It seems like it takes Spencer a total of maybe 10 full seconds to shake himself out of the shock of what just happened.

What, did he think you were just going to wait until he's made up his mind?

A small voice inside your head is yelling at you to stop making assumptions but you're so scared and so afraid of what he's going to say next that focusing on anger seems like the better option.

Your boyfriend withdrawals his hands from your face and you clench your eyes shut. This was it. He is going to leave you and you're going to have to figure out how to deal with it.

Tears are starting to involuntarily roll down your face and before you can even make the attempt to wipe them away Spencer is already crushing you in big hug.

You're too overwhelmed to understand what's happening anymore. All you know is that you love Spencer and that you want to spend every second he'll give you in his arms. If this was the last time, might as well make it count.

He tries to pull you impossibly closer to him and you finally return the embrace by wrapping your arms around his neck.

You can't really hold it in anymore and start sobbing into his neck. You tighten your grip even more.

"Come back to me please"

It's your desperate attempt to keep the love of your life around but you can't be bothered to be embarrassed about it. If he was going to leave you, you'll have zero regrets.

It's only when you feel Spencers body shaking that you realize he is crying into your shoulder as well.

Every logical thought of yours went out of the window then. All you could think about was making it better. You never want to see him cry like this again. Not after everything he's been through. He deserves laughter and fun. And love. So that's what you're doing right now.

Loving him.

He starts violently sobbing and you run your fingers through his hair. Your other hand is caressing the nape of his neck. You press soft kisses into his skin and mumble sweet nothings in his ear.

He needs this right now. Maybe this is what he needed all along.

"Shh it's okay baby. You're okay. You're safe and you're with me. I'm not leaving okay? I love you. Let it all out"

He tightens his grip even more and buries his face deeper into your shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I love you so much please don't leave. I'm sorry"

It breaks your heart to hear him so broken. It brings new tears to your eyes and you nod.

You realize you guys should've had this conversation a month ago. He loves you. He's just so scared.

You press more kisses to his neck before leaning back to bring his face to yours. Your hands find their place on his cheeks and he's forced to look you.

Both of you are hurting at the look of the red puffy eyes of the other and both of you make the quick decision to do whatever it takes to keep that look from your faces.

You press soft kisses to his forehead, nose, cheek and eventually his lips.

He's still sniffling but he's mostly stopped crying. After another minute of careful touches from you, he sighs. He sounds tired, defeated and yet somehow relieved.

He takes one of your hands off his face and presses a small kiss to your palm.

"Thank you. For everything. I didn't know how much i needed that"

You both let out a sad laugh and you close your eyes.

"Why didn't you want to talk to me?"

You're not trying to make him feel guilty but his actions have hurt you and you know that he would want you to be honest about that.

He keeps a tight grip on your hand and intertwines your fingers.

"I thought- baby i didn't know if you could love the man i had to become in there. I still don't. I have done horrible, horrible things. The things i did made me undeserving of your love. I knew that, but i couldn't let you go. I know it's selfish but- Y/N i am so so sorry i ever made you feel like i don't love you anymore"

His voice breaks on the last part and another tear rolls down his cheek. You take your hand that's currently not held by Spencer and wipe it away.

"You did what you had to do to survive. To come back to me. How can you think i'd hold that against you? You deserve love, Spencer. We deserve to love each other. Unconditionally. Just- don't shut me out like that again, love. I miss you"

You push him slightly back so he sits down on the bed. Before you could take the seat next to him he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His head is resting on your chest and he clings to you like he's scared you're going to disappear if he lets go.

You both let out a content sigh at the contact. You've truly missed his touch more than you can say. You run your hands through his hair once more.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry. I don't think i can handle this on my own anymore"

He buries his face in your chest in an attempt to get closer.

You let out a relieved huff.

"I never wanted you to do this alone, my love. I'm here for every step. I know it's hard but i'll help you as much as i can. You just have to let me okay? We can start looking into finding a therapist for you first thing in the morning if you want. If not, that's okay too. We'll find a way through this together. I'm not leaving"

He sniffles again and pulls you into his lap. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you. I love you. We'll get through this together. Thank you for loving me"

You smile into his skin and plant a soft kiss on top of his shoulder. He leans back to look at you. You see him smile for the first time in weeks and for a moment everything feels alright.

He slowly leans in to kiss you. This one isn't rushed like the others. It's slow and full of love. He pecks your lips once or twice before fully pressing his to yours in an attempt to get you to see how much he loves and missed you.

Not wanting to waste another minute you pull him closer by the neck and kiss him back like you're starved for his touch. Which was not that hard considering you were.

After a minute of slow kisses his tongue asks for entrance and you don't have to think twice before granting it to him.

You try to pull each other closer with every kiss until there's not an ounce of space between the two of you.

Between kisses you hear him whisper. It takes you a while to understand what he's saying but when you do you can't help but smile into the kiss.

"Love you so much"

"Can't wait to marry you"

"Thank you"

It seems like he's made it his mission to make up for all those weeks you spend questioning whether or not he still loved you.

You're not complaining. You're just happy to have the love of your life back. Sure, things aren't perfect but right in that moment you're sure you wouldn't trade it for the world.

[eyoricka]

Pete’s assistant - Pete Davidson

Words: 2160

Warning: 2 curse words

Requested: yes

You had been Pete’s assistant for many years now. You had begun as an intern at NBC and that’s how you met Pete. The two of you immediately clicked, there was like a strange bond between you like you always knew each other or were meant to meet, to work together. So at the end of your internship, Pete asked you if you wanted to be his assistant, to help him with pretty much everything. He wasn’t famous enough to really have a publicist, so you also fill up this role. It was funny at first. Pete was nice to you, never asking for anything impossible to get. Contrary to many other celebs with their assistant, he treated you like his equal. Planning interviews was something you enjoyed, he was mostly in some presented by his friends, so it was pretty chill, and you learnt so much. You let Pete took charge of his social media presence, he was more than okay at it, was natural and able to create a connection with his fans.

However, at some point everything changed. Pete got way bigger, he was famous like really famous, not just known by SNL and stand-ups afficionados.  Things got out of hand quickly. You still liked to work for Pete, he was still adorable to you but handling negative comments, the infamous song about him, people reactions and the repercussions on his mental health was a nightmare. You had too much to think about: to make sure he was feeling okay or at least not too bad, to make sure he would sleep, eat, not take too much drugs, go to work, go outside, try to stop the continuous harassment… Pete hired a publicist to take some weight out of your shoulders and have someone who would focus only on his impacted public image. Even though, Pete was probably at rock bottom, it was nice to see that he would still be kind to you, trying to smile a bit when you were ding your best to cheer him up.

And this is how the problems began for you. You knew the rule number one of any assistant: never fall for your boss. But you couldn’t help it. You had always loved his personality however you never considered having feelings for him. However, seeing him hurt, fragile but still caring about his close circle, still trying his best everyday for people he loved, still being nice when he could easily be an ass and take the heartbreak as an excuse, was enough to make you acknowledged that maybe you wanted to be more than a friend to him.

You decided to keep your emotions for yourself. You didn’t want to make a fool of yourself or lose your job and friend for feelings that would never be reciprocated. To forget about them, you went on dates with several people, it was a failure. Every time you could stop yourself from comparing your date with Pete. Even if some people were funny enough, smart enough, kind enough, they were simply not enough. A date with them was pleasant but you couldn’t picture more, and it would be cruel to force a relationship with someone you didn’t have feelings for just to hide your current crush. So after some dates you gave up on the idea of finding someone for the moment and preferred to take time for yourself. As the year went on, you were the witness of Pete’s different and non-working relationships. You were happy for him, truly. He was able to move on which was great and he felt more like himself. But it still hurt to see him get far too involved in relations that were doomed to fail. He was too intense and passionate for his own good. You advised him to follow your example and take time for himself, to love himself and understand what he wanted, needed from a partner. Surprisingly, he did it and it did good on him.

A few months later, you were at a small gathering to celebrate Pete’s Netflix comedy special. The reviews were good, and the audience was following, it was great to watch Pete’s career on track to success, he would finally be recognized for his art. You were talking to Dave about the process of writing when you are down and how cathartic humor is. You glanced distractedly several times in Pete’s direction confident that you were discreet. As your drink was empty, you scanned the room to find the nearest bottle of a beverage you like. Your eyes met Colson’s ones and he grinned mischievously at you. You rose an eyebrow wondering why he looked like a devious elf and quickly manage to appease your thoughts, rationalizing that it was only Colson being his drunk and high self.  

As you made your way to the counter full of bottles to pour you a glass, you felt two hands clapped your shoulders. You turned promptly and faced Colson who was smirking even wider.

“What do you want?” You asked not surprised by his presence but cautious about what he was about to say.

“Well just to chat with a lovely assistant, it has been a while since we haven’t talk.” He replied sweetly, an innocent smile replacing his smirk and you understood fully well why so many girls were crazy about him.

“Cut the crap” You deadpanned, not in the mood for his banter.

“I still wonder why I try to sugarcoat things with you” he mumbled certainly more for himself. After some long seconds of silence, he let out in a charming voice: “Don’t you think that would be the perfect night?”

You weren’t sure of what he was implying. He liked flirting but you seriously doubt that he was since he would never cross that border, maybe he was just bored or wanted to tease you. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer that would fuel his joust.

“You don’t ask me the perfect night for what?” He added kind of amused by your lack of reaction. “Well I will tell you anyway because else it wouldn’t be funny. So my dear don’t you think it would be the perfect night to admit your badly hidden feelings for you know who.”

You gulped at those words. You attempt to come back with a witty, chill repartee that would show that you were diverted by this non-sense and not knowing about what he was talking about, but your mind was blank. You were sure that tonight before sleeping while your mind would replay this scene, you would think of many clever replies.

“Still no answer, I bet that this time it is not for the same reason, right” Colson joked, and you cursed yourself.

“I just don’t understand what you mean” you eventually managed to say, cringing at this lame attempt to act cool.

“Your blushing cheeks and stiff body are telling the opposite” Nice even your own body was now betraying you.

“I get that you are bored Colson and even if it would probably be the funniest thing of your night, I don’t plan on becoming the biggest idiot of the party for your entertainment. I know Pete doesn’t like me and it is okay, you can’t control someone’s feelings and…”

“I hope you realize that you already are the biggest idiot of the night” He cut you “and Pete is too. I can’t get my head around the fact that you are both blind, incapable of seeing the way the other looks at you. Shshshsh don’t reply, don’t want to waste my time on hearing you tell me that I am lying, imagining stuffs, and complaining about my behavior, I‘ve already had this long speech from Pete. You can do whatever you want, go tell him or don’t but just know that you don’t risk much. And don’t count on him to come, he is sure he has no chance. So please have the balls for the both you.” He was about to leave you there with many contradictory thoughts filling your head when he leaned to whisper: “But really please do tell him tonight, I bet some bucks with John that you would be the brave one, don’t prove me wrong.”

You nudged him and he burst out of laughter as you showered him with imaginative curses. You decided to sit few minutes just to take time to reflect. You needed to process what you just heard. If indeed had feelings for you, things would change drastically. You felt yourself slowly but surely drifting into panic. A part of your brain was screaming that it was lies maybe because it was easier to accept than the truth. You had dreamt of this but it was a dream and you weren’t sure that you were ready for that right now. Intrusive thoughts were running in your head defeating your ounce of rationality and calm. One of your hand was clenched on your drink firmly and you closed your eyes while inhaling and exhaling to relax yourself. From the outside you certainly looked crazy but you didn’t care, it didn’t even crossed your mind.

You were so focused on your breath that you didn’t notice someone siting next to you and neither feel this person hand on yours. When you opened your eyes, you detect that you were no longer alone and the person with you was none other than Pete. He softly smiled at you and you felt like dying inside, this smile was enough to make you forget any doubts, anything, to appease. You smiled back at him kindly. He seemed to be struggling to say something and you took the lead.

“I guess that Colson talks to you too, huh?” You questioned, your voice was a bit shaking and you had eaten half of your words however you knew that he had understood you.

“Kind of” he stated and your next words died in your throat, you were losing your confidence. Those tow simple words held a clear message: yes we talk but no I don’t like you. “Actually, John did most of the talking” he joked or at least try to. He was also way to stress to really be funny.

You wanted to say something, to admit what was consuming you inside nevertheless you were scared, you refuse to be too blunt on this. You had to be subtle, to find a way to make him realize but without saying it, so if the feelings were not reciprocal it would not be too awkward.

“Colson mentioned a bet on us” You hid your reddening face behind your drink and casually take a sip or at least as casually as you can considering your current position.

“I heard about it too” His fingers were drumming against his tights in nervousness. “I am kind of bother by it you see.” You nodded, you felt crushed inside, of course he would be bothered, who would not be bothered to be shipped with someone they don’t have feelings for. You did everything you could to remain still and not crack, not now, not in front of him, of his friends. “I don’t really any of them to get this money like I guess I want them to be right, but I don’t like them betting on us”. You blinked several times not sure if you were on the same page. “I am not very clear, I am? Well obviously, I am not, I have never been very clear in those situations. Maybe clearer than now, because now what I am saying is a mess, well normally it is confused but understandable. And I am rambling right now and I don’t even know why. Maybe because it is intimidating, like we know each other for so long and what I am saying is that it is different.”  

He had lost you with his confused sentences, was he trying to reject you or the contrary. You wanted a certain answer, not an interpretation based on a wrong reading of the situation, actually you did not want this answer, you needed it. He was still digressing when you took the courage to interrupt him: “Pete please listen to me okay.” He shut up and looked at you in the eyes, sort of hanging of the words you would pronounce. “I like you Pete and not like I like Ricky or John, I mean not like a friend. Do you understand?”

There were few awfully long seconds of silence before you felt Pete’s forehead against yours and his hands on yours. “Fuck, you are a lot better at verbalizing this than I am” He smiled brightly, he was so beautiful when he was happy. “Can I kiss you?” He asked still quite unsure and you gently pressed your lips against his. It was a short and sweet kiss, the kind that promise wonderful tomorrows full of love, full of life.

[snaileer]

Chips & Salsa - Chapter 9

“-remember-?”

Who was that?

“Do you-”

What are they saying?

Why does my head hurt?

Light burst into Lance’s eyes with the pain in his chest.

He jolted forward, stuck, hurt-

Haggar.

He could see her glowing eyes now. Staring at him from just under the darkness of her hood. Even without pupils, he could tell that she was focused solely on him. As if he would tell her anything.

Lance jerked against his restraints. Restraints? “What do you want from me, you hag?!” He shouted, pulling against the metal cuffs again. Though they already felt bruised. His head pulsed with similar aching.

“I said, What..” She creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her voice crawled out of her throat like slime coating his skin.

What do I know? He tried to pull away from her again, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” She was asking about his team, his family… Voltron. “I won't tell you anything. You’ll never get your hands on Voltron!” He struggled for lucidity against another flash of pain in his ever-growing headache.

An odd mix of satisfaction and anger flitted across her face, curving it into a sneer. “We will see about that yet, Paladin.”

He had no idea where the satisfaction came from. The anger, he understood. He’d seen plenty of his math teachers with the same expression; but satisfaction? She had nothing to be satisfied about. Not if she thought she could get anything from him.

“You’re not going to be able to break me, not in this lifetime or the next. I’ll never betray my team!”

A strange hissing growl came from her as she pulled her hand back and turned to the other druids. Other druids? Why hadn’t he seen them? He should have noticed them. Was he really that focused on just Haggar?

“Take him to the cell,” She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, “Leave him there for a while. We’ll see how he responds when I come back with further improvements from this information.”

He barely had time to panic before a druid had placed a purple hand on his arm and he felt magic course through him. It wasn’t electricity, thankfully, but it tensed every muscle in his body, paralyzing him in place.

God, the cramps he would get from this. He needed a massage. With coconut oil. And music. Hell, at the very least, a hot bath and copious amounts of bubbles.

When the other druid reinforced the magic to carry him out of the room, he came to the unfortunate realization that he would be getting neither any time soon.

The hallways faded past him in a blur. A tingling feeling niggled at the back of his neck, You should remember this. Pay attention. Listen! It screamed. This has happened before! SOMETHING’S WRONG! It whispered.

It sounded familiar.

Lance tried to pay attention to his surroundings, he really did. He knew it would be important if he wanted to escape. To know where he was going. But every time he tried to focus, the directions and pathways slipped from his mind like sand through a net.

What felt like seconds later, Lance was thrown into the darkness of a cell. And suddenly, feeling rushed back to him in a tsunami. Pain, pins-and-needles, sharpness, bruising, the sting of wounds rubbed raw at his wrists.

The druids moved away, uncaring at the shout he gave in shock when he hit the floor. The door closed behind them unceremoniously.

Lance groaned from his place crumpled on the ground, “Nothing like little torture and paralysis to get ya’ kickin’ in the morning, amiright?” He sighed to himself.

Displeasure sunk into him as the grime crawled its way into his pores.

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hands and arms under his body, pushing up from the floor. At least he could lean against the wall, presumably less dirty than the ground. God, his head hurt. And his arms. Everything was sore, the thick manacles on his wrists feeling heavier by the second.

With a series of grunts, Lance finally settled himself into a corner of the cell. There was very little light, and most of it seeped in from the space under the door or the half dead purple-lightbulb-in-a-cage right above it.

Still, when he rolled his head to the side in exhaustion, there was enough light to catch on something written- no, carved into the wall next to him.

He raised his shaking fingers up to it, trying to feel what marks he couldn’t see.

D-n--or--g-t

-o--for--

No, there was a space in between there.

Do-t- fo--q-t

He squinted at it, leaning closer. The light caught on the curves of some of the letters. The ones he couldn’t accurately feel. It was an ‘N’, a ‘G’, an ‘R’ and maybe.. an ‘e’?

Oh.

Don't Forget.

Lance dropped his shackled wrists to his lap and huffed a laugh at his efforts. At himself. And then he spoke to the darkness.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

-x-x-x-

Lance sat in the darkness for hours, days, however mind-numbingly long it was that allowed him to actually recite his entire family tree through 4 and a half generations. Extended family included. He even started including hypothetical nieces and nephews based on what he thought his sisters would name their kids.

He absentmindedly wondered if all of them were still hypothetical. How long had he been gone? What had he missed?

What had changed without him there to see it?

Something rumbled in the back of his head. It felt hidden behind his absolute monster of a headache now coming back.

Except… wait. No. He recognized that rumble…

Blue?

Blue! It was the Blue Lion! His Lion!

Something broke free in his mind, a small section of fog lifting.

Her presence and his own pressed against each other in his mind. A piece he hadn’t quite noticed was missing.

How could he ever have forgotten Blue?

Her presence purred, the vibrations automatically soothing him, comfort pushing through his bond. Something still felt… off. The bond felt farther, more strained, even though he could feel Blue on the other side. Feel her desire to come closer, feel the worry tinging the edges. Something still kept a distance between them.

He didn’t know what it was but something in his own mind told him to leave it be. It was important. It had to be like this.

Whatever this was.

Lance wasn’t able to figure it out soon enough, their mental conversation interrupted by the harsh grinding opening his cell door.

“Get up,” a discourteous voice commanded.

He looked at them with hooded eyes and a forced smirk, “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt somebody?” Not that they knew he was having a conversation, but still… point stands.

Their glowing eyes narrowed, “Get up, or suffer, Paladin.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you manners? I didn’t even hear a please. Honestly, people these days have no- AAH!” Lance’s scream cut off his own words as purple lightning struck his body.

The druid barely even moved their hand and pain ran through his muscles. When the lightning stopped, Lance was left heaving for breath on his side.

He felt like the Extra Crispy option on a fried chicken menu. Was God trying to make him go vegetarian through sheer number of shared experiences? Screw that. In fact..

Lance glared back up at them and forced out the words, “Screw. You,” from between clenched teeth and struggling breaths.

He wished he could see the fury he knew was behind those masks.

The druid lifted their hand again and though Lance tried to fight the flinch, he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Instead of lightning, he felt the tight restraints of their magic envelope him and lift him up. He couldn’t even struggle out of it.

“Bite your tongue, child, or Haggar may decide to teach you some manners,” The druid growled and turned around, making their cloak swirl dramatically. Lance wished he could scoff at them, but the paralyzation made that difficult.

“And she will not be as merciful as I was.”

He settled for a particularly scathing, derisive glare. Lance thought they got the message anyways.

He was so focused on trying to burn a hole through their back that he almost missed where they were going. Almost. He hadn’t thought any of the directions stuck through his headache, but now… they were going back to the same room as before.

To Haggar.

He knew he was right when he spotted the Lady Hunchback herself leaning over a table. Seriously, when was the last time that woman stood up straight all the way? When she finished sharing tips and tricks with Satan and Hitler?

“I’d hate to be your chiropractor, lady. I bet it’s costly to find someone even able to tolerate your presence.” He was hoping for at least a twitch as the Druids forced the manacles into place on the table.

Instead, it was his heart that skipped a few paces upon realizing it must have been the same table he’d woken up on.

“I can’t imagine anyone would willingly come near you, despite being paid,” He sneered. It worked as a good enough distraction from what he knew was gonna happen. At least, it worked until she turned around.

“Quite the contrary, little Paladin,” Haggar reached her hands out to his head, clawed fingernails keeping him from leaning away, “I think you and I are going to get very close.”

Lance screamed again as pain shot through his skill. It felt like needles being shoved through his eye, he couldn't even-

It burned. It burned. It burned!

Please! Please Somebody! Help!

I can't-!

“Show me your team, Paladin,” A voice whispered, “SHoW ME Voltron!”

Pain surged again in time with his screams. Idly, some part of him wondered if he could burst his own eardrums.

His thoughts were crushed beneath crashing waves of searing, hot, burning, hot, it’s too hot, it hurts, it hurts it hurts, please please I can't do this I don't want-, somebody please!

Sharp claws cut a path through his mind. These ones didn't hurt.

No.

These claws came from soft padded paws. Metal and yet somehow gentle. Cold and soothing. He walked towards them, down the path they had laid for him, desperate for whatever small relief they could provide. Some distant piece of his soul recognized his bond between lion and paladin. But she was so far away. He could see the doors opened for him, welcoming him home, home to the water. But the path was so long and so dark.

He glanced down.

Dark?

No. It wasn't meant to be dark.

Burning tingled at his fingertips when he looked harder. His lion was blue. A gorgeous sky blue, ocean blue, ice blue. Then why….

Why was there purple leaching its way across it?

He looked behind him.

The heat worsened, pain closer than he remembered it.

His footsteps were clear behind him, each one oozing sickly, purple slime that curled its way around the light. Covering every inch of the gentle blue.

This wasn’t right. Something wasn't-

Sharpness spiked across his skull, snapping his head forward.

“Focus. Focus! Closer. Get closer! You cannot resist me! Not weak like you are!”

Something forced him forward and he stumbled on the path, falling to one knee. He reached to steady himself on the path; and different worlds flowed through his mind.

You’ve done this before, Cub. You can do it again.

They were his words. And they were Blue’s.

But he knew what they meant. He remembered it now. How Haggar was trying to get to his team, to Voltron, to Blue.

What she wanted from them. From him.

no. No. No!

“You cannot have her, Haggar! Not ever!” Lance turned around and moved away from the doors. The bond. Away from Blue.

Fresh agony layered on his skin. Heavier and thicker and stronger with each step.

He could hear Blue behind him now, calling out for him in mewls and cries. She wanted them to do this together. But he couldn’t, they couldn't do it together without endangering her. Endangering everybody. So he kept running. Pushing through what felt like thick slime until he was struggling to keep moving.

The smog pressed itself down his throat, burning, scalding and tearing him up on the inside.

Haggar was shouting out behind him too. She could only go so far, only get so close to her goal with him.

“I will take control, Paladin! You cannot stop me!” Claws grabbed his upper arms and pulled him back. They left deep gashes on his biceps and shoulders, but he pushed against their leverage.

“You don’t think I can stop you Haggar!?” He glanced over his shoulder at her glowing yellow eyes, “Watch Me!”

He turned around and reached into the darkness of her body without form, clutching onto the thickness he felt inside of it. Even as its essence burned like hot acid on his skin.

And then he threw his body backwards, taking her with him.

Away from the doors and through the barrier of Haggar’s magic. Away from Blue and through the pain.

Off of the path.

Almost immediately he felt Haggar get thrown from his mind.

He gathered what little peace he could find. The crashing waves came to a standstill for just one moment. It was enough.

It had to be.

He wanted to cry. Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew this was the best chance he would get to do so, but he couldn't. Not until it was over. Then he could break, could cry, or do whatever the hell it is that is supposed to come after this.

He looked back to stare through the thick, writhing purple of Haggar’s magic. He could see the glimmer of his bond with Blue. Of the ‘path’ they had laid that first day together.

It was dimmed now. Not just by the smoke obscuring his view, but by the purple sludge seeping into its bricks.

She’d gotten farther this time. Closer. More so than Lance had ever wanted Haggar to get. He knew he was struggling, struggling to keep the distance between his bond and her corruption.

It was weird. To be able to look back and remember himself forgetting something. Forgetting how many times they’d had this battle. This push and pull in his own mind.

He still didn't know just how long he’d been fighting back to keep her away. Just that he had. And that he’d keep doing it.

But he was losing.

A traitorous part of his heart told him this couldn’t go on forever. Something had to give, and as it was, Lance was not liking his odds. Something would have to break eventually.

But not yet.

He couldn't let go of her yet. He couldn't. Even if that made him weak, he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He just wanted to stay here a little longer. Stay with her a little longer.

The corrupted magic clearly disagreed with this prospect. Its char-colored surface rippled back to life. Waves were heard in a distance that did not exist.

They were not the bright, colorful waves of his home, nor the cold but fierce waves of his lion, these were riptide waves. Powered by the undertow and ready to pull him under. Drowning and suffocating him, farther, farther down.

He lost sight of the glow at some point, and the darkness snatched him under instantly.

-x-x-x-

The druids stared at the body of their mistress over the Voltron Paladin. So many times before, it had been the same. The same resistance and weakness from him. The same ignorant stubbornness as he protected what their Emperor deserved. He would fall to their magic eventually. As the one before him, and the countless subjects before that. He would fall.

But there were doubts.

They watched as Lady Haggar was flung back from the Paladin as she had been so many times before.

The doubts stood still. Ever wavering, faltering but not falling.

Lady Haggar lifted herself up and neither druid so much as twitched to help her. They knew better.

“He thinks himself strong, thinks himself righteous,” She crowed in that tone that said he so clearly wasn’t, “But his naivety costs him. I grow closer by the day.”

They saw barely a flash of white when Lady Haggar bared her teeth, “But that Lion keeps reminding him, keeps undoing my spells. He needs to be broken; and soon.”

The Druid refrained from mentioning that the spells for the invasion of his mind could only be broken by the strength of ones own quintessence. Reminded of strength, yes; but not given it or shared.

He was a Paladin of Voltron for a reason, though flawed that reason may be.

Lady Haggar finally turned attention to her druids, to fulfill their purpose under her command.

“Rid him of his weaknesses. No weaknesses, and nothing to chance.” She growled as low as a female galra could, “I will get that Lion from him, one way or another.”

As Lady Haggar stepped back, the druids stepped forward, up to the helpless paladin. His face was clear, unburdened and untense. That would change soon. They reached out with their arms and their magic, delving into the surface mind of this Paladin. Only the surface, Lady Haggar would do the rest.

The druids looked to each other, then to their mistress. He was ready, the spell prepared once again.

And from the front of the table, magic shot forward from her fingertips, into the mind, body and quintessence of the Child Paladin.

Their druid magic was nothing to the level of Lady Haggar, the Dark Witch of the Galra; and yet, it was their magic that ripped into his mind and made it possible for her to latch onto his memories.

They laid him bare, and she took what she needed.

The Paladin could do nothing. Would continue to do nothing. Not in the face of the empire’s power.

Then why must we keep repeating this process. The doubts whispered.

The druid ignored the words, focusing instead on the drawing of their power for the spell. When it was finished, the Druids stepped back once more, and Lady Haggar drew forward.

How would the Paladin awake this time?

His face began twitching. Slow, just as the last time.

“What do you remember?”

Nothing.

“Do you remember?”

Why did she ask him this? Their spell would only fail at the interference of the Voltron Lion. It was infallible to tricks of the mind.

The Paladin’s consciousness came closer to the surface. Still too slow. Always slow, this paladin. Magic was infallible and uncompromising, but Lady Haggar was not as patient.

She threw a spark of her magic onto the boy’s chest and instantly, he awoke. He jolted forward against the cuffs, no doubt hitting bruising from the pain of his struggles during Lady Haggar’s procedure.

Recognition flashed across his face. Focus drawn only to their Mistress, just as he was meant to. This was important, his mind still laid open for her to search, she drew her eyes onto his as her magic probed for information. Voltron could not hide forever.

The Paladin jerked forward once again, as if he had not learned the first time, “What do you want, witch?!” He shouted, pulling against his restraints. They would hold, this child was weak. Too weak.

“I said, What..” Lady Haggar creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her magic crawled forward, coating the recesses of his mind as she worked to pull forward his thoughts, his knowledge on Voltron.

His efforts to pull away were futile, though expected, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” Voltron. Voltron. The Other Paladins. Tell us. Tell us of Voltron, the magic chanted.

“You won't get anything from me, I won’t betray Voltron!-” Lady Haggar pushed deeper and pain flashed beneath his eyes, “You won't find my team, not through me!” The trench opened in his mind began to close, Lady Haggar’s magic pulling back.

Accomplishment flitted across her face in pairing with irritation. He was still resisting then… surprising but not irreparable. “We shall see if that is true, Paladin.”

The Paladin seemed confused, but then again, he always did. He was weak and feeble-minded after all, nothing more could be expected.

“I’ll never betray my team and you'll never be able to make me! That will never change!” He shouted. So loud, so foolish.

Lady Haggar pulled back her hand as the last of the Druid’s spell closed, they would have to try again. She looked to the druids, and drew the Paladin’s eyes to them as well. He had not noticed them. Poor awareness, weak yet again. This is why the spell worked so well on young, unguided minds. It led them to purpose. The Empire’s purpose.

“Take him to the cell,” She looked back at him slightly, “Leave him there until I summon for you again. We shall see his results after I have viewed the information gained. Succession is at hand.”

“Vrepit Sa,” Both Druids nodded and turned to the Paladin, their hands coated in magic. A paralytic, they were too close to risk escape with this prisoner.

But you have been ‘close’ for a while now, haven’t you?

The paladin’s eyes widened, his heart jumped pace and his quintessence fluctuated before being frozen by the spell. As if the body could fight it, the spell was instantaneous with contact. Simple and complete.

The Druid’s magic worked in concession to lift the Paladin and disconnect his restraints without removing them. Silently, they began the walk to the cell.

They could see the panic and confusion in the child’s eyes as they turned each corner. It was pitiful that the magic coating his mind would leave him helpless for hours. Still, the effort was commendable. A sign of potential perhaps.

His eyes started to glaze over dim, perhaps not then, if he lost presence that fast. He held little use past his title as Paladin.

It was with this thought that they tossed his unpresence into the cell. Without a fight, this Paladin was nothing more than knowledge to be collected and tested.

The Druids moved away, uncaring at the shout when the Paladin came back to himself as he hit the ground. They closed the door without mind.

Then stepped to the side.

Magic made one weak if you allowed it to. Weakness made one vulnerable and vulnerability was to be exploited. So, they waited; to see if the Paladin had changed in the hours under Lady Haggar’s influence.

His groan echoed quietly through the metal door. After much hesitance, and many pauses, the Paladin began moving. His shuffles were quiet, but his vocalizations of his pain were not.

Lady Haggar had left marks on him this time, his upper arms and shoulders were marked with scratches like a wild Krelshi.

They listened to him rest again, presumably sitting rather than laying now. As he always was when they came back.

The metal of his cuff clinked softly against the cell walls. The druids looked to each other, a wonder if the Paladin would remain the same in his patterns.

Indeed, not a minute passed until they heard the unsure sounds of his untranslated, broken language whisper through the air.

Neither of them understood it. These were not words. They could not be translated. They were just sounds. Gripped by craziness or something else, they were still just sounds.

Then, a small laugh. A chuffing. Even in a place like this for the prisoner. Always the same.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

Always the same, the paladin. Always the same.

-x-x-x-

In some other world, Lance might have wondered why the words carved into the wall were written in English.

He may have even noticed that the handwriting looked scarily similar to his own despite the pitch black darkness.

This was not one of those worlds.

And he did not notice.

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: Not Out Yet! But Soon!

Also double-posted on fanfiction.net and Ao3 under the same name!

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 3 - Her Father’s Daughter

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunvelies @sunwoowuvbot​​

“You want the luxury of a choice? I’ll give one to you right now, so you better make the right one.” ​

“Now, this just coming in-- The next director of Apple-Korea, Lee Juyeon and Hera’s Princess, Kim Jang Won... have been reportedly dating for almost three years now!”

“No!”

“Yes! And get this: this wedding? It’s been on the planning table for almost 6 months!”

Lee Juyeon peers out the window as the car slows to a halt, hazel brown orbs scanning the traffic outside. Multiple LED screens on the sides of corporate buildings were broadcasting the news. The crinkling of a plastic wrapper ruins the beauty the amount of shock amongst the community was bringing Juyeon, cuing him to turn back and face his fellow passenger. The sight of Kim Jang Won awakens his corporate-thinking brain, processing the gravity of the news she falsely put out just about... five minutes ago.

“Your father just climbed out of his own grave and you wouldn’t give him half a day to busk in the spotlight, huh?”

“Mm,” She hums, gracefully taking a bite out of the fruit-yoghurt bar. “I would’ve given him a lifetime worth of spotlight if he came back as a zombie and there would be some sign of actual death but-- nah, he’s been alive since the day we thought he all dropped dead from that heart attack of his. God knows where he’s been the last two years, hiding and letting me build HERA & ARTEMIS... only to take it away from me?” She shakes her head, smacking her lips and taking another bite. “Not a chance.”

Juyeon laughs through his exhales, unsure whether he’s more in disbelief he’s trapped in this chaos or how poised Jang Won’s uncouthness in handling this situation was. His phone buzzes, and he coyly pulls it out to check the message in the screen amongst all the other stupid headlines. 

Young Jin Seol [12.52pm] : You’ve been schedule for a meeting with The Board at 4pm later, sir. 

He locks the device and slides it back into the inner breast pocket of his blazer. “I assume your brother is taking this better than you?”

“Excuse you, I think I’m taking this much better than most people expected me to. Well, better than I expected myself to,” The wrapper crinkles when she finishes it. The car drives up into the entrance of her mansion, easily dozens of reporters already beginning to pillow the car. 

“I have a meeting with The Board later at 4pm. Will you be present?” Juyeon raises a brow, watching Jang Won slide on her sunglasses. Her blue fingernails glimmer as she carefully folds the wrapper, using her tongue to dig the crevices of her mouth. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be, hubby?” She offers a seductive smirk, then unbuckles her seatbelt to lean across to him. Sliding the folded plastic wrapper into his breast pocket, Jang Won presses her cherry lips onto his, earning incessant flashes and shouts from outside the car. 

“Mm, I can still taste the wine and the tad bit of salt you got left from lunch with your Mommy and Daddy.” 

Juyeon frowns, gritting his teeth as she pulls away and exits the car on her side. The shouts and questions directed at her are muffled when she slams the car shut, her bodyguards from the mansion rushing down the steps to create a pathway for her. 

The car finally drives off, and Juyeon can’t help but to sneer in disgust at the cherry shade left on his lips. The grimace on his face nearly earns a snigger from his driver. 

“What? Funny?”

“On the contrary, sir,” He eyes Juyeon through the rear mirror. “I think she’s rather charming.”

Juyeon nearly chokes on his saliva, pulling out a napkin from one of the seat’s back pockets. “‘Charming’ my ass. She’s a dangerous woman and I’m just keeping myself alive.”

BREAKING: LEE JUYEON AND KIM JANG WON TO BE PRESENT AT THE BOARD’S PRESS CONFERENCE AT 4PM LATER THIS AFTERNOON

Mr Ro has the most disapproving look on his face as Jang Won pridefully pushes her way into the entrance hall, heels clacking against the marble and smiling widely at her butler. But of course, her brother shows up from the hallway, clearly dissatisfied.

“What the Hell’s wrong with you? You can’t run off like that and lying to the media!”

“Oh, please. This is nothing. Hey! Can I get my wardrobe and hairstylist down soon? I want to look nothing less of Kylie Jenner at her mother’s funeral at my own press conference!”

“It is exactly because I know you’re just getting started that I think you should stop,” Younghoon quickens his steps, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “You are not only pulling our family into this - you are pulling the Lee family into this.”

“Well, hey! I wasn’t the one who put their son up for sale when the offer came along!”

“But Lee Juyeon didn’t even want to be a part of this! He had no choice because his parents made it for him!”

“And did I?!” Jang Won’s near-shriek echoes through the halls. Mr Ro winces, gently shutting his eyes to regulate the surprise. “You say that of him as if I had a choice. I didn’t want dad to die. I didn’t want to take HERA & ARTEMIS. You think I wanted to spend all those nights and days and shitty bar hangouts with rich people trying to get them to sponsor and invest in HERA & ARTEMIS? Hell, no!”

She tears her wrist out from Younghoon’s grasp, shoving him back by pushing against his left shoulder. “Maybe you don’t know how shitty it feels because all you had to do was wait for HERA & ARTEMIS to become successful enough before you could build your stupid entertainment company. But right now, I’m fighting for what I created; for what I made, and I will tell you right here and right now that I am not stopping until I get what I fucking own so you better... and I really, really, really hope you make the right decision when I say you better pick a side.”

Her brother remains frozen in some kind of resignation as she closes the gap toward him. “Just because we share the same last name, doesn’t mean I will spare you, Kim Younghoon. You want the luxury of a choice? I’ll give one to you right now, so you better make the right one.”

Jang Won turns on her heels and strides past Mr Ro to the stairs, walking up to the second floor where she would spend the next 3 hours getting pampered and fitted for her press conference as the new bride of Lee Juyeon. 

The smile Lee Juyeon has on his face looked like it was programmed; sculpted onto a stone statue; frozen in time. His father almost cannot look at it - even through the television screen, he knows it’s fake. He knows Juyeon hates it. 

But Hera’s Princess couldn’t care less. Why would she? She’s getting what she wanted, or at least, part of it. Now that she’s got Lee Juyeon playing the game by her rules, she’s one step nearer to her goal, and that’s to win back HERA & ARTEMIS from her own father. 

The jewel sitting on her left ring finger shone brightly with every flash a certain camera in the room went off. The Blue Nile Round Diamond 30-carat ring could blind someone if she deliberately shone its reflection into someone’s eyes.

“Today, The Board invites the next director of Apple-Korea and his newly announced fiancé, also known as Hera’s Princess and current owner of HERA & ARTEMIS to our monthly press conference of May. We warmly welcome Lee Juyeon and Kim Jang Won.”

The reporters and journalists provide a rather generous round of applause as Juyeon steps up the platform and takes his seat, Jang Won on his left with the brightest, sweetest smile he’s seen on her in the last six hours. 

“Thank you. We’re absolutely honoured to be here today, my fiancé and I. Today, we announce our upcoming plans up till the end of the year, assuming my father still grants me some kind of authority to HERA & ARTEMIS,” She scoffs the last part of her sentence away, earning some scattered chuckles from the crowd. It irks Juyeon, the way he knows she’s being sarcastic and her words are filled with nothing but the poison of hatred and yet these people can’t hear it for the love of God.

Sympathy, he feels. For a short, fleeting moment, he feels sad for her.

“But otherwise, my father and I have agreed on a major reform of HERA & ARTEMIS.”

Juyeon’s eyes light up, not from enthusiasm, but anxious anticipation.

“Before my father is to take full ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS by June, firstly, we will have our wedding in April,” Coyly grabbing Juyeon’s hands and showing them off to the audience, rings around their fingers. “And secondly, after my fiancé advances to director, Apple-Korea will buy 50% of HERA & ARTEMIS.”

The effort Juyeon was investing into hiding his shock, confusion and frustration in his chest was of immense, ground-breaking magnitude. His grip around her hand tightens, and she tightens her jaw, forcing out a smile when the reporters and journalists break out into murmurs and surprised exchanges.

“My brother, Kim Younghoon, will assume full ownership of Artemis as a separate entertainment company, no longer attached to HERA & ARTEMIS. Artemis will become a collaborator or partner, no longer a subsidiary.”

The panel of officials from The Board looked extremely restless from the corner of Juyeon’s eyes, and he finds trouble in deciding which to offer more attention to: the fact that one single person was intelligent enough to send the entire world of The Board into chaos, or the fact that she was already making use of him even before he assumed the role of director. 

Her fingers are now interlocked with his, resting on the table as the camera flashes go off, illuminating the room every other second. 

THE BOARD’S MAY PRESS CONFERENCE: 

LEE-KIM WEDDING IN APRIL, LEE JUYEON TO ASSUME DIRECTOR OF APPLE-KOREA IN MAY AND BUY 50% OF HERA & ARTEMIS, KIM JO-PIL TO ASSUME OWNERSHIP OF THE OTHER 50% IN JUNE, KIM YOUNGHOON TO ASSUME FULL OWNERSHIP OF ARTEMIS AFTER DETACHMENT, “ARTEMIS TO BECOME PARTNER OR COLLABORATOR”, KIM JANG WON SAYS

Younghoon’s inhales sharply, standing and frowning at the television screen after finally being unable to contain his shock. The reflection off the pool outside his living room paints inconsistent waves on his ceiling, the sound of pool water wading being the only thing he can hear besides the commotion from the broadcasted press conference. 

Scoffing aggressively, he covers his mouth and drags his fingers down to his chin, pulling on his skin and pursing his lips into a thin, white line. 

“Father, you have made the grave mistake of underestimating your daughter,” Younghoon smiles, then grins widely, somehow proud. “Her father’s daughter after all.”

Jang Won’s smile beams throughout the room, and for a split second Juyeon is mesmerized by it. Her eyes have been planted with the horrors of nightmares and terrible myths combined and yet there was something about that smile that made him think ‘Maybe being your fiance wouldn’t be too bad’.

“Before we open up the floor to the invited reporters and journalists, would Mr Lee like to say anything?” One of the officials from The Board finally gets up, hiding his confusion and anxiety behind his polite, service smile. 

Lee Juyeon sits up straight in his seat, thumb gently massaging hers as he resumes the act. Jang Won’s service smile remains coded into her lips, eyes loving as she turns to him. 

The whole world is watching, Juyeon. He thinks. The whole world is watching you put up this act, being in love with Hera’s Princess - arguably the most cunning name tied to The Board. Choose her and she’ll give you what you want. Choose otherwise and who knows what will happen?

“Mr Lee?”

“I think my fiancé has said everything that’s on my mind, haven’t you, love?” Juyeon smiles sweetly, eyes folding into long, thin lines. The curl of her lips are of triumph when she knows he’s bought into what she offered him; what she promised him. She cannot do this without him and he knows this, but what better way than to assert his authority than to pair up with the most powerful female in this shitty world?

Kim Younghoon’s eyes widen, fingers digging deep into the material of the cushion on his sofa as he watches Juyeon remove his hands from Jang Won’s, instead cupping her cheeks and bringing her face to his. 

Mr Ro strides past the first guestroom, hearing the sound of the news playing on the television in the room. He looks through the gap of the door that was left ajar, cautiously watching Kim Jo-Pil nervously swirling a glass of whiskey in his hands as the next director of Apple-Korea tilts his head, on screen.

“Play along, would you?” He whispers, and Jang Won’s pride surges when he presses his lips into hers. The floor of reporters and journalists erupt into questions and cameras go off like Donald Trump had just been shot dead. 

Kim Jo-Pil freezes, watching the whole press conference room light up with fluorescent flashes. But Mr Ro can’t help the jolt when Kim Jo-Pil deliberately flings the glass into the floor, pieces flying across the wooden flooring. 

“She’s her father’s daughter after all, sire.”

[chicgeekgirl89]

Requesting Immediate Backup

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Andrea Reyes

Summary: Carlos refuses to admit he's sick. So T.K. is forced to call in some backup. Written for the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt: This is for Your Own Good.

A/N: I have four other multi-chapter fics to work on so I wrote this instead. It may or may not be based on current and past personal experiences. Special thanks to @bluenet13​ for consulting with me!

Read on AO3

T.K. had never seen his boyfriend in quite this state before, and he was torn between amusement and abject pity.

Carlos had come home from work three days ago, brow pinched, eyes tight, clearly in some kind of pain. After a significant amount of questioning he’d finally admitted to having a headache. T.K. had plied him with some OTC pain medication and sent him to bed.

Things had grown steadily worse over the last few days. First Carlos’ sinuses had completely stopped up and then he’d begun to cough and wheeze. Despite significant evidence to the contrary, he remained adamant that he was not sick. It was allergies. Nothing more. 

Now T.K. watched as Carlos sniffed and snorted, shuffling around the kitchen, eyes red and watery as he searched for something in the cupboards and drawers. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” T.K. asked.

Carlos turned to glare at him, rubbing at his nose before speaking in a croaky voice. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Carlos’ breath caught and T.K. winced as he hacked out a cough so hard it sounded like his lungs were trying to leave his body. He shook his head. Enough was enough. “Babe you need to sit down.”

“I’m fi—” Carlos interrupted himself with a massive sneeze.

“You’re not fine. You have an upper respiratory infection. Probably bronchitis. And you need to sit down and let me take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Carlos griped, finally finding the spoon he was searching for. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, I can see what a spectacular job you’re doing of that right now,” T.K. said, glancing at his watch for dramatic effect. “It just took you twenty minutes to get a yogurt.”

“I couldn’t find the one I wanted,” Carlos snapped. “You always put them in the back.”

“Wow, you are cranky when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick!”

“Babe,” T.K. rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

Carlos pulled the blanket he was wearing like a cloak a little closer. “I’m fine.”

T.K. shook his head. “Okay. You’ve left me no choice.”

He pulled out his phone and drafted a text. “What are you doing?” Carlos asked warily.

“Texting your mom.”

“What?!” Carlos’ head snapped up and he reached for T.K.’s phone, but T.K. backed up out of his reach. “T.K.!”

“Carlos, you’re sick and you won’t let me help you. What else am I supposed to do?” He pulled back as Carlos tried to swipe his phone again and then pointed a finger at his ailing boyfriend. “This is for your own good.”

The menacing look Carlos shot his way would have been chilling if he didn’t look so incredibly pathetic. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Yeah, by choice to stay away from your germs,” T.K. shot back, but he didn’t put any heat in his tone.

His phone chimed with a text message back from Andrea. “Your mom’s coming over. She’s bringing soup.”

Carlos turned away and shuffled over to the couch, yogurt in hand. “I hate you.”

“That’s fine, as long as you live long enough to hate me tomorrow too,” T.K. called after him.

T.K. figured since he’d already pressed his luck he might as well push it a little further, so he scheduled Carlos a tele-health visit with his doctor, while his boyfrriend huddled on the couch in a blanket, sniffling and coughing and wheezing, the absolute picture of misery.

Andrea arrived within the hour, a tureen of soup in her hand. T.K. wondered if she’d somehow managed to whip it up before she drove over or if she just had that sort of thing on standby. Moms were magic like that.

“Hey Andrea,” T.K. said when he opened the door.

“Hola T.K.,” she greeted. “Thank you for texting me.” Her eyes found Carlos’ huddled form on the couch and she immediately frowned. “Ay, my poor Carlitos.”

“Mama I’m fine,” he all but moaned as she handed the soup to T.K. and moved toward him.

She pressed a hand to his forehead. “You are not fine mi amor, you’re all clammy.” She looked up at T.K. “He gets very cranky when he’s sick. Just like his father.”

“So I’ve noticed,” T.K. said, suppressing a smile as he walked the soup to the kitchen.

“I get cranky because everyone treats me like an invalid,” Carlos growled.

“Yes, we all know you are a big, strong police officer who doesn’t need any help,” Andrea said, fussing with his blanket. “I will just take my soup and go home then.”

Carlos mumbled something. “What was that mi corazón?” she asked.

“Don’t take the soup,” he said a little louder.

“I’ll heat it up right now,” T.K. said, reaching for a pot.

Carlos grudgingly attended his doctor’s appointment half an hour later, mostly because Carlos seemed to be unable to even get off the couch so T.K. just plunked the laptop down in front of him with the call already progress. With some added assistance from T.K., who listened to Carlos’ lungs and took his pulse and BP, the doctor determined it was indeed bronchitis and prescribed some extra strength cough medicine and an inhaler. Carlos was even polite to the doctor, although he went back to his cranky self immediately after they rang off the call.

Between Andrea and T.K. they managed to get a decent amount of soup and some tea into him along with some Mucinex before T.K. went out to pick up his prescriptions. By the time he got home Andrea had managed to use her special mom powers to get Carlos upstairs and into bed.

“Thank you for coming by,” T.K. said as she prepared to leave.

“Of course mi amor,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You can call me anytime my son is being a nuisance. Or any of his sisters if I’m out of town.” She thought for a second. “Maybe not Francesca,” she said, referring to Carlos’ youngest sister, who was something of a wild child. “You have Elena’s number?”

“Yes, I do,” T.K. said with a smile.

She patted his shoulder. “You take good care of my boy,” she said. “And be careful, we don’t need you getting sick too.”

“I will.”

T.K. saw her out the door and then grabbed the bag of medications and headed upstairs. At the last second he spotted Carlos’ book lying on the arm of the sofa and grabbed that too. 

Carlos was bundled into bed looking slightly less miserable than before now that he’d been fed and hydrated. “Hey,” T.K. said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Carlos said, sniffing and wiping his nose with a tissue. It was red and irritated from constant nose blowing, only adding to the pathetic-ness of the situation.

“I got your medicine. You should use the inhaler now and take the cough medicine when you’re ready to go to bed.” T.K. set them on the nightstand. “I brought your book up. Do you want anything else?”

Carlos shook his head. 

“All right, I’ll just be downstairs then. Holler if you need anything.”

He turned to go but Carlos’ hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

T.K. bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile. “It’s okay.”

“I’m bad at being sick,” Carlos said, looking extremely contrite. 

T.K. wondered if Andrea had scolded him and told him to apologize. “Yes, I know.”

“And I don’t really hate you.”

“I know that too.”

“Do you still love me?” He flicked his eyes up nervously.

T.K. laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Of course. I just want to take care of you.” He brushed the curls back from Carlos’ forehead. “Even if you don’t want me to.”

Carlos fiddled with the sheets for a moment. “Are you going to sleep on the couch?”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to?”

Carlos shook his head.

T.K. leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Then I’ll stay.”

Carlos mumbled something. “Come again?” T.K. asked.

“Could you hold me?” Carlos said grouchily.

T.K. shook his head and bit his lip. “You’re really adorable, you know that?”

“Are you going to do it or not?” Carlos huffed.

T.K. put an arm around his waist and they both shifted until Carlos was cuddled against T.K.’s chest. “Better?” T.K. asked.

Carlos sighed a raspy, sick sounding sigh, and snuggled closer. “Yeah.”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Hundreds of academic studies have been dedicated to observing those who are cursed with a toxic reliance on alcohol or illegal substances. Yet, not many have considered to conflate infatuation with addiction, and so the question that remains is… can one become addicted to a person? To their smile? To their laugh…? Further, it is not uncommon for addicts to substitute one addiction with another to relieve anxiety or stress. Perhaps that was why had become obsessed with distractions. The form of the distraction held little significance to you. Whether it was spending ever spare second outside of the emptiness of your apartment or burning your emotions with the poison of the night.

Your craving to escape reality can easily be traced back to three months ago when your primary addiction was no longer within reach.

Since the beginning of your relationship it was no secret that you were infatuated with the younger twin and his affections. Hanamaki once humourlessly commented that you were oddly obsessed with him, but it was just love. Pure, unconditional love.

And when you were no longer able to drown in him – in the love he offered in return, it was only natural that you sought to fill the emptiness with something else, despite the cost.

Now, when Bokuto originally instructed you to wait at the café for him, you intended on abiding without complaint. Except with the buzz of the champagne slowly fading, you were compelled to sustain the haze enveloping your thoughts. Caffeine would not provide you the fix you required, nor would the bottle of water, clutched in your right hand.

With a palm resting against your cheek, you shifted your gaze to the window, seeking the remedy to the hollowness returning to you.

“Oh. I forgot about that.” The comment mumbled under your breath was referring to the establishment located in the building directly beside yours. It was a small pub that you had passed by on countless nights. Glimmering illuminations framed the storefront, naturally drawing your attention to it; and the neon sign plastered against the window could not have been any more inviting. Each second that passed increased your desire to leave the café, as the dazzling colours sung out to you, summoning you to them.

It was not that you desired to disobey your friend’s instructions – it was simply that you yearned to join the lights, as they were offering you something you could not refuse. Bokuto would message you once he left the apartment, anyway. The few minutes it would take for him to return to the ground level would provide you enough time to return to the café. It was a concrete plan, at least that was the lie you comforted yourself with.

**

As you entered the establishment, the illumination drawing you there had become quite blinding. To battle the sudden strain on your eyes, you squinted, scrunching up your features in the process. The overload of your senses only continued as the speaker located to your right, blasted an unfamiliar melody, welcoming you to a party you were not meant to attend. You considered retreating the few steps advanced into the pub, but then you caught a whiff of an unknown liquor and it persuaded you to stay.

Silently, you proceeded towards the bar, ignoring the quizzical expressions tossed in your direction. The designer clothes gifted to you from your employer did not suit the ambiance of the pub, and it did not help that you were blinking excessively. Your struggle to adjust to the light could have easily been misinterpreted as the side effects of consuming an illegal substance. But you could care less what some random individuals thought about you.

The bartender flashed you a hospitable smile once you took a seat on the barstool, she did not seem to harbour any incorrect assumptions. Instead, she seemed to catch onto the strain over your mascara coated eyelids, something you realized when she issued an apology.

“It’s really bright, I know. It’s like the freakin’ sun, am I right?” The apologetic laughter exhaled by the mixologist radiated an energy that reminded you of someone… Though you could not pinpoint who. “Anyway, honey. What can I get ya?” After placing a napkin in front of you, she removed a glass from the pyramid behind her. The way she curved her eyebrow communicated that she was expecting an interesting order, most likely because of your attire.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having.” Crossing your arms over the wooden counter, you leaned forward with a toothy grin prior to motioning towards the girl seated beside you. “Because it looks like it’ll kill me and I am here for it.” Accompanying your words was a little wink, one that brought the older woman to laugh once more.

“Oh, that’s funny. Because that drink is called poisoned by love. It’s our newest addition.” Your answer satisfied her and communicated volumes about your reason for visiting. She made a mental note to observe you closely for the night, vulnerability and alcohol were a deadly mix, after-all.

“Poisoned by love… Cute. I’ll have two.” The number was illustrated by a peace sign, one that landed upon your cheek with accidental force. Yet you played it off, forcing the smile to remain attached to your mouth.

The sloppiness of the action engaged the bartender’s internal alarms. There was no way in hell she would be serving you anything beyond the drink she was in the process of concocting.

“Let’s start with one honey. Whatever kick you’re losing; I assure you that one of these babies will bring it back.” A nod of affirmation was applied to her head as she presented the final product to you, before settling it onto the napkin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how you’re doing.”

The impact of the mixture did not require five minutes to activate. Two minutes into consuming the drink, one of the patrons beside you informed you that it was not meant to be downed in one motion. That would have been useful advice if it were provided before you chugged the liquid, unaware of the consequences that would follow.

At three minutes you understood the warnings issued by the barkeep, as you were stripped of any grip on reality. Glancing down at your hands, you tilted your head curiously at the injured one, trying to remember how it occurred. When the bartender returned to check up on you, upon seeing your brows knitted in confusion, she recommended you close your eyes for the remaining two minutes. Poisoned by love was particularly potent for the first five minutes if consumed in one go.

The initial high of the alcohol dimmed substantially after the five-minute mark, and soon your memories were returned to you. Brushing your fingers against your forehead, a growl was caught in your throat.

“I can see you’re feeling better.” She quickly removed the empty glass from ahead of you, making no suggestion that she would replace it with a second one. “I think this is also when I tell you that we have a rule against drinkin’ and textin’.” Too preoccupied by the phone within your grasp, you paid little attention to her remarks. It was quite obvious that you were plotting something with your newfound courage.  

“You don’t.” Your attention was torn away from the bright screen for only a second, to squint at the woman in disbelief.

“Maybe not… but it’s not a good idea.” Caught in a lie, she raised her hands then blew out a sigh. But you did not acknowledge the gesture, with your gaze returning to the device instantly.

“On the contrary, I think it’s a phenomenal idea…”

Let’s do it again, shall we -  poisoned by love 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: I am upset rn, NO ONE LOOK AT ME. the fact my finger slipped and I posted half of this earlier - UGH. bad fucking luck. ANYWAY. >:( If there are mistakes in this, it is because I can’t concentrate enough to edit them. >:( 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa  @iloveanime691 @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna@momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari  @toaster-stick @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @nerdynstoned​ @kenmasgameboy @unstableye​ @ouijaeater15 @aquariarose @fandomtrashpandasposts @helloalex80 @stfucanunot @envyusshades @cuddlesslut @seijohiseliterambles @chaichai-the-weeb @meiikuki @theowl104 @cuddlejeongin​ @tchalameme​ @ditu-m9​

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley chapter 12

The scene shifted the moment Tempest woke up. They were outside, on a street in the middle of the city.  Storm clouds circled overhead.  

Tempest stood in front of them, hands in her pockets, a bland expression on her face.  

“So,” she drawled.  “You’re Nine’s friends.”

“Uh,” said Ochako, taken aback.  Right after Four had said she wouldn’t talk to them, this was disconcerting.   “Yes?”

“I’m his teacher,” said Aizawa, stepping forward.

“Yeah?  You think you’re doing a good job raising up little child soldiers?”

“Excuse me?” said Aizawa.  

“You heard me.”  She shifted her gaze to Ochako, then to Todoroki and Iida.  “I bet Souma told you I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“He did say something along those lines, yes,” said Iida, even as Ochako worked very hard to elbow him.

“I can follow why he’d think that,” Tempest said. “I spent most of my life fighting against the government.  Lord knows I wouldn’t have approved of him choosing a ‘pro hero’ to follow after him.”  She took her hands out of her pockets to make air quotes.  She was wearing brass knuckles.  “Whatever a pro hero is supposed to be.  Government lackeys.  Cops and war criminals with a different name.  I’m shocked he pulled a halfway decent person from the muck.”

“We’re not war criminals!” protested Iida.  

“Oh, yeah?  I forgot, the Geneva convention was nixed, wasn’t it?  They had this big meeting and decided none of it applied to metahumans, and then, bam!  Everyone’s a metahuman, so it doesn’t apply at all, huh?  Neat, right?”

“What we’re doing now might not be what you’re used to,” said Ochako, “but it’s the way society works, now.”

“And we’re not killing people, like you did,” said Iida.  Ochako winced at his combative addition.  

“I did what I had to, to get people out of the torture camps,” said Tempest.  “People like my little sister.  You know what they did to her?  They thought her power was just controlled by her voice.  So, they cut out her vocal cords.”

“They don’t do that anymore,” said Todoroki.  

“You think a government like that is just going to stop doing things?  Without people making them?  Without being forced?”  Tempest laughed and looked up at the swirling sky.  “Maybe you do.  You’re just kids, after all.  But tell me this, do you think they didn’t know exactly what was happening to your family, Todoroki Shouto?”

Aizawa cleared his throat.  “What’s your point, here?” he asked.  “What do you want from us?”

Tempest looked back at Aizawa.  The coldness in her brown eyes made Ochako shiver.  “We could have kept you out,” she said. “That Suzuki idiot, too.  Do you know why we didn’t?”

“Enlighten us,” said Aizawa.  

“Because the way we do it would cause irreparable brain damage.  We know, because we’ve done it before.  I thought it was worth it, but the others didn’t want to hurt ‘Nine’s friends.’”

“Are you implying that we aren’t Midoriya’s friends?” asked Todoroki, frowning.  

Tempest huffed and wind whipped down the road, making Ochako cover her face.  

“No.  To be honest, I’m not completely sold on Nine, either.  He wanted to part of the system so bad, and that’s not to mention—” she huffed again.  “At least he knows what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation.  You four, though… I’m stuck with Nine.  I don’t owe you anything and you’re causing all these problems.  What I want from you—”

Behind her, lightning snapped down from the sky.

“—is to prove to me you’re worth it.”

.

“Vlad, the police were able to find your car,” said Powerloader, holding his hand over the receiver of the staff room telephone.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Vlad.  “I hate taking public transportation.”  He paused.  “I mean, uh, did they find Yagi?  Is he alright?”

“No, they didn’t find Yagi.”

“Great,” said Vlad.  “So, ask them when I can pick it up.  Why are you making that face?  Did Yagi total it?  I bet he did.  ‘Symbol of Peace,’ my—”

“No,” interrupted Powerloader.  “Yagi didn’t total it.  Or crash it.  It was parked in an alley near the Musutafu entertainment district.”

“Where Midoriya had that fight with Hawks,” said Vlad, putting his head in his hands.  “It got wrecked by one of them, didn’t it?”

“No,” said Powerloader.  “It was parked in an alley.  They found it on a security camera.  It isn’t there anymore.”

“They took it again?”

“The League of Villains took it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

.

The bus felt empty with half the class missing. The remaining 1-A students (plus Shinso) were all huddled together at the front, mooching off of the teachers mobile hotspots.  

“Did my email go through yet, kero?” asked Tsuyu, leaning over her seat to look at Denki’s computer.  

“Not yet,” said Denki.  “I’ve got all the pictures you guys sent arranged, but I wish we had more video material.  Ashido was the one with the most…”  He sighed. “Ashido, gossip queen, when you wake up I will apologize for all my comments about your hobbies.”

“I have some videos of Midoriya.”

“Trust us, Mineta, no one want your videos,” said Yaoyorozu.

“Huh?  Why not?”

“Tell us this.  How many of your videos are actually of Midoriya and don’t just have him incidentally in the background while you try to film girls.”

“None of them,” said Mineta, obviously not seeing why this was wrong.  “Why would I film Midoriya?”

“Mic,” said Midnight, “please remind me to sign up the walking lawsuit for some sensitivity classes.  How did Eraser miss this?”

“Unfortunately, Shouta is about as sexual as the average rock, so…”

“Remind me to sign him up for some training, too, then.”

“Will do.”

“Walking lawsuit?” asked Mineta.  

Everyone else sighed.  Then Denki’s laptop pinged.

“Huh.  I just got an email from Principal Nezu.”

The adults, including Green Light, the bus driver, blanched.  Adults were bothered by the weirdest things.  In the end, Nezu was just a guy with a quirk, right?  A hero, even!  Principal Nezu, the Education Hero!

Okay, he’d scared Denki (Mr. Terrible Grades) a lot in elementary and middle school, but really.  

(Okay, the crane thing at the Final Exam had been high-key terrifying, but he was trying to get past that.)

“Huh,” repeated Denki, having read the email. “That’s interesting.”

“What is it, my electric friend?” asked Aoyama, drapping himself sideways across his seat.

“Aoyama-san,” said Midnight, “don’t put your feet on the windows.”

“Principal Nezu sent me a link to an ‘All Might adopt a kid’ fanfiction, and it’s by—”

“Midoriya writes fanfiction?” asked Shouji, evidently surprised into using his real mouth to speak.  

“That’s cute, kero,” said Tsuyu.  “It must have been before he met the real All Might, though.”

“No,” said Denki, “it was last updated just a couple of weeks ago, and, well… Midoriya didn’t write it.”

“So, who did?” asked Yaoyorozu.  

“Not Nezu, right?” asked Jiro, winding her earphone jack around her finger.  

“There’s no way, right, Kaminari-san?” asked Present Mic, nervously.  

“Uh, no, no, it’s, uh, it’s All Might. According to Nezu.”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

Denki inserted his pinky into his right ear, trying to clear it.  Man, if the Bakusquad had been here rather than the quiet half of the class…

“Yeah, it says here that this serves All Might right for working on this during school hours?”

More silence.  

“Green Light, the road!”  

“Oops, sorry!”

“Hey, guys, are we sure that All Might didn’t, you know, kidnap Midoriya rather than the other way around?  Guys?”

.

Gran Torino, also known as Torino Sorahiko, was an active hero.  That meant late nights and late mornings.  He was also an old man.  A very old man.  Late mornings often turned into noons and afternoons.  

Sometimes, during those noons and afternoons, he liked to ignore technology and the outside world for a good long while.  Maybe read the paper a little bit.  Or one of those terrible romance novels Nana had left him in her will.  

Still, he was a hero, one wrapped up in something best described as a two-hundred-year-long shadow war, so eventually he did turn on the news.  

Only to see Toshinori’s boy fighting Hawks on live television.  

Not to mention Toshinori hanging out in the background with a shaved head.  

And the ticker said UA student Midoriya Izuku kidnaps Symbol of Peace.

(Which was the dumbest thing he had ever heard, and under other circumstances, he would have been rolling on the floor laughing.)

Gran Torino was an old man, but, luckily, he only felt like he was simultaneously having a heart attack and a stroke.  His body was more than functional enough to place a not-at-all panicked phone call to one Tsukauchi Naomasa.  

.

Tsukauchi Naomasa was incredibly busy.  That busy-ness was divided mostly evenly between desperately trying to find his best friend (who had evidently decided to make a hopefully brief foray into kidnapping teenagers) and trying to figure out what the commission was taking, because it had to be illegal.  Oh, and putting together a complaint that the commission was infringing on police prerogatives.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much traction that last would get, since pro heroes had been steadily gaining more and more responsibilities even as the police were losing both them and the power that came with them.  Not to mention Midoriya’s stunt with Hawks… Which… Naomasa just wanted to know why?  What had the point of that been?  On either side?

(Sometimes he wished he were friends with normal people.  Like… he didn’t know… an accountant, maybe?)

(Not that he would give Toshinori up for the world. Just, some normalcy would be nice, too.)

He took a deep breath, remembered what he always told Toshinori about stress, and took a mouthful of room-temperature coffee.

In that thirty-second period, two more problems presented themselves to him.  

One, his cell phone began to ring, displaying the contact information for Gran Torino.  

Two, his email softly pinged, and a message from Principal Nezu asking for any images or videos Toshinori might have sent him slid into his inbox.  

Briefly, Naomasa considered ignoring both of them, but that wasn’t a realistic option and was irresponsible besides.  Contrary to his character.  

He picked the lesser of two evils and answered Gran Torino’s call.

.

Garaki was going to have a mental breakdown.  This was fitting because his car had broken down.  Midoriya Inko was asking him if he thought that his ‘friend’ might come pick them up, if it was safe.  If his ‘friend’ had a car.  

This last had almost sent him into hysterics. Gigantomachia in a car oh-ho!

Except it wasn’t funny at all, as this was almost certainly going to result in his death at the hands of All for One.  No matter that he considered the man his very dearest of friends, he was under no illusions about what All for One would do to him over this inexcusable error.

Perhaps he should just cut his losses and get one of the remote-activated noumu to come for them.  

Then, inexorably and inevitably, things managed to get even worse.

.

“Stop the car!” shouted Tomura.  

“But you said not to—”

“I know what I said!  Stop the car!”

Tomura twisted to see out the rear passenger window. Everyone else turned to follow his gaze, effectively blocking his view.  

“Get out of my way!” demanded Tomura.

There was some awkward, half-hearted shuffling.

“Does that look like anyone to you?” Tomura hissed.

“Yeah!  Like the doctor!” said Toga.  

“I’ve never seen him standing up, though,” said Spinner, dubiously.  “It seems out of character.”

“I didn’t know he owned a car,” mused Compress, rubbing the bottom edge of his mask.  

“Not him!” snapped Tomura.  “The woman!”  He pointed angrily at the rapidly approaching woman with green hair, narrowly avoiding dusting Mr. Compress’s top hat.  

“Eh?  What about her?” asked Spinner.  

“Doesn’t she look familiar to you?”

“To be honest, everyone without mutation quirks looks kind of the same to me.”

“Someone without face blindness.”

“Oh!  She looks like Izu-kun!  Do you think that’s his mom?”

The woman knocked on the window of the car.  Twice, unhelpfully rolled it down.  

“Thank you so much for stopping, we—Oh!”  She took a step back.

She apparently recognized them.  Joy.  He was going to unpack his feelings about this woman later.

“Hey, doc,” rasped Tomura, annoyed.  “What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ahem,” said Garaki, finally stepping out from behind the car.  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Shigaraki Tomura.”

“Because you blew us off and stranded us in the middle of Musutafu?”

“No,” said Garaki, in a way that absolutely meant ‘yes.’  “I knew you were resourceful enough to safely make it out of the city.”

“Oh, yeah?  Really?  You—”

Compress chose that moment to slam his face into the back of Tomura’s head.  Tomura steadied himself automatically on one of the car’s uprights, which cracked dangerously under his hand.  He pulled back as if burned.  

When he looked up, the gremlin’s mother was halfway to the tree line with – What was that in her hand?

He looked back over his shoulder.  

That was Twice’s goddamn mask.  

Compress, for some reason, was also missing his stupid mask (and covering his face like the dramatic weirdo he was), and Toga basically had hearts in her eyes.  Spinner was being Spinner, and therefore ninety percent useless.  He was lucky he was fun to play games with.

How to make her stop?

“Hey!” he shouted.  “We have your son!”

This was a lie, as far as he knew (unless Dabi had snatched him on his way back; it wasn’t impossible), but, he was a villain.

The green-haired woman stopped and turned back, allowing Tomura a full view of her expression.  

He decided that he regretted everything.

.

“Okay,” said Izuku, multitasking by letting Two pick the lock on the League’s safe, “considering Gigantomachia’s ability to track by smell and the questionable running water, we can’t just sneak out.  He’ll find us.  So… I think our best play is getting him to attack Shigaraki, and then when they’re both distracted, we run for it.”

Toshinori nodded and sighed.  “If only we had a giant jug of perfume.  We could throw it at his face and disrupt his ability to smell us.”

“I mean, I found a whole bunch of garbage a way back.  That isn’t perfume, but it does stink.”

“No, no, your plan is superior.  We’d draw too much suspicion if we attacked him like that. Perfume could be written off.”

“Yeah, I can see that.  Because perfume is a ‘nice’ thing.”

“Indeed.”

“It isn’t actually very nice to have it all over you, though,” said Izuku.  

“No,” agreed Toshinori.  “It isn’t.”

The safe popped open.

“I won’t ask if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

“But, anyway, assuming we do get away, what then? Where do we go?  And—Wow.  The League of Villains is broke.  I almost feel bad.”

“I was going to say Deika, but that’s too far, now, and we don’t know if Gigantomachia will come after us,” said Toshinori.  “Drawing him to a place full of civilians would be irresponsible.”

“Yeah,” said Izuku.  He frowned, pulling his head from the safe, and glanced out the window. “What about the Wild Wild Pussycats?”

“What about them?” asked Toshinori.  

“They’re near here, aren’t they?  And they’ve got that whole complex, so, I mean…  I don’t know how they feel about us right now, but it wouldn’t be a terrible place to hide.  Would it?”

“I’d hate to bring all of this down on them as well,” said Toshinori.  “But… That being said, I don’t believe they’re actually there.  They were taking some time off because of what happened to Ragdoll.”

“That makes sense,” said Izuku.  “Should we take the risk?”

“I’m unsure if we have a choice, my boy.  We could try roughing it, but that puts us in a very vulnerable position.”

“And we can’t stay here, with the League.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Okay.”  Izuku sighed and started to thumb through the League’s collection of fake IDs, looking for something he could use.  “Wild Wild Pussycats it is.  We’ve got to convince Machia to attack Shigaraki, and… then we sneak out the back while they’re fighting.”  He shook his head.  “It sounds really unheroic when I put it that way.”

“Under these circumstances, I think heroic is the set of actions where no one dies.”

His mentor was right.  Izuku still felt weird about this, though.  (The pettiness was completely different.)

Not to mention…

He put the last of the fake IDs away and massaged his temples.  “They’re doing something weird in there,” he said.  “I’m going to check on them.  I might be out of it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Toshinori, patting Izuku on the shoulder.  “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

(Perhaps all of this could have gone unsaid, what with their connection, but saying things out loud made them easier to organize.)

.

“Hey!” shouted Izuku over the roaring wind. “Stop that!”

“Are you going to fight me, Nine?  All by yourself?”

“No,” said Izuku, somehow contriving to look down his nose at her despite the height difference and the fact that Tempest was floating several meters in the air.  “I won’t have to.  Because I have a secret weapon.”

Ochako could almost see Tempest roll her eyes.

“And,” shouted Izuku, “do you seriously think I just wanted to be part of the system?  Are you serious?  I wanted to help people.  People the system failed.  It isn’t like they’re responsible for the system either!”  He waved his hand to indicate Ochako, Iida, Todoroki, and Aizawa.

“I’d argue about your hobo teacher.  Is this your secret weapon?”

“No, this is, Great-Aunt Miranda.”

Tempest opened her mouth, then closed it again. The wind began to die down.  “I’m – I don’t know what the point of that was—"

“Neither do I!  What’s the point of this?”

“The point is determining whether or not you have people you can rely on, or a bunch of backstabbers who’ll hand you over to a government lab as soon as it’s convenient!”  She stabbed a finger at Ochako.  “She’s just in ‘heroics’ for the money!”  She pointed at Iida.  “He’s only here because it’s traditional for his family.”   She gestured at Todoroki with her other hand.  “He’s doing it mostly out of spite.  And who knows what your hobo teacher is doing this for!”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that!” protested Ochako.  “You must have your own motivations, too!”

“She does!” shouted Izuku.  “Considering what they are, you have no room to be criticizing Iida!  Besides, you don’t even like me!”

“This isn’t about liking you or disliking!  You’re the—” Tempest visibly cut herself off, then took a deep breath.  She set herself down on the street.  “Knowing what we do now about certain things, a fourteen-year-old would not have been my first choice.”

“Excuse me!  We’re all sixteen!” said Iida.  

“You’re sixteen now, it’s – The fact of the matter is that you’re children.  Naïve children.”

“Oh my gosh, you were younger than I was when you—”

“I was kidnapped and tortured—”

“I know, but why are you taking it out on—”

“By the government that you are trying to lick the boot of—”

“Did you see what they did to Suzuki?”

Ochako felt like she was spectating a very passionate tennis match.  

“If it means anything,” said Aizawa, dragging himself out of the pile of rubble he’d been thrown into by the wind, “I’m just trying to keep my kids alive as long as possible.”

“Then expel them!  Stop them from becoming literal child soldiers!”

“I do,” said Aizawa.

“He does,” confirmed Ochako, who was well acquainted with Aizawa’s reputation.  

“He really does,” seconded Todoroki.  

“I used to see Tensei’s group chat, and every time he expelled someone…”  Iida shivered.  

“Huh,” said Todoroki.  “Is that why you’re so… insistent about rules?”

“Of course not!  Rules are important regardless of why so many students were expelled during the first month of school!”

“So, why didn’t you expel these ones?”

“If you honestly believe the problem child wouldn’t have flung himself at the first villain he saw after that and dove straight into vigilantism, you don’t know him very well.”  He sighed, standing, and brushed dust and pebbles out of his tracksuit. “That goes for these three as well. They’re insane and it’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t saving others what heroes do?” asked Izuku, walking closer to Tempest.  Ochako wanted to run out and grab him, but this whole ordeal had just shown how useless that would be.  “No matter what?”

“Not no matter what.  This is why I…”  She shook her head, sighing.  “Not no matter what.”  She leaned forward, her hands on her hips.  “Don’t die. You do realize what will happen if you die, right?  I don’t have to spell it out for you?”

“N-no,” said Izuku.  

“Besides which, I’m not a hero.”

“You saved people,” protested Izuku.  

“And, as your friends pointed out, I’ve killed, too.”

“I know,” said Izuku.  “But you aren’t a bad person.”

“Lots of people kill during wars,” said Ochako, going to stand by Izuku, “and that’s what you were fighting in, wasn’t it?  I mean, I don’t know a lot about that time, but…”

“You wouldn’t.  It’s been over a hundred years.”

Izuku nodded.  “This fight isn’t doing anything, though.  None of us want them here if the vault opens.”

“The what?” asked Iida.  “The vault.”

“Hopefully,” said Izuku, “you won’t have to worry about it.”

“The fight did do something, though,” said Tempest.

“What?” asked Izuku.  

“For one,” said Tempest, “it made you think. For the other…”  Her eyes flicked over Ochako and the others.  “Everyone you fight will have their own reasons. Remember that.”

.

As they walked down the street, storms still brewing overhead, Ochako kept catching glimpses of children in the alleyways and cross streets.  

“Who are they?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“My sister and I,” answered Tempest, brusquely. Ochako, watching the back of the woman’s head, saw her twitch slightly towards one of the alleys.  “About the time we were taken.”

“Taken by who?” asked Todoroki.  

Tempest laughed.  The sound was entirely humorless.  “That government you’re so eager to serve.  You’ve noticed, I hope, that my sister and I aren’t completely Japanese?”

“Yes?” said Todoroki.  “I’m not blind, after all.”

“Todoroki,” said Aizawa in a warning tone.

“Good for you.  Our mother was Japanese.  Dad was American.  We went back and forth to see the family.  Problem was, everyone on Mom’s side quirks.  We didn’t even realize it.  The government tracked the weather disturbances to our movements and raided our family reunion.  Never saw my parents again.  Never saw anyone, for that matter, except my sister and my aunt – Dad’s side – who tried to smuggle us out and got shot for it.  We spent four years in that hell before Ryuji rescued us.”

“You’re more open about this than I would have expected,” said Aizawa.

Tempest sneered.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  I’m a terrorist, and people only become terrorists if they want to make a statement. Which I did.  Trust me when I say this, Nine, if the hero commission took you into ‘custody,’” she spat the word like it was dirty, “you’d be in the same boat. What do you children think they do to all those high-profile criminals in Tartarus?  The ones that are held indefinitely in a private prison without even a show trial?”

“I know, Three,” said Izuku, far more calmly that Ochako would have been able to.  “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a hero.  It’s easier to change systems from the inside.”

“Not this system.”

“No,” said Izuku, “but then I had no idea this part of the system even existed.  They do a lot to hide it, after all.”

“Hm,” grunted Tempest, skeptically.

The buildings began to thin out, interspersed with wilderness.  The road rapidly graded narrowed into a one-lane road, then gravel.  

“Is this normal?” asked Ochako.  

“We have more control over our environments than the other ones.  You’ve noticed that only Eight and Nine had multiple versions of themselves running around and being confusing.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” said Izuku.  

“Exactly.  Any of us could send an army of ourselves against you.  Only those two don’t have a choice about it.  Amateurs.”

“Shouldn’t they have had the same amount of time as—” started Ochako.  She broke off as a series of concrete walls topped with barbed wire rose up in front of them, scraping at the surrounding trees, shedding clumps of dirt.  

The trees fell away, leaving a clear, baren space between the walls and the trees.  Slightly beyond the structure moonlight glinted off the surface of a lake.  

“Well.  Welcome to Jinoshi Lake Camp, kids.”  Tempest turned, putting her hands on her hips.  “This is where I met Ryuji.  And…” She glanced up at the walls.  “This is as far as I go.”

“You aren’t going to show us where to find this ‘Ryuji?’” asked Aizawa.  

“I promised myself I’d never go back there.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “I’m not revisiting it for you.” She started walking away.  “Have fun.”