#some places are hard to escape from even if you turn into a bird

[googoogojob]

[incognit0slut]

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

.

a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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[hatsukeii]

fragrance: wood sage and sea salt, jo malone / tsukishima kei x reader

notes: ambrette seeds (top), sea salt (heart), sage (base)

description: best friends with sand in their sneakers and the beach breeze, love hidden away in the sea mist

disclaimer(s): poor longevity, requires frequent reapplication

wc: 1270

warnings: nothing at all pookies you are all safe with me today

Tsukishima prefers lighter scents as opposed to musk, unsurprisingly. He prefers the idea of ease and smooth sailing, and shuns away unnecesasry hardship. Why put yourself through smoke and spices, when the sweetness of sage and the crispness of sea salt suffices anyways?

Yet that approach doesn't seem to have much success with you. He isn't sure if he's simply being too subtle, perhaps the sage isn't quite hitting your neurons in the right way, or the salt is just escaping from under your nose. Tonight doesn't seem to be any different, as the two of you sit on the pavement that draws a line between your shared walk home from Karsuno, and the sands of Sendai Beach. He isn't sure why you've called him out to the beach today, these meetings tend to take place in his backyard, or your balcony, somewhere far enough from the school to escape the looming presence of some familiar anxiety. The night breeze sends forth collapsing waves, fizzling out into foam and mist as they hit rocks and shore. Tsukishima untangles the knots in his earphones, pressing one of the buds to your ear, and one to his own.

"Your pick, what are we feeling?"

"Anything works, but I'm feeling drowsy and grounded tonight."

Tsukishima smiles, swiping and picking at songs meticulously to curate your personal playlist for tonight. He knows every beat, and string, and chord that itches your brain the right way. He's seen your head roll back in satisfaction at reverberated guitar strokes, and your feet tap at mellow basslines, your fingers plucking delicately at the air as if to imitate, even just for a moment, what living in a world of harmonics and vibrations is like. He doesn't see the need. You're trying so hard, like the smoke and musk that fogs up the air. Everything sings whenever you're around anyways, like waves crashing on rocks, wind whistling past ears, foam sizzling into mist that stretches like the strings of a harp.

You shiver and hiss at a stray breeze, knees wagging relentlessly as your arms come together across your chest, and you think, for a moment, whether you can inch just a litte closer to Tsukishima, perhaps until your knees are touching and a tinge of his warmth might pass through to your own. You stand up slowly, and the next breeze hits your entire body in a wave of salty wind, before you begin to jog towards the sea.

"Get over here and jog with me! If I move, then I can't be cold!"

Tsukishima sighs in exasperation. He has a jacket on, you could have just asked for it, but alas, how could he resist? How could he, when your hair moves as one with the wind, and your trembling smile fuses the sweet notes of his cologne with the muskiness of ambrette?

And so he runs, he runs until he catches up to you. There you stand, a singular standing wave amongst the crashing sounds of the sea, and the occasional holler of a seagull, one that diminishes into the blanket of night before its message can reach another bird. You crouch to tie your laces, now loose from your spontaneous jog, and pick up a fistful of sand unsuspectingly. A sly grin gradually creeps its way onto your face as you walk towards Tsukishima. He forces himself to stand straight, but he can feel his knees melting, and his chest burning.

Until you sprint behind him, and throw sand into his t-shirt.

"Fucking bitch!"

Now, the two of you are running. You, out of fear, yet a cheeky grin still plastered across your face, and Tsukishima, seeking vengeance as he picks up a handful of sand as well, and dashes towards you. Just you wait, and that grin will be wiped off your face soon. You swerve and turn, leading him to the shoreline, yet he continues his relentless advances, revenge in his eyes. The same revenge that burns into the back of your head after every exam, or after denying him of the last shortcake at his favourite bakery when you snag it from the front of the line. The type of revenge that you keep inciting, so you can see whether at some point, instead of snatching the shortcake back while you savour it on the way home, he tastes it off of you instead.

He chases you down, and he knows the two of you are bound to end up in the water, when he gets a better idea. Dropping the sand, he sprints faster, pouncing onto you from behind and lifting you up, before running into the sea, and dropping you in. You scream, arms flailing as you tumble backwards into the water. He stands at the shoreline, and laughs, foam fizzling beneath the soles of his sneakers, now filled with dunes of sand.

"Fuck you! I'm cold!"

"Don't put sand in my shirt next time then!"

You splash at him, scooping as much water in your arms as possible and waddling out of the ocean. You shiver, notes of sea salt dripping from your hair, and Tsukishima almost feels bad. He'll make it up to you, somehow, someway, but this is his revenge, and he is allowed to bask in his victory until the walk home ensues. Meanwhile, his fleece-lined coat, sitting above his grey hoodie, looks extremely tempting to you right now. You're sure he wouldn't mind sharing.

You throw yourself at him, rubbing your head into his hoodie, and your arms over his coat. To him, this is a trick, he thinks. An attempt at making him falter so he surrenders to your antics and reverses the consequences of the fistful of sand down his shirt. You're fucking with him, this is revenge. That's the whole point, and also the only thought that might manage to slow the blood pumping through his veins and arteries, and into his heart. To you, this is a carefully disguised confession, overshadowed by the notion of revenge. The longer you can stay like this, the more ruined Tsukishima's clothes will become too. You bury your nose into his hoodie, and beneath the stinging smell of salt, you catch a hint of something else- something sweeter, softer too, like leaves of homegrown sage, and acres of hibiscus fields.

"You smell really good, Kei."

"Let's go home, it's late." Tsukishima mumbles, hands in his pockets. Inside the cover of his jacket, he rubs his fingers against his palms, impossibly energised, ever so impatient.

"Cold, can't go home like this," you mutter into the fabric of his hoodie, your right ear pressed against his ribcage. Just a little longer, you promise. Just until you can make sure that it is his heart that is pounding through his chest and pulsing across your head, and not just the one under your ribcage, bursting with sparks of warmth from beneath your thin t-shirt. You hear Tsukishima huff and sigh, then he wraps his fleece-lined arms around your soaking body, his sweetness now complimented by the spice of ambrette seeds as he pushes you further into his warmth. Your mind blanks, he has never reciprocated any of your attempts to throw yourself at him before, and has definitely never closed the inches of distance between your bodies that remained. He clicks his tongue, just for show, while a flushing smile illuminates his face. Subconsciously, his lips press to the top of your head, the taste of sea salt seeping into his mouth as he whispers into your matted locks of hair.

"Sure, let's just stay for a while then."

author's note:

Pt.1 of cologne done!! Let's see who's next when I have the time to write the following part during my exam blocks....

But I hope you enjoyed! Feels great gravitating back towards writing pining and fluff, it's just about the best thing ever :) i hate the beach btw im acc not sure why i made this a beach scene. maybe if this actually happened to me i'd enjoy the beach more, but the sand and salt water just get to me in the worst ways possible.... i do think jo malone sea salt and wood sage reminded me of like ocean breeze and clean air the first time i caught a whiff of it so it only made sense

anyways tags time!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @bailey-reeds @fiannee @afyrian @iiwaijime

love u guys, pls wish me luck on my two weeks of exams that start monday because i have studied and ripped out way more hair than i should have, also im linking my playlist down here and it's on collaboration so please give me songs to listen to so i can write more stuff OK BYE BYE

[capybaratrait]

But Daddy I Love Him!: A Disney Princess Legacy Challenge

I didn't really like any version of the Disney Princess Legacy so I decided to do one myself! I tried not to repeat traits, skills... But sometimes I couldn't figure out, sorry! I also included a color scheme based on the princess. You have to complete the aspiration, career and max the skills, unless stated otherwise. I also included some extra goals!

It's not playtested, so I might make changes as I play. I have an edited lifespan that makes Young Adulthood and Adulthood a little bit longer, but Teenagehood and Childhood shorter. My guess is that you could finish the challenge in normal lifespan, but you also can do it in long or with a custom lifespan, or even turn aging off if you want to! Whatever you want to do!

Also, I had to be quite... Creative in some of the princess descriptions, because their personalities are very similar.

Also, there's not really any general rules. Your heir can be any gender you want (Everyone can be a princess!), if you want to cheat, cheat, if you wanna change something, change it!

Generation 1. Snow White 🍎

Packs: Cottage Living, Parenthood

Running away from a terrible family, you find yourself in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere. You dedicate yourself to keep it clean and make it a home. A hopeless romantic, you dream of finding your true love and form a beautiful family.

Traits: Cheerful, Romantic, Childish

Aspiration: Soulmate

Career: Stay-at-Home Parent

Skills: Cooking, Parenting, Cross-Stitching

Colors: Red, Blue and Yellow

Make seven friends

Marry your first love and stay with them all your life. Don’t woohoo before marriage

Befriend wild animals (bunnies, birds, foxes)

Have three children

Grow an apple tree of magnificent quality in your backyard

Generation 2. Cinderella 👠

Packs: High School Years, Cats and Dogs, My First Pet Stuff

Your parent instill in you the importance of being a hard-worker, but you can’t help but wish for a better life! With your two siblings making your life impossible, you spent your teenage years working a part-time job and saving as much money as you could to get away from them. As a young adult, you move to your own place and start working in the world of fashion.

Traits: Ambitious, Overachiever, Perfectionist

Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy

Career: Style Influencer

Skills: Writing, Painting, Charisma, Photography

Colors: Silver

Have a bad relationship with your two siblings

As a teen, reach max level of a part-time job of your choice

Always have a rat and a cat as your pets

You need no one to achieve success! But, eventually, you find someone as rich as talented as you have become (aka, don’t marry/move with before you have completed at least 3 tiers of your aspiration)

Generation 3. Aurora 🛏️

Packs: Nifty Knitting, Get Famous, Parenthood, Island Living

Unlike your parent, you don't even have to move a finger to get what you want. Born and raised in a wealthy family, you might be getting a little spoiled. That’s why your parents send you to live in your uncle/aunt’s house. There, you learn some good lessons, like the importance of generosity and hard work. Although some things never change… And naps are still your favorite pastime!

Traits: Lazy, Creative, Generous

Aspiration: Lord/Lady of the Knits

Career: Career Hop

Skills: Comedy, Knitting

Colors: Blue, Pink

Move out to your uncle/aunt’s house as a teen. There, they teach you discipline. Make sure you get at least two good character value traits!

Meet your future spouse at your uncle/aunt’s, but don’t start dating him until you are a young adult. They have to be a mermaid!

As a young adult, you don’t really know what to do. Career hop everytime you receive a call!

You love to knit! It is something you can do while sitting. Unlock all types of clothing and buy objects available with the Knitting skill

Generation 4. Ariel 🧜🏻‍♀️

Packs: Island Living, Snowy Escape, Parenthood

As a teen, you discover that you are not a normal sim: you are a merfolk. Your curious nature makes you move out from your family house to the place where your parent was born and raised, and reconnect with your roots. But when you fall in love with a normal sim, you decide to renounce your other form and become a boring, normal human.

Traits: Geek, Adventurous, Child of the Ocean

Aspiration: Beach Life

Career: Conservationist

Skills: Logic, Fitness

Colors: Red, Green, Purple

Get the Irresponsible character value trait

As soon as you become a young adult, move out to Sulani

Complete the Seashells collection and another collection of your choice

Befriend a dolphin

Stop being a mermaid when you fall in love with a human sim!

Generation 5. Belle 📚

Packs: High School Years, City Living/For Rent, Growing Together, Cats and Dogs

Ever since you were a kid you loved to hide under the covers with a good book and immerse yourself in a world full of magic where everything is possible. You love to read, it is your favorite thing in the whole world, and to think you also could create those beautiful stories? That's your dream. You also love your family, but you want to have your own life, so after graduating high school you move to a shared apartment looking for a little more independence. Turns out your roommate is a monster, but for some reason you can’t stop thinking that there is goodness deep inside them…

Traits: Bookworm, Creative, Good

Aspiration: Best-Selling Author

Career: Writer

Skills: Writing, Charisma

Colors: Yellow

Try to become a valedictorian or at least graduate with honors in High School!

Share an apartment with a sim with the evil trait. Fall in love with them, and try to change its trait for another one with the self-discovery system!

Keep a rose in your house

Always have a dog in your household

Generation 6. Jasmine 🧞‍♂️

Packs: Get Famous, High School Years, Get Together, For Rent, Romantic Garden Stuff

Stubborn and impulsive, you are not interested in love at all, especially with your parents pressuring you to give them grandkids and introducing you to suitors all the time. You want to triumph, be something for yourself! You might come across as a little self-absorbed, but you have a good heart and will help everyone in need. You move to Del Sol Valley looking for fame, and there you find someone that sparks your interest… But if you do commit to someone, it will be your decision. Your parents will have nothing to say in the matter.

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Hot-Headed, Party Animal

Aspiration: World Famous Celebrity

Career: Actor/Actress

Skills: Acting, Dancing

Colors: Blue

Have a bad relationship with all the sims your parents introduce you, especially with one of them

Fall in love with a sim in the criminal career. Your parents do not approve of them, so they have a bad relationship

Go on a vacation to Tomarang and adopt a tiger!

Make three different wishes with the wishing well over the course of your life

Generation 7. Pocahontas 🌳

Packs: Seasons, Outdoor Retreat, Discover University, Spa Day, For Rent

You grew up in the buzzling city of Del Sol Valley, a place that never sleeps, full of luxury and fake appearances, but you never felt comfortable there. You always had a connection with nature, and as soon as you reach young adulthood, you leave your parents mansion, looking to find inner peace. A natural leader, you decide to devote your life to guide and teach young generations.

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Self-Assured, Vegetarian

Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast

Career: Education

Skills: Research & Debate, Herbalism, Wellness

Colors: Brown, Blue

As a child and a teen, be in scouts and collect all the badges!

Have a failed relationship before finding the one you form a family with

You are a deeply spiritual person. Max the friendship bar with one of your dead grandparents

Get the Wise trait as an elder

Generation 8. Mulan 🐉

Packs: StrangerVille, Paranormal

You have a huge sense of responsibility, so you join the military thinking that that is the best way to help people. But then, you are transferred to the town of StrangerVille, and start suspecting the military wants to cover something related to the Secret Lab in the outskirts of town… And you are gonna figure out what it is.

Traits: Clumsy, Active, Family-Oriented

Aspiration: StrangerVille Mystery

Career: Military

Skills: Fitness, Logic

Colors: Green, Blue, Yellow

Fall in love with someone also in the military career. You have to have a bad relationship with them first

Befriend three other co-workers

Matchmake your friends!

Get the Brave reward trait

Generation 9. Tiana 🐸

Packs: Dine Out, Cottage Living, Growing Together

You have a passion for good food, are a very hard-working sim and will do anything possible to achieve your goals! You start working at a restaurant hoping one day you will open your very own, where you will make people happy with your dishes. Oh, you also are obsessed with frogs, but you don’t know where that comes from…

Traits: Foodie, Animal Enthusiast, Self-Assured

Aspiration: Master Chef

Career: Chef/Restaurant Owner

Skills: Cooking, Gourmet Cooking

Colors: Green, Blue

Open your own restaurant after completing the aspiration. Reach the 5 stars!

Complete the frogs collection

Have a best friend

Adopt at least 1 child; They will be the heir. Have a strict family dynamic with them

Generation 10. Rapunzel 🌞

Packs: Get to Work, Horse Ranch, City Living

Your parents were always very protective of you, and you never understood why, until they confessed to you that you were adopted. Because of their strict parenting, you couldn’t do crazy things and learn from your mistakes; you crave adventures and want to discover who you really are. You really are a creative force! You love painting, you love singing, and you also seem to have a gift to make other people feel better, so you decide to become a doctor and spend all your free time looking for your biological parents.

Traits: Art Lover, Music Lover, Genius

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Career: Doctor

Skills: Painting, Logic, Singing

Colors: Pink, Purple

Find your biological parents as a young adult or an adult

Have a very long hair

Have a horse in your household

Have 4 kids in total. 3 of them have to be triplets!

Note: If I finish the legacy, which I don't think I will because I never finish them 😂 I will make extra generations for Merida, Moana and Raya.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 41

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: it's thursday and i'm thirsty.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You have no tears left. When you’re still and silent, standing in Odin’s arms, slumped against him, the birds sing a little louder and the sun shines a little bright. You feel almost cleansed despite the hollow at the pit of your stomach. You lift your head and wipe your damp cheeks as he slowly lets his embrace fall away from you.

You sniffle and peer back through the garden, towards the house. You’e not ready to face them all, not with puffy eyes and a heavy heart. Odin pats your shoulder gently, rubbing your arm as he coos your name.

“I have something else to show you,” he says and offers his hand.

You take it and gulp down the last of your grief. He turns you away from the great Odinson manse and leads you around the fountain. Leaves rustle softly and the water trickles soothingly. He guides you down a path hidden behind a cluster of bramble, overgrown with moss and ivy, littered with winged samara and sprouting blooms.

The noise of the fountain fades behind you as you enter an archway formed by outstretched maple branches, canopied in the spring leaves. There’s a small structure ahead shrouded in purple wisteria. A gazebo, smaller than that on Laufeyson’s property, forged in stone with rounded windows upon each side. Within, the walls have benches jutting out, another doorway opposite the entrance, looking out into a shadow swath of untrimmed foliage.

“It is old, a bit unkempt, much like myself,” he chuckles as he lets you go.

“It’s beautiful,” you preen as you admire the neat lines between each stone block, “wonderful… I… I love it.”

“It’s a perfect hiding place,” he muses, “a perfect place to have one’s breakfast without disturbance.”

You turn to him, a question stitches between your brows.

“I will fetch you tea? Yes? Perhaps some fruit and something more substantial?”

“I…”

“Dear, you think overly much of others and not enough of yourself. Sit, enjoy your solitude while you can, and I will return with all you need,” he insists.

“I can’t, Mr. Lauf–”

“You let me worry for my son,” he interjects. “I’ve no doubt his part in your despair.”

You don’t argue further. You wouldn’t dare. You lower your head and sit along the stone bench against the wall and turn to peer out the window. It is wonderful there. Like a little world of your own.

You glance over but he’s already gone. You barely even heard him with the buzz of insects and scratch of sneaky critters all around. You turn back to the long window and watch a dragonfly skim along the ground, whizzing up, down, and back and forth. It’s as if you escaped into a book you read as a girl, where everything was magical and spectacular. You don’t think you’ll get a happy ending though.

Your mind wanders through the greenery and back to the house. The bedroom, dark in the small hours of the night, laying awake, staring at the wall, Mr. Laufeyson’s warm breaths puffing into your neck. Those moments when he doesn’t seem so intimidating but remains perplexing. One moment, wrapped around you, the next toying with you like a puppet.

Your core tingles and you bend your legs on the bench, squeezing them together. The sensations swirl in your mind with the shower steam. As delightful as it all was, your heart rents with shame. The way he left you on the tile, the expectation you would get yourself up and go to him, ready to be used again. As always, you have a duty.

Mr. Laufeyson does not care for you as a person, you doubt you’ll ever be that in his eyes. You are just another possession, like his records on the shelf, or that telescope he polishes so vehemently. Just another number in his collection.

You hear a snap and blow away the anxiety as best you can. You can’t worry about it so deeply, you know what you agreed to. He has given what he’s promised; you’ve been fed, clothed, and housed. You need him more than he could ever need you.

You turn to the doorway as Odin appears again, a tray in his hands. He brings it to the next bench and sets it down. There’s a cup of tea and a stack of square waffles beneath a dusting of sugar and heaps of berries. It smells delicious as your mouth waters for a taste.

“I’ve brought this as well,” he stands straight and takes a book from under his arm, “I hope it will keep you entertained.”

“Oh?” You watch him set it down.

“Today is for you, dear, you won’t be disturbed, I will see to it,” he declares, “Walpurgisnacht approaches and we all must be ready for the spring. Lay the past behind so we can start again.”

You lower your eyes, “thank you, Odin.”

“No need for that,” he says, “I only ask that you do one thing for me,” he nears and pets your head. You peer up at him as you heart seizes. “You will be kind to yourself.”

“I… I’ll try.”

“You should take care of her,” he points to you, “I rather like her a lot and I hate to see those I care for suffer.”

You smile, “I will.”

“Better,” he grins and retreats, “I will be in to check on you periodically.”

“Thank you,” you call after him and he gives a half-salute before he’s off, whistling into the air.

You exhale and let the last of the tension slake away. You drag the tray close and cut into the fluffy stack. You remember how you always wanted a waffle maker. Instead, you always had the frozen waffles you slid into the old overheating toaster. These are much better, they’re sweet and oh so yummy.

Sitting there, in the small gazebo, amidst the wilderness, you feel like a bird in a nest. Safe, cozy, and alone.

✨

You lose yourself in the pages of the book. The sun shifts as you move with it, keeping the ink in its light as you imbibe every word like sweet nectar. It’s like staring in a mirror as you feed on the tale of one, Jane Eyre.

Your literary meditation is splintered by the sudden ripple of a shadow and the clearing of a throat; gentle, almost reluctant to tear through the serenity. You look up at Odin as he stands in the archway, a small curve amidst his thick white beard.

“Apologies,” he says as he comes forward to gather up the tray, “I’m afraid it’s time.”

You deflate and close the book. You stand and hold out the book, “I can get all that.”

“No, no, I can manage,” he assures you, “and that is for you, dear. Keep that as your own.”

“I couldn’t–”

“You have some to go, haven’t you?” He eyes the book, “please, I have enough books.”

You look down at the book and hug it. It’s like a new best friend. You just want to spend all your time amidst its pages.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever you need,” he backs out of the gazebo, “come with me now. Let us put our masks on.”

You giggle and follow him. He says it so well. It’s like slipping back into a costume. You feel the peace chipping away and the tension once more has you rigid. Back to the real world.

“Now, we cannot give ourselves away,” he halts just out of sight of the veranda, “I shall go ahead and you will follow that path,” he turns and nods behind the row of hedges, “follow it around the front and you may slip in.”

“Oh, uh…” You blink and look over your shoulder, “that way?”

“Yes, it will take you right around to the front door.”

“Right, thank you… again.”

He bows his head and steps forward. You turn off in your own escape as the slippers on your feet clap against the ground. You come out in the golden sunshine and tramp across the stonework of the arced drive. As you come up the steps, the door opens from within. You stop at the middle stare and gape up.

“There you are,” Mr. Laufeyson greets, almost an accusation, “where’ve you been off to?”

Your brows pop up and you peer around, “reading.”

“Reading? You couldn’t do so in your room?” He challenges.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I broke the rules.”

“You broke the rules– get inside,” he points you inside as he steps back. You obey and he snaps the door at your entrance, turning towards you with a finger in the air. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I’m very sorry.”

He sighs and drops his hand, gripping his hip, “where were you reading?”

“Outside.”

“Outside– be straight, where?”

“In the garden,” you say plainly, lips down turned, “I only wanted to watch the butterflies.”

You look up at him, a pout in your lower lip, and bat your lashes. You clutch the book tighter and his eyes fall to squint at it. He reaches and curls his fingers around the top, wiggling it free. He flips it over to read the spine.

“This is a first edition,” he states as he examines, “where did you find this?”

The disbelief in his voice makes you nervous. First edition? 

“Is it very old?” You ask.

He winces and looks at you, his green eyes lit, “1847… I’d say so.”

“Oh?” You bat your lashes.

“Not in its original form,” he turns it over, “it’s been rebound into a single volume. The first print was in three parts and this cover… it can’t possibly be so ancient.”

You gulp and purse your lips.

“So I have to wonder, where you found this,” he sneers at you.

“Well, I… your father gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you? To read? He lent it to you?”

“Um, he just said… to keep it as my own,” you shrug.

“Do you--keep it? A first edition Bronte?” He sounds ready to explode, “so that is where you’ve been? With my father?”

“I saw him, Mr. Laufeyson, but I was mostly alone,” you sniff, “I shouldn’t have gone out. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Sorry, sorry, sorry?”

You nod, “sorry.”

He closes his eyes and pinches his nose, “you will stay close.” He offers the book back to you, “put this away and put on some proper shoes,” he looks down at the oversized slippers, “I’ve some errands to run for mother and you will come along. Do your duty.”

✨

Mr. Laufeyson is quiet throughout the drive. So are you. You accept your penance and roil in the thick silence, fingers twiddling and twining restlessly. His sighs make you flinch as you await further reprimand.

He pulls in before a shop front of white trimmed in red. He gets out without waiting and you follow after him. You trail him inside as he strolls across to the counter where women in red aprons and caps smile back at him. 

“Hello, I’ve come to pick up an order for Odinson,” he declares flatly.

“Frigga? Oh yes,” the shorter of the pair flits into the backroom.

“You don’t remember me?” The other woman asks. Laufeyson’s eyes shoot darts at her and his brows arch.

“I recall you spilled vodka on my wedding shoes, yes,” he scoffs.

“Oh,” she makes a face, “I thought maybe you’d forgotten that part.”

“Mm,” he hums and taps his fingers on the shining countertop.

The other woman returns and slides over a large white box, a red seal stuck along the corner to keep it firmly closed. Laufeyson takes out his wallet, “how much then?”

“Paid for,” the woman proclaims, “all yours.”

“Right,” he slides the box off and pivots smoothly. 

You peer back before you scurry ahead of him to the door, opening it as his hands are full. That woman was at his wedding? Did she know Sif? Was it a big event? Did everyone go? You don’t ask any of the questions that flood your head. You’d rather not know.

He balances the box in one hand and reaches into his pocket for his keys, unlocking the trunk. He tucks the box firmly against the emergency kit to keep it in place. 

“Whatever it is, it should be kept cool in here,” he shuts the lid, “though I wonder why mother couldn’t have it brought with tomorrow’s delivery.”

You don’t say a word. You wouldn’t know either. He strides back along the side of the car and dips into the driver seat. You mirror him as you get in on the passenger’s and he presses the button to turn the engine. He sighs and rests the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. He glances in the rear view.

“I’ve another stop to make.”

That’s all he says. It isn’t a question, just a statement. Though you wonder why he even made the declaration. You don’t need to know, you just go along.

He backs out and rolls out of the lot into the street. You distract yourself with the other storefronts and the veneers of city buildings. He drives onto an avenue and slows along the curb, shifting to a stop before he once more shuts off the engine.

Again, he gets out without instruction. You follow. That’s all you can do. He heads up to the grey brick house. Where are you? It isn’t until you’re at the front door that you notice the metal placard mounted on the wall; Bragi Skald, Antiques and Artifacts. 

Laufeyson clangs the large knocker on the door and checks his watch. You wait. It’s quiet. You see no light through the windows but the curtains are drawn flush to the windows, as if they’ve been sealed.

The hinges whine suddenly as the door swings inward, “Ah, Loki!” A blond man at least head shorter than his visitor greets, “wonderful to see you again. I did have it in my ear that you were about, I was curious as you when you should darken my doorway.”

“Bragi,” Laufeyson replies tersely.

“And who is this gorgeous creature,” the man’s crystal blue eyes surprise you as the bow in his lip deepens. He sends you a wink and offers his hand, “forgive me, sweetheart, I nearly missed you there, and how could I overlook such a ravishing woman.”

“Enough,” Laufeyson girds.

“I haven’t even introduced myself–”

“This is Bragi,” Laufeyson introduces the man then utters your name pointedly in return.

“Ah, beautiful name but that hardly answers my curiosity. Who is she? Oh, don’t tell me, you’re marrying again–”

“Hardly,” Laufeyson swipes away the thought with his hand, “I only need to be away from my family.”

“Yes, yes, of course. With Walpurgisnacht, I can only imagine–”

“Be glad you only have to imagine it,” Laufeyson scowls. “Are you going to welcome us in or shall we continue to stand on your porch like tramps?”

“Come, come,” Bragi opens the door wider, “Lady, please, don’t mind the clutter.”

Laufeyson waves you ahead of him. You enter and hold back your shock at the interior. You can hardly see the walls for the stacks of books all around, many with sheaths of paper jutting out. It smells like cinnamon and hint of dust.

“What are we in the mood for? Tea? Or something stronger? I’ve some absinthe–”

“Don’t be mad,” Laufeyson rebukes, “tea will do fine. Just tea, none of your tricks.”

“You speak to me of tricks?” Bragi hums, “is that a sense of humour I sense, oh, dour Loki.”

You lock your jaw to keep from gaping. You’ve never heard anyone talk to Mr. Laufeyson like that, not anyone outside his family, and even Thor did not mock him so lightly.

“Do you want tea?” Laufeyson looks over at you.

“If it isn’t any trouble.”

“Tea,” Laufeyson snaps his fingers at Bragi.

“Do you like scones, lady?” Bragi turns his attention to you.

“I’m not very hungry, thank you–”

“Lady!” A squawk makes you jump, drawing your attention to the flutter of blue feathers that descends to perch on the banister post. A great blue parrot tweaks its head and repeats the word.

“Oh, hush,” Bragi shoos away the bird but only receives a nip of its sharp beak, “don’t listen to Fossegrim. He talks too much.” Bragi shakes his head and retreats down the hallway, “tea, tea, tea…” he chants as if he might forget.

Laufeyson tuts, “he speaks of talking too much…”

You stare up at the blue parrot as it stares back at you. Around its eyes and mouth are bright yellow strips. It’s a pretty creature.

“Lady,” it bawks again and hops off the banister, winging around the space to land on your shoulder.

You gasp as Laufeyson takes a step back. He just sends a troubled look to the bird and glances around, “in here,” he points you through the doorway behind him.

“Um…” you move carefully, trying not to disturb the bird.

In the next room, a large harp stands in one corner, a piano the other, and a litter of various instruments on shelves mounted on the walls. There’s a twelve-string guitar on the sofa, leaned against the armrest as if it was left there haphazardly.

“Be very careful,” Laufeyson returns, “it bites.”

“Bite!” The parrot squawks and snaps in Mr. Laufeyson’s direction. He sighs and once more eludes the bird’s breadth.

“Wish he’d lock that thing up,” he mutters.

You stand like a statue, nervous. You turn your head slowly to look at the parrot. It leans in and nuzzles your hair. You stay as you are, paralysed as you fear it might snap at you too. A grating chitter rises from its throat, softer than its former screech. It continues the purrlike noise as it rocks on your shoulder.

“Is it singing?” You ask as Laufeyson stares with arms crossed.

“I have no idea. Let’s hope it’s not growling.”

You frown and clasp your hands tight. If the bird keeps Mr. Laufeyson away, it can’t be so bad.

[ghostsy]

Birds of Prey

WARNINGS: yandere, nsfw, noncon, abuse, blood, possessiveness, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment

A/N: the fic i wanted to post is taking too long, so pls enjoy a not very short, not very sweet, slightly unhinged hawks drabble

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! HAWKS X READER

“You’re mine, you know?”

“You’re insufferable, you know?” 

A laugh, deep and raspy, filled the space between them as his head fell back in surprise. Though, the fingers digging like claws into the skin of her waist betrayed his irritation.

He brought his face to her own, smile turning razor sharp; that ever present glint in his eyes, while entertained, sparked with a dare she was too stubborn to ignore, no matter the ensuing consequences.

“Pretty pretty Bird,” His tongue poked out from his canines, swiping up to lick the tip of her nose, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Rather than recoil in disgust, she leaned closer, fingers threading in his golden locks, “Selfish, mindless, animal,” Each word enunciated with a sharp tug, “Ruin all you like,” Her lips brushed against his ear, and she was met with a pleasured groan, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

“Fuck,” His hips bucked upwards, his clothed hardness grinding against her in a failed attempt to soothe the growing ache, “You promise?”

It was her turn to laugh; it was sharp and spiteful, and she leaned back on his lap to meet his eyes, hands falling to his face to trace the sharp curve of his jaw in resigned admiration, “What makes you think you’ll like it?”

His own hands trailed from her waist to squeeze at the fat of her thighs, fingers sinking like talons as they spread her further, pulling her into him.

“Oh, my pretty Bird,” A hand moved to brush under her shirt, ghosting against the skin, and bringing goosebumps to the surface, “If it’s you,” Dextrous, devious fingers worked their way underneath her bra, “I’ll love it.” 

Despite her resolve, a whimper escaped her lips, and the predator under her pounced, shoving her back onto the mattress below them.

Blood red wings spread behind him, and eyes glowing with the celebration of premature victory, he looked like some harbinger of death, beautiful in all his glory, but come to rip her to shreds, and feast on her insides with that golden smile.

She wasn’t far off, she realized bitterly. Though, her chance at revenge came sooner than anticipated when he dove forward, shoving his tongue past her parted lips, licking the taste of her mouth from inside while he tore at her clothes.

And, steeling her nerves, she bit down, teeth tearing into the intruder, replacing the taste of spit with syrupy copper. Her reward came in the form of a strangled groan as he ripped himself from her.

“Fuck—!” A curse, low and raspy with the interruption of dribbling blood.

The sight before her was enough to send her heart leaping to her throat, embers of satisfaction dying as quickly as they lit. If he had looked like a harbinger of death before, now, with the back of his hand swiping crimson to smear across his cheek, feathers puffed and poised to attack, and hair falling to shadow his eyes, the man above her was a type of demon king she tried to force herself not to regret awakening.

He spat to the side, blood dripping from his lips, and turned back to her with a smile more sinister and sharp than she thought him capable of showing. Slowly, he pulled at his own shirt to reveal a body too sculpted and too pretty to belong to him.

“Caged Bird has teeth, does she?” He breathed, “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, baby.”

“The only game I’m interested in,” She growled, “Is one where you lose.”

She had already scanned the room when she’d woken up dizzy and groggy and surrounded by a space all too familiar but not her own. He hadn’t even bothered with chains. Cocky bastard. There was no place to go where he couldn’t follow, but she’d be damned if she just laid there and took it.

She held her breath, and the pause between them was interrupted by a low, building chuckle that raised in volume and pitch until he fell forward in a fit of giggles underlaid with a twisted and angry amusement.

Lifting his gaze to hers, she found his eyes burning through her with the giddy anticipation of a hawk playing with its food. The condescension was enough to stroke her own need to fight, and she forced a sardonic smile despite her growing unease.

“What? Too much?” Swollen lips pulling into a sneer, “I thought you said you’d love it if I ruined you.”

He snorted, eyes moving to sweep across her body: fabric hanging in threads from her skin, lacey undergarments serving as her only decoration, traces of his blood smearing her lips, and tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. Too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of falling. God, did he love this woman.

“Between the two of us, little Bird,” He leaned forward, taking her jaw in a bruising grip, and forced her gaze to his own, “I’d say you’re plenty ruined yourself.”

There was a twitch in her brow that sated his ego, and he pushed forward to give her a peck, retreating with the quickness of a man who had learned his lesson. For now, he reminded himself.

“Though,” Still, he couldn’t help but push, “Not nearly ruined enough.”

And he surged forward, taking her throat in one hand, and forced her backwards into the pillow; her legs flailed while her hands shot up to claw at his own. It was time to give her a little lesson of his own.

He settled himself between her thighs, ripping the last of her coverings to leave her bare and thrashing. Her heels kicked at his back, lips parting in short, sharp gasps.

“Fuck–fucking–” A strangled whine, “Bast–bastard–”

“Come on now, Birdie,” He leaned forward, fingers flexing, “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” Nose to nose, his canines gleaming, “You don’t say anything at all.”

With the twitch of her jaw, she pursed her lips, refusing to consider the consequences, and sent a glob of spit flying right at his face, watching with glee as it splattered under his eye. 

He jerked back in surprise, releasing her neck to swipe at the offended cheek. Through a fit of raspy coughs, her chest sparked with a sort of vindicated satisfaction.

Her victory was short lived, however, and a burning smack echoed in the empty space, whipping her face sideways, a ringing in her ears growing to match her blurring vision. The strength of a hero, she thought sarcastically.

It was her turn to spit out blood, before her eyes rolled back to him, angry, but cautious. His fingers worked at his belt buckle, and he shirked off his pants in her momentary incapacitation, entirely unbothered by his own sudden show of violence. 

She did her best to avoid looking at the monster between his legs, and, like any sign of weakness, he seized the opportunity to mock her.

“Fight all you like, pretty Bird,” A hand was back on her throat, tight, but not squeezing, “But you and I both know this only ends one way.”

She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but the ache of bruised pride burning in her chest insisted on hurting him back. Hurting him more than he would ever hurt her. Because he would hurt her.

Her hands moved back to his chest, pushing as he wrenched her thighs apart, “Fucking villain,” She’d lost her appetite for this game of theirs, opting instead to let her acidic resentment pour outwards, “Get off.” After all, words were her only true defense.

In a flash his free hand took hold of one frantic wrist, “Villain? I can be a villain,” His face twitched in irritation, and her bones screamed under the force of his fingers, “Keep pushing, and I’ll break it.” 

The sudden flip had her hands falling limp, retreating in shock once he released her wrist, and balling into fists beside her head. And as fast as it came, the darkness left him, only that treacherous smugness remaining.

She cursed herself for her fear, put off by the unpredictability of his own emotional landmines. But still, she squared her face back to a disdained neutral, unwilling to show more weakness than he’d already sniffed out.

He pumped at his length, positioning it at her entrance. She was damp, but not nearly prepared enough for the size of him, and he hummed, fingers dipping down to toy at her clit, sending her hips jolting upwards in regretful anticipation.

“Say something nice, baby,” He breathed lazily, “Say something nice, and I’ll make you feel good, too.”

There was a beat as they stared at each other, “I…” She whispered, a growing conflict in her eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against her own.

“Yeah?” His hot breath spread across her cheeks, “C’mon Birdie, I wanna hear something pretty come from that filthy mouth of yours.”

They were nose to nose, golden eyes piercing into her own, each pair glowing with emotions too loud to speak, “I,” Breathy and wanton, “Would,”

“Yeah? You’d what?”

“Rather fucking die.”

For the hundredth time that night he was taken aback, incredulous laughter his only response as he pulled away from her, eyes snapping back to her own with a promise he’d been eager to fulfill.

“Suit yourself,” And he shoved inside.

A yelp, surprised and pained, “Fuck–!”

He was only halfway in, and rather than let her adjust, he sunk his nails into her thighs as leverage, and forced himself further. She whined in pain, a coat of crimson serving as response around his pulsing length, and he moved to trap her hands in his own, fingers intertwined.

“Tight like a virgin, huh, little Bird?” Once fully sheathed, he set a brutal pace, the head of his cock bruising her cervix with each greedy thrust. His face dipped down to lick a stripe up her stomach, trailing marks up her chest and throat with gnashing tongue and teeth.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She bit out, trying and failing to pull her hands from his crushing grip, “Wouldn’t know wet pussy if it—mmgh!—if it smacked you in the face.”

He huffed another laugh, “Don’t tempt me, baby,” His hands released her own to dig into the fat of her ass as he pulled her hips upwards and into his own with a renewed violence, grunting as her knees dug spitefully into his sides. 

Her newly free fingers clawed at his back, and despite his earlier threat, he seemed to revel in the streaks of red she tore in the skin between his wings, responding in kind with a hiss of masochistic pleasure.

“Not my fault the only way to get your dick wet,” A sharp, pained gasp, “Is to make a girl bleed.”

There was a glint in his eye that brought back her unease, and one of his sinful hands flew to the space where they met, finger pressing with irritating accuracy into her bundle of nerves. His other readjusted to push one leg to her chest, pausing his movement.

“Pain not a good enough lesson for you?” A too bright smile, “Fine with me,” That gleam in his eye sparkled with a sadistic satisfaction, “How ‘bout we see how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out.”

And the thrusts returned, chasing his own pleasure while the hand at her clit swirled in circles and stars, faster and faster until a whine more pleasured than pained escaped her lips.

“Like you–fuck–” She groaned as his fingers sped their motions, cock rocking into her with a deliciously savage rhythm she dared not acknowledge, “Like you fucking could–” A moan, full and long, drowned out her words, and her nails dug crescents into his shoulders.

He only hummed in response, her clit twitching under his thumb, “What’s that, Birdie?” A pulsing ache formed in her gut, “Words, baby, use your words,” Her pussy squeezed against his member in a way that had him groaning.

“Fuck you.”

“With pleasure, little Bird.”

He drew his hips back, pulling out of her dripping entrance to tease the hole with his tip, before diving back inside with unfairly gratifying precision against that spongy, tingling spot inside of her. Faster and faster, her bundle of nerves pulsed greedily under his fingers, and her teeth tore into her lip, trying to will the pleasure away, or, more shamefully, will it to peak.

Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blooming inside her that had her eyes rolling backwards, open mouthed moans raising in volume in an attempt to settle the warm buzzing between her thighs.

Though, she couldn’t find it within herself to care about the knowing smirk that pulled at his lips, too focused on his continued thrusts, and the quick rebuild of overwhelming pleasure.

“What are you–Stop!” A groan as he released her clit in favor of throwing both of her legs over his shoulders, and pressed against her chest, fucking into her at an angle that had her seeing stars, “What are you doing?!”

“If I’m correct, baby Bird,” He smiled, turning to press a quick kiss to her thigh, “You’re still conscious,” She growled as he nipped at the skin, but a particularly harsh push inside her cut the murderous thoughts short, “Which means we’ve still got a ways to go.”

His words were smug, but the growing sloppiness of his movements betrayed his own pleasure. Her eyes widened in realization, and her fingers leapt to pull and push at his back, tearing at what feathers she could reach in an attempt to get him off of her. Get him out of her.

“Not inside,” She rasped, “Don’t do it inside–”

“Hmm?” A mocking tilt of his head, “No? You don’t want me to fill you up?” One hand shifted to deliver a harsh slap to her ass, “Breed you like a needy little bitch?”

“Fucking—get off—get off!” She shrieked, beating at his shoulders, “Fucking psycho!”

“Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” His hips were stuttering, and before she could stop herself, the words shot out through her lips.

“Please,” A couple stray, humiliated tears as she whimpered his name, “Please, not inside. Please, don’t cum inside!”

“Oh, so you do know how to talk pretty,” He breathed, fingers massaging at her abused flesh, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Please,” She swallowed her spit and her pride, “Please–”

“That’s right,” He was panting now, lips meeting her neck, teeth sinking in to add to the ring of bruises, “Beg me some more.”

Throwing her dignity out the window, she obliged, pleas working in tandem with the savage strokes of his cock, trying and failing to ignore her own mounting pleasure until finally he stilled, pouring deep inside her with a raspy groan, and sending her once again over that dreaded and savored edge.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?” He ignored the defeated, broken whines that left her while they both returned to reality, “You’re mine.”

As his eyes trailed down the collage of her forming bruises, he was sure he bore his own battle scars, heart strangely skipping at the thought. She was his, but he had long belonged to her. A fact he’d hoard to himself as long as he could.

He caught his breath, readjusting to brush sweaty strands of hair from her forehead to behind her ear, pressing a reverent kiss to her temple before pulling away. It was a gesture entirely too soft, and she could have forgotten it was the monster above her had it not been for his next words.

“Oh don’t cry, my broken little Bird,” That vicious golden grin was back, “I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

Looking down at the ruined little thing shaking underneath him, he felt a type of satisfaction one only gets from dethroning a queen, fight fucked out of her. Not for good, he reminded himself gleefully. His pretty Bird was too stubborn for that. His softening cock twitched to life at the thought.

The flare of her nostrils sent lightning in his veins as she growled, “I’ll ruin you,” The words were venomous, humor sucked out in favor of acidic hatred, but his chest only vibrated with a sadistic urge to play, “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“Ruin all you like, baby,” Breath wet and hot, shaking with anticipation, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

[redcoralpot]

Hey!

May I request a Sally x male reader?

The reader has some ugly scars over his body, mainly thanks to self harm(you can change this part if it makes you uncomfortable!) and when Sal found out, he opened up about HIS own scars.

Some fluff, a bit of comfort if ur okay with that! ;)

Before the Wave Hits - Sal Fisher x M! Reader

Summary: You didn’t want to go too overboard with clothes on your first date with Sal. Even through your curtains, you could see the sun beating down on anything below it, birds singing from their nests. The plan was to go to the dollar store, get some snacks to bring back to your place, watch a half-butchered slasher film, and maybe kiss. To give yourself some credit, this day was nothing short of perfect, so why didn’t you feel perfect?

Warnings: Mentions of scars due to s/h and other accidents.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: This is just a warm up before I get back on Smudged! I did tweak it a bit to make the reader a burn survivor, but I did mention s/h in it as well. Tread with caution!

-

A hiss escapes your mouth as you apply gel to your shoulder, feeling the raised tissue ripple unevenly against your fingertips. You close the cap with a click and wind an elastic bandage around your torso, covering your collarbone, before taping it firmly on your bicep. Pink flesh peeked from underneath the fabric and your eyebrows pinched, turning away from the mirror to put a shirt on. 

You didn’t want to go too overboard with clothes on your first date with Sal. Even through your curtains, you could see the sun beating down on anything below it, birds singing from their nests. The plan was to go to the dollar store, get some snacks to bring back to your place, watch a half-butchered slasher film, and maybe kiss. To give yourself some credit, this day was nothing short of perfect, so why didn’t you feel perfect? You sighed, tugging jeans past your boxers. The gel and remaining bandages were carelessly thrown into your bedside drawers as you sprayed cologne on your neck. Not too much; you had known Sal long enough to know he had some breathing sensitivities. The memory of when Neil had tried a new perfume in order to impress Todd in their shared apartment brought shivers down your spine. 

Keys jingled in your hand as you locked the door behind you. Your neighbor waved as you passed by, water spraying everywhere as they dipped a sponge in a bucket of water. Somehow, their back was still in great shape despite driving a Dodge Caravan, and you respected that. You returned their gesture, unlocking your similarly uncomfortable car. Your father had absolutely zero taste when it came to buying automobiles and you’d rather take anything else on a date, but you were broke. A little less broke than before, thanks to your summer job, but if someone were to shake you upside down, only a few pennies would fall out. The engine hummed as you took the wheel, chip crumbs biting your ass. 

Pulling into the parking lot of the shopping plaza practically made your heart beat out of your chest; Sal was sitting on a bench by the store’s main entrance, bangs covering most of his face. A portion of his hair was tugged back into a ponytail while the rest flowed down his shoulders, and fuck, he was handsome. College had changed both of you for better or for worse, but with junior year out of the way, you had some time to be curious. The slam of your car door broke his focus, the silhouette of his snake blinking, and Sal looked up at you. Sometimes, it was hard to discern his expressions through his mask, but you could guess he was quite unimpressed.

“Hey,” you grinned.

“Hi,” Sal said, raspy and muffled.

Gum was stuck on the ground beside his foot, so you offered him a hand, “Ready to go?”

“Sure. Though, you owe me something extra for ruining my high score.”

When Sal grasped your hand in his, you shook it, leading him inside the store. Newspapers were stacked by the counter, each detailing the latest trends and gossip with bright yellow font splattered all over. A grainy photo of the winter olympics, held in Japan this year, caught your eye. You held it up, “I remember when my parents dragged me to every ice skating rink they could find. Which, around here, there was only one.”

“You like ice skating?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, placing it back, “I kinda went for the food trucks.”

Sal ran his fingers over a cheap, small, plastic guitar on one of the shelves, “That’s pretty relatable. I was never into sports when I was a kid.”

You bumped your shoulder into his, wincing, “That’s ‘cause you were cool. Are cool. So, tell me, what kind of snacks do cool kids like?”

“Real smooth, man. I like applesauce and fries, but nothing chewy or coffee flavored,” he stated. 

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t eat dill pickle taffy?”

He watched as you shook a suspiciously bright green bag, “Ew– what?”

“Maybe not as cool as I thought.” Your tone was playful while placing the bag back on the shelf, eyes immediately drawn farther down. Glass clinked against metal as you reached for an applesauce jar, hidden in the depths of the store, hopefully not expired. You passed it over to Sal. Your other hand grabbed a generic snack, hell, you didn’t even know what it was. You were too busy looking at Sal. He tilted his head when he caught you staring, rolling his flannel sleeves up to his elbows. 

The cashier had his nose stuck in a newspaper as the two of you approached, and when you interrupted his reading, he glared at you as if you had thrown his children out a window. He certainly looked old enough. Regardless, his eyes lingered a bit longer on Sal’s prosthetic and the cashier carefully took the money from your fingers. Three dollars; one-fifty each. Kind of hypocritical of the dollar store, you chuckled. You almost said as much to Sal before the cashier interrupted you, “It’s a little early for Halloween, don’t you think?”

His breath smelled like weed and the bones in your neck popped as you turned to look at him, “What?”

“It’s a prosthetic,” Sal corrected, calm, much to your astoundment.

“Oh,” the cashier said, “close enough.”

Sal tucked the snacks underneath his arm and went on his way. You glanced at the cashier, already back in his reading, and then ran after your date. His one eye looked at you, while the other stared straight ahead. You unlocked your car door and Sal placed both snacks on a towel, then slid into the shotgun seat, fingers already toying with the radio knob. He switched through plenty of channels before settling on one that satisfied him; grunge with occasional death metal. You thought back to his electric guitar, always perched by his bed at his shared apartment. Sal was a funky guy. His fingers were moving once again, never still, wiggling as he hummed. You grinned, adding your own voice to join him. At some point, your voice cracked in a way that it hadn’t since you first started puberty, and Sal laughed. Laughed, with his full chest and his head cocked back to bounce against the headrest, eyes squeezed tightly shut. It wasn’t rare, per say, but definitely more scarce than in high school. 

After a few seconds, Sal allowed himself to breathe again, taking firm inhales through his mouth. The image of the cashier was far in the back of your mind. Now, there were more serious matters to discuss. 

“So, what movie do you wanna watch? I have Scream, IT, even Clueless and Interview With a Vampire if you’re into that kind of stuff.”

He paused, “Those are pretty random. Scream’s a hit but IT’s a total classic, so I can’t choose. Why do you have those last two?”

“Meh, I got them while fishing through the thrift movie pile. I thought Larry would appreciate, uh, vamp-ified Brad Pitt.” You pulled your keys back into your pocket, rushing to open the door for Sal.

“Jeez, now I gotta watch it,” Sal rolled his eyes, trailing behind you, watching in interest as he stepped into your home.

You raised your eyebrows, “You like Brad Pitt?”

“No, of course not! I like to get informed before I trash on something so I can trash on it expertly.”

You waved your hand in his direction, and then gestured towards the kitchen, “My mistake. Say, go get yourself a bowl of applesauce in the kitchen and I’ll get the movie set up, yeah? Vampire Brad Pitt it is!”

Sal’s footsteps grew fainter, slapping against tile as he entered the kitchen. You heard a thump and soft cursing, then cabinets opening. You shook your head, turning your attention to the tapes stored underneath the television, squinting at the messily written labels on faded cases. The Outsiders, E.T– you actually forgot you had that one– and many more from across the last two decades. Interview With a Vampire was in the very back, rarely touched, since your parents thought Lestat and Louis were a little too close throughout it. You snickered at the memory and slipped it out of its casing. When the television roared to life, it displayed a menu detailing a range of options, such as credits, extras, and playing the actual movie. With two clicks of the remote and an uncomfortable twist of your arm, the latter was chosen. 

The carpet was soft under your feet as you waited, staring at a frozen, black screen. You shifted your arm back and forth, unable to find a comfortable position for it. Sal swerved the corner with a bowl, seeming to lean extra far to avoid the wall, and returned to your side. He placed it on the table, sinking into the floral fabric of your couch. Tension leaked from his body, practically making a puddle at his feet, before he reached his hands towards his prosthetic. You looked away, the feeling of intruding on something so private gnawing at your stomach, especially on the first date. Sal only loosened the bottom straps, slipping the spoon in the space he created. You released a breath that you didn’t even know you had been holding.

Finally, the movie played, and the fun started. Sal made comments throughout, but stayed almost eerily silent during what he deemed was important. Those times, you could only hear tragic music and the sound of his breathing. You tried to relax with him, you truly did, but the hot air had dried you out in more ways than one. Your bandages became itchy and dragged against your scars with every movement; you had to subtly try to adjust them every time the issue came back with roaring vengeance. You needed to change them, but the bathroom excuse wouldn’t suffice– Sal knew where the bathroom was, and it wasn’t your bedroom. Sal was anything if not observant. You could feel his eyes, or eye, trailing your every move when you attempted to be sneaky.

“You okay?” Sal asked, plainly. 

You laughed, but it was humorless, your hand holding the collar of your shirt away from your body, “Sure, yeah, I’m just kind of uncomfortable, you know?”

“Obviously not with the movie,” he said, putting down his bowl, “but even that would be pretty understandable.”

“An old injury’s just acting up.”

He clipped his straps back on fully, “Scarring? Yeah, it can get sensitive sometimes.”

Does Sal know how on the dot he gets shit sometimes? You felt your cheeks, shoulder, and even self-made scars that you had all but forgotten about burning in the embarrassing spotlight placed on you. Too similar to the vampires you had witnessed on television. However, there was no judgment in his eyes; no malice nor pity. Sal just simply pressed the ‘pause’ button on the remote and spoke, “Do you have any ointment? I can help reapply if you need it.” 

You really wanted to kiss him later. 

-

@hexthemushroom @skitzomutt

[kining-the-evil]

Okay so hear me out, yandere Finnick Odair where he never lets the reader leave his house at victor's village, but somehow reader manages to escape and like reaches out to Snow because reader thinks he'll do something to help her. So Snow puts her on a train to the capital but when she gets to her room in the Presidential Palace Finnick is in there waiting her and tells her off for leaving him. Mid screaming at her he tells her that Snow ordered they get married Infront of the capital and all 12 districts so readers like offially suck with him and cant run away again.

(This was so long I'm so sorry, but I love your work sm!! ❤️)

My Pretty Little Bride

Summary: exactly what the request says

•

Warnings: Yandere!Finnick, kidnapping, drugging, emotional abuse, forced marriage, very small mention of what snow forces Finnick to do.

•

Hunger games masterlist. All masterlist

•

Taglist: @flowercrowns-goodvibes

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Finnick greeted as he walked into the kitchen. He placed a kiss on your head before walking over to stove. “What should we do for Breakfast?”

You ignored him, staring out the window. You were curled up on the window seat that looked out on the beach, giving you a perfect view of the ocean.

“What time did you get up?” You shrugged, making him sigh. “Don’t act like that, you’re the one who messed up our morning walks.”

The morning walks. It had taken months for Finnick to trust you enough to take you out. But you fucked it up when you tried to run last week. Instead of freedom, all you got was bruises along your body from him tackling you and dragging you back to the huge house he kept you locked in.

Finnick spent the morning ignoring you, as though you were a cat curled up on the window. He made breakfast, leaving yours at your normal spot while he ate his own. He cleaned the dishes, and excused himself to shower and change, leaving you alone again.

Before a year ago you didn’t know Finnick. Sure, you knew of him, everyone in district 4 did, but you didn’t know him. You weren’t even sure if you’d ever met the man before that morning. The morning you woke up in a soft, warm bed instead of the hard one you’d gone to sleep in. When you woke up in a strangers house that would become your prison.

The sun was almost completely up by the time you heard Finnick coming back down the stairs. You finally looked away from the window, seeing him for the first time that day. He was dressed up in nicer clothing, making your heart collapse. He only dressed like that when he was going to be seen by the Capital.

“I have to go to the Capital for a few days, maybe a week, for an event." He absentmindedly told you, checking his reflection in a mirror in the hall.

"What?"

A small smile grew on his face from the shakiness of your voice. Finnick knew the only thing you hated more than being locked up here with him was being locked up here alone.

Finnick turned and walked towards you, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to tip your head up towards him. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Everything in the house is stocked, and I'll be back in a few days." He pushed his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, not at all detoured by your lack of response. He gently caressed your face before stepping away with a sad smile.

You watched as he walked towards the door, and in a moment of desperation you ran at it. But of course, Finnick caught you in his large arms, swinging you both to face away from the door. "Don't you get tired of this?" He whispered against your neck while digging for something in his pocket. You hated how strong he was. Even now, as you used all of your body weight to fight against him, he only needed one arm to keep you pinned to his body. "Luckily I know you to well, my little bird. I was prepared." You caught sight of some sort of syringe, causing you to fight harder. Finnick sighed before pushing you against the wall roughly, making your head bounce against it. "Sorry, but I need you to be as still as possible." After a moment there was a sharp prick on your neck, and only seconds later your felt you fighting weaken. The room around you spun lightly as the corners of your vision went black. You went limp against Finnick as he whispered comfort into your ear. The last thing you hear being, "Just rest, little bird."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You woke up in your bed. The whole room was dark, and you were tucked securely into the bed. Your entire body protested as you sat up, shaking slightly from the energy it took. Your mind still foggy as you stood up. You knew what this was, some sort of sedative Finnick liked to use. It would not only knock you out but leave you someone sedated for a few hours after waking up. On shaky legs you made your way over to the window, pulling back the curtains. Outside was dark, the only light coming from the moon shinning on the ocean. You must have slept through the day.

You pulled yourself away from the window, and after becoming aware of how dry your mouth felt, you started the long journey to the kitchen. The victors house was large, but with the drugs running through your system, it felt even larger. The walk down the stairs and into the kitchen felt like it took a good hour for you to get down there.

It was exactly the same as that morning, the plate of uneaten food Finnick had left you still sat on the table and his own dishes were still in the sink. You grabbed a glass, filling it with water and gulping it down. You repeated the process, trying to get rid of the dry, sandy feeling in your throat.

After a few more glasses, you stopped for a moment to catch your breath. You looked outside, watching as the water crashed onto the beach. Like almost every other kid in district 4, you had loved the ocean and the beach, and now you felt just like you had as a child. Never allowed to go alone, being told how dangerous the water could be if you were alone, Finnick scolded you about these things the same way your mother had, like you were just an ignorant child.

You felt tears of frustration Well up in your eyes, and you truly felt like a child. You wanted to scream about how unfair it was, wanted to stomp your feat and throw things, but every time you had Finnick just laughed and watched you.

But Finnick wasn’t here. And every moment you were getting more upset, more angry, and after a moment you grabbed some random statue off the count and threw it as hard as you could.

You didn’t think about where you were throwing it, and jumped when it made a loud smashing sound, the window it had hit shattering. You froze, the kitchen in silence as you stood there, staring at the now broken window, one thought running through your head.

You had to get outside.

Despite still being shaky, you climbed onto the counter, and after a moment of struggling, you climbed out of the window. You could feel the glass cutting you in a few places, and the ground scratched your knees as you fell to the ground outside, but it didn’t matter. You were outside.

You pushed yourself to your feet, and took off running. You didn’t really have a destination in mind, but your feet led you to the beach in front of the house. You didn’t stop until the rough sand became wet and cold beneath your feet, some of it squishing up between your toes. The water splashing up against your feet as the waves came in, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m free…” you whispered, taking a step further into the water. “I’m free!” You yelled, spinning in a circle as waves of excitement rolled over you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this, and you couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping. You were out of that fucking house! Finally, you were free-

“Hey! What are you doing!?” A voice called out, making you stop your spinning and search for the voice. You found the source to be two peace keepers walking towards you, and you felt a new wave of relief rush over you. They would help you, get you somewhere safe.

“Please, I need your help,” you started towards them, but stoped, hands shooting up when a gun was pointed at you.

“Don’t move!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” You stayed still as they walked up to you.

“What’s your name?” The older looking one questioned.

“Y/n l/n, please, I was taken from my home a year ago by Finnick Odair. He’s kept me locked up in his house for a year, but I escaped and I really need help-“

“Calm down ma’am.” The younger one spoke. “We’ll take you somewhere while we sort everything out.”

A few hours later you were sitting in the city building, the few cuts you had were wrapped up, and a blanket was brought to you and wrapped around your shoulders. No one had really spoken to you, but you didn’t mind. Just being in a different building than that damn house was comforting.

A little bit later two feet appeared in your vision and you looked up at the head peacekeeper. “Please come with me,” he instructed before turning to walk away. You quickly jumped up to follow him. You struggled to keep up for a few minutes before you finally spoke up.

“Where are we going?”

The peacekeeper slowly came to a stop before looking over at you. You couldn’t fully read his face, but he looked slightly conflicted.

“I’m not really supposed to tell you this, but we’re taking you to the capital.”

“The Capital? Why-“

“President Snow is concerned about what happened considering it was with a victor.” The man rushed out. “Now come on, your train will be leaving in a few minutes.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The train ride, while nerve racking, was exciting. After seeing the same things day after day, the view out the train window was breathtaking. You spent almost the whole ride just sitting and watching. The only time you weren’t looking out the window you were eating the provided food.

Finnick didn’t cheep out on the food he provided at all, but what was provided on the train was beyond what you could imagine. An array of fancy food you couldn’t possibly know the names of, different meats and cheeses, soups and noodle dishes, and of course the large array of deserts. Cakes, cookies, puddings, and a sort of custard dish that you adored.

By the time you made it to the capital however, any excitement that had been rising in you had completely disappeared. You were meeting the president himself, and he was going to help you. Or you hoped he would.

The moment you stepped off of the train you were bombarded by a couple of peacekeepers who took you directly to a building where a new group of people took you. You had seen some photos of Capital citizens, but it still shocked you with how they were dressed. Over the top outfits and hair dyed colors you’d never seen before. You expected them to take you somewhere else, but instead they demanded you strip.

“What?! Why?”

“You’re meeting the president, you will look perfect.”

The next two hours were torture. The three complete strangers plucked and waxed your entire body, talking about you as though you were just an object for them to perfect. By the end of you were placed in a simple dress and your makeup and hair were done up all fancy. As you were once again led away you could hear the people who had prepared you giggling amongst themselves and you heard one say something along the lines of ‘he’ll love how she looks.’

You were led to a door and the door was opened for you. “I’m here please.” You didn’t argue and went into the room and the door was closed behind you. A small click was heard but you thought nothing of it as you walked further into the room. It looked like a large dressing room but there was also a bed on one wall.

A large vanity was set up, and glanced into it, shocked by what you said. You’d seen them adding the makeup, but you didn’t think it’d look this fancy. It looked like you were preparing for some sort of large event and your hair matched. It just confused you, why would the president, or anyone for that matter, require you to look this dressed up. And on top of that, the dress didn’t match the fanciness of the rest of you.

“Don’t you look pretty.”

You practically jumped as you quickly stood up and turned around to see Finnick coming out of a bathroom you hadn’t noticed. He was dressed in a black suit, a small white rose pinned to it. His hair was done up in the ‘perfectly messy’ look the capital loved.

Finnick started to walk forward as you took a step back, hitting the vanity. The man continued to approach you until you were trapped between him and the vanity. He reached up to brush his fingers over your cheek.

“You know, I was a little worried when I was pulled away from my duties to be told about you, but it was the best thing to happen to me.”

“I don’t understand…” you whispered.

“The president decided it would be a pefect event for the Capital darling to marry the love of his life live in front of the whole capital.”

All the color drained from your face as you realized what was happening. “No, no I don’t want to do this.”

“Too bad, what do you think is happening right now?” He motioned to the room around him. “I’m going to marry you in front of everyone and then the whole country will know that your mine, and if you know what’s good for you, you will be the perfect little wife for me.” You wanted to cry and Finnick pulled you into a hug. “Don’t cry little bird, we wouldn’t want to ruin your makeup.”

As he hugged you the door opened and a woman stepped in with a large wedding dress in toe. The woman’s appearance was as dressed up as the others you’d seen, but she had a theme. She looked to be a tiger of some kind.

“Here’s your dress.” Finnick announced as he pulled away from you. “Meet Tigeress, she’s the best designer in the country. We worked together to design your dress.”

You couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful dress. It was porcelain white with a deep neckline. The bottom of the dress had gems and seashells attached. As you studied the dress Finnick placed a small kiss to your cheek. “I’ll leave you to get ready, and I’ll see you at the end of the aisle.”

Before you new it you were in the dress, a bouquet of flowers were in your hands and you were walking down a long aisle as hundreds of eyes you didn’t know watched your every step, no idea that your life would end at the end of the walk. You were spaced out almost the entire time, mind barely comprehending what was happening to you. You did end up meeting the president at the reception of your wedding as he wished you a long and happy marriage.

“I’m sure the capital will live to watch your relationship, and family, grow.”

[itostea]

Apologies

When an argument spirals out of hand and you’re left to apologize.

TW/tags: none, angst with comfort, fluff, rin being the standard 

The house is quiet with only the wind rusting outside and the occasional chirping from the birds. The room is a bit dim, only saved from the fact that the sun is especially bright during this hour of the day. Even with the blinds still closed, a streak of sunlight peeks into the rooms.

The soft covers of the bed don’t feel that warm and your eyes sting from the lack of sleep. Your legs are cold and you think that you really should’ve dressed warmer last night. The house is uncomfortably quiet, a husk of its original form. Or maybe you’re just not used to not hearing the light breathing of your boyfriend when he sleeps. 

Your eyes drift to your lap and you sigh in defeat. Ah… I really messed up.

You haven’t seen him since last night: when your argument took place. You admit that you were being a bit too stubborn and insensitive to him, even when he was trying to help you resolve some of your own problems. Rin was awfully patient when it came to you–and his friends never failed to miss a chance to remind him of that. Even with his soft spot, last night was enough for him to tell you that he was going to stay at a friend’s house for a bit. You couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in your stomach.

Pensively, you recall the memories you had with him and how you let the anger take over you yesterday. It’s enough to make you tear up in frustration, with your body shaking slightly in panic that he could break up with you at any time. The sheets beneath you crumple as you grip onto the fabric and reflect. 

Yet, you’re not given much time when you hear the sound of the front door opening and indistinguishable footsteps against the wooden floor. You make eye contact with him the moment his head peers through the door and your heart immediately skips a beat. Even though you didn’t want it, it was almost subconscious for you to turn your head to the side to avoid his eyes–with your brain yelling at you to not ignore him. 

It’s silent, well past the line of awkward. The words you want to say don’t spill from your lips as easily as you want them to and all you can do is avert your eyes. Your fingernails dig even deeper into the sheets when you hear him come closer. 

You think he’s going to chastise you, condemn you for being so stubborn and irrational the other night. After all, you’ve seen him do the same to some of his teammates and it scared you. Your brows furrow more as you can see how close he is from the corner of your eye and you brace yourself–prepare yourself to be hit by a slew of insults. 

Instead, you feel his hand gently ruffle your hair as he pats your head. Your reaction is startling quick, with your head snapping to look up at him with a wide-eyed look. His expression is nothing but calm as he continues to play with your hair. It feels as if time stood still at this very moment, with only your heartbeat acting as the tick of the clock and his hand an escape to reality.

“I won’t force you to apologize.”  

Your lips part in astonishment and you’re really lost now–left speechless at the endearing way he gazes at you. There’s a light in his eyes, an almost lovesick glimmer that he can try to mask but can’t. 

You want to whine in disapproval when he removes his hand from your head to begin to set out for the door. This time, not even your pride can hold you back as you rush to grab onto his shirt from the bed. “Wait…” you mumble and flit your eyes back to him, feeling your breath stolen away as you’re confronted with the raw affection that lingers in his eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry…” 

Your hold on his shirt tightens as you eagerly wait for his answer. Once again, you’re tackled with Rin’s unpredictable behavior when it comes to you–gasping lightly when he kneels down to cup your face so he sees you eye-to-eye. He smiles fondly and he grazes a finger over your lips. “That wasn’t so hard now, wasn’t it?”

A tear falls and a fountain washes over you. You’re really crying now, tears drizzling down the apples of your cheeks and sniffles escaping you. Your body lurches forward as you jump him to the ground, face nuzzling into his shoulders as you whisper apologies against him. Your tears fall in multitude with his affirmations of “I know” and “Don’t cry.”

His hand settles on the curve of your waist as the other draws little circles over the small of your back. He presses little kisses on your neck to calm you down as his heart jumps in his chest from how tightly you were holding onto him and what his lack of presence did to you. 

You sniffle, leaning up. “Rin, I love you.” 

He hums in acknowledgement, peering down at your face with a smile. “Love you too.”

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #50] Jeon Jungkook... Again

warnings: a lil pda, exhibitionism, public escapades, no grace! no decorum! fingering, a lil titty worship, oral (m), cowgirl (yeehaw!), squirting, creampie, yum <3

notes: wow i wonder what song came out the week this chapter of bd was first published lmao

wc: 9K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

From across the table, Jeongguk cocks a brow. Hair devastatingly dishevelled, his lopsided grin is an indication not only of the alcohol in his system, but also of the way he kind of just feels drunk around you all the time. He could be as sober as a cold winter's morning, stark and frigid, and yet one look at you, one laugh escaping from your lips, one intrusion of your perfume upon his senses, and he'd go loopy.

This is nothing new. Nothing unprecedented.

But it's also never been so abundantly unashamed in front of your friends.

The slightly tempestuous look in his pretty features is all your fault - but it's your words causing it this time.

Embroiled with a conversation amongst friends, you're all a little loose-lipped. Saying things you'd maybe be a little shyer admitting sober. The topic of discussion is sex, and more specifically, how marriage changes it.

"Oh yeah?" He challenges you. "What makes you so sure you'd never lose the spark with Mr. Hypothetical Disco Ball?"

Jimin laughs at this. "Mr. Hypothetical-" He cuts himself off. Shakes his head. Is still smiling. "Yeah, alright, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk throws him a quick glance, but doesn't bite. Just grins. Turns his attention back to you. "Well?"

"Well, I just wouldn't," you shrug. "Sexual compatibility is like, one of the most important things in a relationship."

The candles flickering in the centre of the table illuminate you in the prettiest of lights, Jeongguk thinks. Now well past everyone's bedtimes, Seoyeon and Yoongi have retired to bed (which is what sparked the entire conversation in the first place). Dokyeom and Seobi weren't far behind, and Nabi's been off chatting with a slightly forlorn-looking Hayun. Part of you feels bad for chewing her out like you did, that the lasting memory of one of her best friends' weddings will be a confrontation with you, but your tolerance has been waning thin. It was only a matter of time until you snapped - and in all honesty, you don't think you were that bad.

Jeongguk hasn't even so much as looked in her direction for the entire evening. You wonder if it comes naturally, or if he's deliberately restraining himself, then decide it's better that you don't know.

Music hums through a small Bluetooth speaker, everyone serving the reception having gone home. A nightwatchman roams occasionally, not disturbing you.

Your less-than-subtle exchange on the dancefloor a little earlier was interrupted by Jimin chaotically rounding up the boys for a sing-along rendition of some song you'd never heard before but that they all knew by heart. A testament to their friendship. A staple in their lives before you met any of them. A show of their friendships. The kind that endure.

Watching on with a fond smile, you'd toyed with the bird around your neck.

Coming to stand beside you, Nabi was smiling, too. Said, "I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but she's not all bad. This has just been... hard for her."

And you don't doubt that this all has been hard for Hayun. She'd had a life up in Seoul that she'd given up when she ended it with her boyfriend. Came back to the city for her home comforts only to find a stranger sleeping in the bed that used to be hers. Suddenly didn't know her place and decided you were public enemy number one for stealing it from her.

Or at least, that's how you rationalise it in your head.

"You tell her to send me that text?" You asked a little nonchalantly. "I don't mind. I just want to know."

Nabi was silent for a moment. Sighed. "Thought it might help ease things a little."

Glancing across to her, you offered a small smile. "Was sweet of you to try." You looked back to the boys. Shrugged your shoulders. "It's hard to believe she wants things to be amicable when she does things like that at the dinner table."

Though you were looking ahead, you noticed Nabi nodding. "I'll speak to her."

"Don't worry," you said softly. "It's not the time, nor the place. I can handle her being shitty with me - I just don't want it to interfere with... well, whatever Gguk and I have going on."

"Seobi says you're together."

Denying it would have caused more harm than good by that point.

So you nodded.

"Yeah," you smiled, but it was weak. You didn't want it to seem like you were bragging, especially when it's not even technically accurate. "Yeah. We're together."

Nabi smiled then, too.

"Don't tell her I said this," she started, needing to mention no names. There's no chance in hell you'd tell Hayun anything. "But I'm glad you guys have worked things out. It's the happiest I've seen Jeongguk in a long time."

"Really?" You had chirped. You aren't sure what sparked the surprise - Jeongguk's happiness being out of character or that Nabi was glad you'd worked it out.

"Mhmm," she nodded, equally surprised you don't seem aware of this. That may be why you and Jeongguk are so well-suited - you're both clueless. It's sweet, she thought, even if a bit naive. "He doesn't realise how much of a mood-maker he is, either. When he's happy, the rest of them are too. Things have been really nice, lately."

There was no ulterior motive for Nabi's admittance. No attempt for it to mean anything more than exactly what she said.

Reaching out, she squeezed your arm. "I'll handle Yun. Don't let it ruin your night."

And so she's doing exactly that as the rest of you sit around a single table, half-finished bottles of wine topping up your glasses, or sometimes just being chugged straight from. It's making your life a lot easier, so you appreciate Nabi choosing to speak with Hayun now, but you do also fear a bit of an emotional reaction. You don't want to end the evening with a fight.

However, it's Jeongguk challenging you, now - and oh, how you adore it.

"There's more to a relationship than sex," he says. There's a heat to the way he says that word. Sex . It's sordid, in a way. Something you do. Do together. Alone. In the confines of his room, or yours. Beneath pouring showers, in cheap motel rooms. Nowhere too promiscuous, but it's never too late to change that.

It's a funny thing to think about, sex. How taboo it is, yet how fundamental it is to your lives. Everyone at the table enjoys it, in their own way. Has their own ideals. Preferences. Potentially the most personal of all secrets is how we like to be fucked.

The man opposite you knows all your secrets. Could recite, word for word, an idiot's guide to making you wet. Step one: be Jeongguk. Step two: tits. Step three: call you pretty. Or a slut. Or a pretty slut. Preferably a pretty slut, actually.

Of course, he could write sonnets about it too. Verses that would make angels weep, and the heavens open. Biblical, almost, is the way he adores his pursuits of sin with you. Can't comprehend that is a sin, because nothing feels more heavenly than being inside you. Fucking you. Filling you.

The way he shifts in his position slightly lets you know he's thinking about it. Is excited about the prospect of it.

And yet he's looking at you with eyes that are full of stars, twinkling in delight as they're laughing at you; at your embarrassment for all the times they've witnessed you come undone for him. Teasing, but not mocking. Never mocking.

He's not looking at you like he knows how you like to be fucked.

He's looking at you like he knows how you like to be loved.

"Maybe," you shrug, pushing such silly thoughts away from yourself. "And it's not top of everyone's priority list - but it's pretty high up on mine."

Danbi hums in agreement. "Nothing beats make-up sex."

"You wanna fight real quick?" Taehyung jokes, making her roll her eyes - but the way she looks at him would indicate that a fight is not needed for him to get what he wants. It earns a little laughter from the entire table, and segues the conversation onto some other nonsense about arguments, and how they're important in a relationship, too.

Wrapped up in conversation, you don't notice Jimin reaching for the cigar tin that had been tossed towards the centre of the table. He pops it open, the discussion around him drowning out the sound as he checks how many are left of Yoongi's stash.

Sitting beside him, Jeongguk glances down at the open tin, too. Leans in his chair a little and says something to Jimin you can't hear, but as they both get to their feet, you assume they're going for a smoke. Is confirmed when Jeongguk looks to you, and brings his fingers to his lips, imitating the gesture of taking a toke. Knocks his head to the side, eyes wide and warm, offering you the chance to join.

Shaking your head, you smile. Silently say that it's okay. You'll stay put.

He nods. Purses his lips into a pretty pout and presses a kiss into the air. There's a glimmer of light reflecting from his lips ring, and it catches the attention of Danbi, who watches the pair of you with a smile. When you blow a subtle kiss back, she rolls her eyes. Waits until Jeongguk has left, and Taehyung is embroiled in conversation with Hoseok and Namjoon to quietly say, "You guys are so cute, it makes me sick."

"Hm?" You hum with a smug little grin, taking a sip of your wine. "Who?"

"Oh, give over," she laughs. "You and Mr Hayun's future husband."

Now this does make you laugh. "God, she really was insufferable earlier, wasn't she?"

"Insufferable, insane, take your pick," Danbi nods. "How are you feeling about it all?"

It's a simple question, you think. One that should have a simple answer, but it doesn't.

On the one hand, Hayun made her bed. She can't be throwing tantrums, demanding that she should sleep in yours just because she doesn't like the sheets she chose.

You know it's not that simple.

"A little guilty," you awkwardly admit, only to be met with a look of bewilderment from Danbi. Laughing, you gesture to indicate it's not how it sounds. "No, I just mean... She's clearly suffering at the moment, isn't she? Why else be that be delusional?"

"Some people just are."

"Yeah, but she doesn't strike me as the type," you shrug. "Like, I don't understand how she would have fit into a group of friends like this acting like that , you know? Gguk said once that she's threatened by me, 'cause I've stolen her 'place' - and I just don't understand how the place I'm in could have ever belonged to her. There's gotta be more to it."

Danbi isn't so sure. Thinks that perhaps Hayun has always been awful - but Jeongguk also once told you that just because you've only seen the bad doesn't mean there isn't any good.

Which is funny, 'cause as Jeongguk exhales ashy air from his lungs, back against a wall separating a garden from a seating area, cigar in hand, he's saying the exact opposite.

"Just never realised how bad it was," he admits. Shakes his head. Passes the cigar over to Jimin, 'cause it's the last of the lot. "And now B has to bear the brunt of it. Just isn't fair."

Jimin nods as he takes a toke. The end of the cigar glows as he does so. Takes him a second or so to reply.

"Take it you heard what she said to DB earlier?" Jimin asks, to which Jeongguk nods. "Seobi?"

It's Jeongguk who nods, now, to let him know that yes, it was Seobi who told him. Just a casual comment said in passing. The mention of you, and how pleased she is for him. Teasing of his bashful smile, and then, "Hayun was trying to wind her up earlier."

"Hm?" Jeongguk had hummed.

"Something about a pact, and a frozen cake," is all Seobi had followed it up with. "Anyway, your girl's got a good head on her shoulders - just thought you should know."

He isn't really sure what he thought he had been expecting - that Hayun would come through with her promise of a white flag? No. He didn't think that at all.

It was part of the reason he didn't encourage you to make peace. Knew she'd do something like this. Knows, because she used to do it to him, too. Fight with him, and make him feel as if he'd done something wrong. Would always apologise first, just so that she could use it for their next inevitable argument. Would question the integrity of his dedication to their friendship. Say shit like, 'you never apologise' , or 'I'm always the one trying to fix things.'

A few moons ago, you had fought with Jeongguk over Hayun, and her ability to walk all over him. He had told you that she was trying to make things right, and he'd believed it. Believed her . Just like he always had done.

Makes him queasy to think of it, now.

These days he sees it for what it actually was; years of manipulation foolishly understood to be genuine care. The things she 'fixed' were only ever broken by her in the first place, and Jeongguk suffered in silence for fear of tarnishing her reputation. He didn't want people to think she was a bad person, because he genuinely did care.

Did. Past tense. Doesn't give a shit anymore, and also doesn't have to worry about her reputation. She's tarnishing that by herself, alone. He doesn't care to polish it. Will let it rust, and fall into disrepair, and she'll only have herself to blame.

Like the cake baked in the haze of his infatuation, his fondness for her was left to go stale by Hayun. He'd thrown the cake out before he'd even met you. Jimin's orders. An indication that perhaps it shouldn't have just been the cake - should have been the girl, too.

"I've already told her to back off," Jeongguk divulges as Jimin passes him back the cigar. "She's hell-bent on... I don't even know what. She's just being a pain in my arse."

"Well, that's exactly it," Jimin supposes. "Pain in your arse, thorn in DB's side. She's causing you both issues. Conditioning you to associate DB with, I dunno, the feeling of being annoyed, or whatever. Psychology. I reckon Joon'll know the right terms."

"Think the right term is 'being a bitch'," Jeongguk smirks, but is scornful in his tone. It's rare for him to speak so bitterly, and especially about Hayun, but at times like this, it's justified.

"You're not wrong," Jimin laughs. Is rather pleased at the change in Jeongguk's tone. Once upon a time, he thought he'd never see the day.

Jimin has seen Jeongguk through it all. Knows he has a tendency to go a little loopy when he thinks he's in love.

Jeongguk's not been like that with you. Okay, yes, fine, he's done some obscure things and is a little bit of a seasoned fibber now, when it comes to the nature of your relationship - but it's all harmless. Aced his exams even despite his infatuation, which is a rarity. He's perfectly smart and absolutely capable of getting the best grades, but often he lets his heart take priority over his head.

Stern in how carefully you made sure he studied, Jimin knows your influence on him was good. Knows you've the potential to help push him in the right direction for many years to come. Hopes that it will come naturally, and not as a burden.

"If you want Hayun to treat you guys with respect, then you've gotta do it too," Jimin adds after a moment of soft contemplation.

A frown settles into Jeongguk's features, affronted by the suggestion he doesn't respect you. Of course he does.

"Watcha mean?" He asks, a little agitated in his tone.

"In the sense that you keep downplaying what you are," Jimin says kindly, knowing that he's struck a nerve. Wants to remedy the situation, but also knows if anyone can be honest with Jeongguk, then it's him. "Now, you know I love you both - but if I have to hear either one of you say 'oohh, we're just friends' one more time, I will skin you both alive."

Admittedly, this does make Jeongguk smirk a little. "I feel like that's an overreaction."

"I feel like it's an underreaction. Has been driving me mad for months," Jimin deadpans, but Jeongguk knows he's joking. "Look, just sit with her when we go back in. Show us all, whether you explicitly state it or not, that you want to be with her."

Jeongguk doesn't reply. Just takes a final toke on the cigar before stubbing it out against the wall.

"Gguk," Jimin says softly. "Nobody cares what you do, or where you sit. There are only two other people in that room who will care, and only one of them has an opinion that should mean anything to you. Do what you like - but Noah would always sit next to Allie. Always."

The table you're all sitting around is large and round, with a tablecloth worth more than the dress you're wearing covering the surface. It drapes over your knees and keeps you warm in the chill of night that's taken hold of the venue. You could, of course, put Jeongguk's blazer back on, but it's currently over the back of your chair.

Though it's easy to forget, when the surroundings are so beautiful, you're still technically outside. The pavilion walls offer no shielding from nature - and that includes the bugs flittering around in search of light.

Thankfully, given the time of year, there aren't that many, and one of the candles has the citronella scent that you know is supposed to keep them away.

There's one pest that you don't mind intruding on your personal space, though, and as he chooses to take the seat beside yours, you're quietly pleased.

Glancing across, you welcome him back. "Hey."

With an arm resting on the table, the other falling to your lap, Jeongguk leans across and presses an incredibly small kiss to your shoulder. It's intrinsically natural, as if he's been doing it for years. Knows he'll be doing it for years to come, so what difference does it make?

Though you don't verbalise a response, you feel a warmth bloom on your cheeks, and a pretty smile on your lips. There's a shyness to you. An inability to know how to act.

He's sitting so close to you that your chair may as well become a loveseat. The scent of cigar smoke sticks to him. It dawns on you all rather quickly how much you'd like to taste it. You think of his tongue, and how it so often strokes against yours. The pressure of his lips. His hands on your waist. Pretty whispers in your ears.

The hand of his that had fallen to your lap takes advantage of the split up the side of your dress. Slips beneath the material. Grips your thigh.

And still, he says nothing. Is listening into the conversation beside him. Laughs at all the right times. Adds adlibs to the anecdotes of his friends.

Yet his grip remains firm.

It's not until he hears you embroiled in conversation with Namjoon and Hoseok that his grip eases - only to then trail higher.

Jimin was right. Noah would always sit next to Allie.

But Jeongguk isn't Noah. He never had to strong-arm you into a date. It just sort of happened.

Just like the birds, and the revelations of fears and everything that came as a result of them - they just sort of happened.

The one thing that was always calculated was the way in which he would touch you. How it would benefit you. Serve your purpose. Help you.

In turn, yes, it would help him but it was never the primary principle. Maybe it's wrong for him to associate emotional intimacy so much with physical acts, but he's always been this way. Jimin's earlier critiques ring in Jeongguk's ears. Part of him fear he's about to take things too far - but fears are made to be faced with you.

He doesn't make it obvious as he husks. "What's the word, B?"

There's only one word it could be. It's reserved for one thing, and one thing only - and the way Jeongguk's hand is getting closer and closer to the warmth of your pussy, it would suggest that's exactly what he's after.

"Chess," you reply, a little breathless at the fact he's asking you that in this moment. You think if he were to ever sit down and play chess, he'd get a boner instantly. Associates it too closely with fucking you. "Gguk-"

He turns to you for a moment. Smiles. Says, "Don't let me distract you. Say the word, and I'll stop," then returns to his own conversation. Acts as if his thumb isn't stroking across the lace of your underwear. Acts as if he isn't teasing you beneath table, with all of your friends around.

You lean forward a little in your chair to protect yourself from any prying eyes. The tablecloth hides you away, but you're not an idiot. Jeongguk's hand is under the table. Sure it'll probably just look like it's on your lap, but you know it isn't.

He grips your thigh. Pulls your legs apart just a tiny bit. Just enough so that his index and middle finger can press against you.

It takes everything in you not to gasp.

Instead, you make a point to contribute to the conversation. "Yeah, but he's a little overrated, don't you think?"

Namjoon and Hoseok focus their full attention on you. Are shocked you would say such a thing.

You're shocked by the way Jeongguk begins to pulse the pressure of his fingers.

He's in his own conversation with Danbi. Is laughing. Sounds so pretty. You bet he looks it, too. God . The way he feels is divine. Takes everything in you not to react.

"I'm sorry?!" Hoseok shrieks.

"Yeah, sorry, gonna have to agree to disagree on that one," Namjoon says. "KAWS is an icon."

"But everything is so... samey," you argue. Truth be told, you like the novelty of his collections, and remember the first time Hoseok managed to snag one of his pieces. His sheer elation at owning some of his favourite artists' work is enough for you to like KAWS by association at the very least. You're just to say something that will get them talking - 'cause the docile roaming of Jeongguk's fingers is getting harder to ignore. "Hobes, have you told Namjoon about yours?"

A little bashful but desperately wanting to boast, Hoseok jumps at the chance - and just in time because you need to give Jeongguk a look.

Not a ' chess ' type look. Just a ' why the fuck are you the hottest man alive?' look.

"Hm?" he hums when he clocks you glancing over to him. "You good, B?"

He speaks loudly. Makes your conversation known. Not secret.

"Yeah," you say, and it's remarkable how controlled your voice is, given the fact he's now pushing your underwear to the side. It's just a thong. No hardship - though he'd rather you weren't wearing one at all. "All good. You?"

There's a little height to your pitch. Beneath his slacks, Jeongguk's cock throbs.

"Perfectly fine, baby."

"Baby?" you smirk at the public use of such a name. No one else is listening to your conversation - but they could be, and that's what makes it so erotic. That, and that fact he's playing with your pussy, but that's neither here nor there. Quietly, hiding the conversation now, you ask, "Why?"

All he does is shrug. Smiles. Pulls his hand from between your legs and is insatiably pleased to see a frown automatically appear in the form of a pretty little pout on your lips. He almost thinks you whine, but it's so cutely quiet it's hard to tell.

He glances across to the rest of the table, making sure no one is paying attention to you - then subtly brings his fingers to his lips. Anyone looking would think resting them in a contemplative pose. Wouldn't notice the small kiss against the side of his index finger, or how it hides his tongue swiping the taste of you off of it.

You say nothing. Swallow.

Eventually, he replies all rather nonchalantly.

"Said it's important," he reminds you. Clarifies, "That sex is important for longevity." From the corner of his eye, he can see Nabi and Hayun returning to the table. Boner killer. "You wanna head back to the rooms?"

You've spotted them, too. Know it's probably why he wants to leave.

But you shake your head.

"I never said chess," you shrug. Turn your focus away from him, and lean so that your elbows are on the table, obscuring anyone's view of your lap.

Taking the bait, Jeongguk also resumes his previous position. Smirks, and knocks his head to the side when he lowers his hand only to find your legs already spread for him. "Fair play, B. Checkmate."

Oh, it's serene hearing him declare you a winner as Hayun takes her seat. He pays her no attention as his middle finger slips straight beneath the lace, and sinks into your soaked hole. His depth is shallow, the positioning not ideal, but you know this isn't about an orgasm - and it makes you wanna whine.

Still, you glance back and whisper, "Don't make me cum."

He breathes out an airy laugh. Shakes his head with a smile so bright it could blind. "You think I'd give them the luxury of witnessing that?"

"Touche," you say, but cut yourself short as he gets a little deeper and closer to your sweet spot. You know if he gets it, you're in trouble. Still, you temper your reaction. Subdue it - but he can feel you clenching. He knows.

Taking a sip on your wine, you clock Hayun's eyes on you. Raise your brows. Smile, as you put your glass back down. Raise one of your hands in front of your mouth as you lean across to Jeongguk and whisper, "You ever do this with her?"

He turns to you. Is stern in his gaze. Pushes his index finger into you, too. Smirks as a soft groan catches in your throat, just for him to hear. "Never."

You nod. Smile. Are satisfied with his answer, and how he feels as his fingers begin to gently scissors inside you. The way you wanna moan for him is outrageous. Would do anything he asks of you right now.

"Good."

Jeongguk has done so much with you that he'd never dare of doing with anyone else. You've sparked something in him; started a fire that he doesn't think will ever burn out. It's almost like there's a star where his heart once was.

"What about you, DB?" Jimin calls across the table, getting you involved in his conversation. Hayun is sitting beside him, so you know that's exactly why he's doing it.

"Hm?" you hum for clarification, and Jeongguk doesn't even think about stopping what he's doing. Your chin rests in the palm of one of your hands, while the other goes to wrap around his wrist and give you a little bit of control - also makes it look like you're holding hands, but that's totally not what you want Hayun to think is happening.

He's gentle as strokes upwards. Moves only his fingers. Is as subtle as he can be.

"Playing would you rather," he explains. "Big honeymoon or big wedding?"

"Oh, honeymoon, for sure," you say. Look across to Jeongguk, and say, "You?"

His eyes are soft as he looks at you as if he isn't two knuckles deep inside you. "You said honeymoon?"

You nod.

He reciprocates.

"In that case," he faces Jimin again. Smiles. Brushes his thumb against your clit. "Honeymoon."

It's taking everything in you not to fucking fold.

You're so wet that you're pretty sure there must be indicators of your arousal on your dress, which mortifies you - but you need to leave. Need him alone.

"Gambit," you say beneath your breath, eyebrows knitting together as your body twists ever so slightly.

And he just fucking laughs. Admittedly, he does slow his fingers, which is ideal, then husks, "Gambit? Who the fuck taught you that?"

"Google," you reply, and he notices how breathless you seem to be. The eyes you're looking at him with are desperate. Repeat the chess term: "Gambit."

He nods. Pauses his movements completely. It's not 'chess', but he's understanding you need a breather.

"You wanna go, B?"

The way you nod - eyes all wide and pitiful, lips pouty and desperate for him - revokes any ability he has to be difficult.

"Okay, baby," he nods back. "Give me a couple of minutes, okay?"

Glancing down to his lap, you know exactly why he can't stand - and it's the exact same reason you hope you won't be able to stand properly come tomorrow morning. Slowly pulling his fingers from you, Jeongguk is careful. As hot as it was knowing he was inside you and nobody knew, the awareness of exactly what he was doing dawns on him. Would mortified if anyone realised. In fact, if they knew, he might just die.

His desire to work you up in front of other people has been a work in progress. Since that first time he teased you about fucking you right so that Jimin could learn pointers from him, it's grown and grown. There's something incredibly sordid about it. He doesn't even realise how fast his heart is beating. Thought he'd had control on the situation, but it was more like the situation had control on him.

Fingers wet, he keeps them on your thigh. Not really caring about your own mess, you put your hand over his. Intertwine your fingers. Are aware of how nasty and dirty it is - but it only makes you want him more.

You've both had a few too many drinks. Are both in the market to make some bad decisions.

And as you excuse yourselves from the table a couple of minutes later, Jeongguk's blazer over your shoulders, your arm wrapped around his waist, everyone knows exactly what's happening.

"Not on my bed!" Jimin calls after you both, as the rest of your friends joke and tease at your expense - as if they wouldn't do the same.

"Fuck off," Jeongguk yells right back, but is smiling as he does so. Presses a kiss to your hair. Whispers, "Ignore them."

"What?" you giggle. "Are we not gonna do it on his bed?"

"No, we're not," Jeongguk laughs right back. "Though now you mention it, when we're back home, we should probably rectify your lack of orgasms in his bedroom-"

"We are not fucking in his room."

" Sure ."

Truth be told, you'll fuck Jeongguk anywhere - especially when you're as desperate as you are now.

The pair of you haphazardly make your way back to the hanoks. There's not a second that goes by that isn't filled with laughter or mumbles of adoration. Occasionally, he'll pull you in for a kiss, and sometimes you'll do the same. It's all very sickening.

Above you, carefully planned by the happy couple for their big day, a full moon smiles down on you. Bathes you in her light. The skies are clear, stars abundant, yet none shine as brightly as the pair of you do.

When you reach your home for the night, Jeongguk wastes no time. Kicks off his shoes, and as you're getting rid of yours, he unhooks Hoseok's name from your door, and swaps it with his own.

"What?" he grins when you reprimand him. "It'll give him and Joon a chance to snuggle up."

"Jimin'll be a third wheel, again," you laugh pitifully.

"Maybe," Jeongguk nods, pulling around your waist to get you closer. Presses a teeny tiny kiss to your nose. "You have any idea how much I would have killed for the chance to snuggle up with you from the get-go? I'm doing them a favour."

"Oh, so you've always been obsessed?" You tease.

"Obsessed," he nods, and sinks down into a kiss. "Plus who knows - maybe Jimin will snuggle with them too. I hear polyamory is getting popular these days."

"Are you saying you wanna be poly?" you raise a brow, deliberately winding him up.

"Not a fuckin' chance," he grins. Keeps holding you tight as he guides you both to the room that now has both of your names on the door. He locks it as soon as you're inside, 'cause there's no way he isn't getting you naked tonight. "Never sharing. Too greedy." There's a tenderness to his hands as he cups our jaw. Pulls you in for a kiss, lips soft, tongue timid. As he pulls away, nose nudging again yours, he whispers, "I want to be with you, B. I don't care about the dates. Nothing will change between now and finishing them."

"If that's the case, there's no harm in waiting?" you toy with him a little, secretly in full agreement. You just like to wind him up a little too much for your own good.

"'Cause I don't wanna," he simply states. Pulls back a little and removes his touch from your skin. Hangs his head, chin to his chest. Shakes it. Looks at you once more, and you swear his eyes have never had such a gravitational pull to them before. You wanna drown in them; sink into his abyss. But then he frowns, and says, "I need to know that this what you want, 'cause if you turn around decide that you don't, I-"

The way he cuts himself off is painful.

"Gguk," you say, reaching for his hands. Pull him closer. "Hey?" you whisper, a hand on his cheek, aligning his gaze with yours. "I want you in any capacity you'll let me have you."

It's true. You want him as your lover, but you'll take him as your friend, if that's what he so desires. Feel honoured to know him. Think that perhaps he was put on this earth just for you.

"All of them," he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. There's a neediness to him now. Desperation. "Every capacity that exists. Every universe, every reincarnation, all of it. B, I want it all."

"You're right," you smile, pressing your lips up against his. "You are greedy."

"Told you so."

It's sweet, the way Jeongguk plonks himself down on one of the floor mattresses. Cute how he pouts, and reaches out for your hands. Adorable, even, when he gently pulls you onto his lap.

You're still in his blazer, so he pulls it open a little and dips his hand into the inside pocket. You'd noticed something in there earlier, but had just assumed it was a pen, or a lighter. It's his jacket after all, not yours.

Which is why you're so pleasantly surprised, all purry and pliant, when he pulls a tube of your liquid glitter from it.

"You wore less than normal today," he says. It isn't critical. Just an observation.

"Was worried it'd look weird in the photos," you admit. It was one of many reasons you chose to tone it down.

Watching with a fond smile as Jeongguk unscrews the cap, you say nothing. Just wait for him to hold the end of the wand by your face. Tilt your head ever so slightly so that he has access to your cheekbone.

"Would have looked pretty," he hums, as he begins to dab it against your skin. Smiles, when it begins to sparkle. Taps it out with his finger. Gets himself all glittery, too. Curls his finger and uses it to turn your chin and give him access to your other cheek. Repeats his steps. "The glitteriest girl."

Almost as if you're only just realising, you smile. "You really like the glitter, huh?"

The way Jeongguk nods, nibbling down on his bottom lip, looking at the glitter as he taps it out, has your heart beaming. "You know I do."

"Sometimes I forget," you smile a little cheekily, flirting with him for the sake of it.

Realigning your head, Jeongguk admires his handwork. Says, "Well, you shouldn't. I love it."

There's a silence between you both that is equal parts comfortable and terrifying. He could have just said he likes it. He chose to elevate the way he feels about your trivial little cosmetic choices. Deliberately, you think.

Are unaware that it was totally mindless. Uncalculated. Just a simple truth. He loves your glitter.

Nose nudging up against his, your body begins to move in a way that gets Jeongguk a little breathless. Glitter discarded to the side, his hands take command of your waist. Lets you take control of this moment, but is still very much an active participant.

Lips pressing down into his, you revel in the sensation of Jeongguk; how his stunted breaths feel against your cheek, exhaled through his nose, how with every press of his lips, his hands get tighter, too. There's something impressive about the tandem way in which his body works. He's forever aiming to please. Tries so hard.

And as you begin to grind against the bulge in his trousers, he's trying his best not just to give in and let you have him. Not for any reason. Just 'cause he always wants this to last as long as it possibly can.

While you'd normally agree, you're too needy to play the long game.

Reaching down for his belt, you're pleased that he lets you. Pleased when he pushes the blazer off your shoulders and down your arms. You shake it off, while he finishes unbuckling his belt.

"Sure?" he asks, just because he doesn't want you to regret not living up to the five-date rule.

"Positive," you nod, lips crashing against his as your hands clumsily race to unbutton his shirt. He reciprocates, pulling on the bows tied above your shoulders, letting your dress fall to reveal the barely-there underwear you're wearing. It's the dresses fault. You hadn't planned on looking so scandalous, but it was the only bra of yours that wouldn't show.

Mesh with a little lace detailing over your nipples, Jeongguk's never seen it before. Is always pleasantly surprised when he's greeted with a new way to find you unbearably sexy.

"God, I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he grits, not even realising he's saying it before he tugs the mesh down. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking without hesitation. Your head is thrown back, the sensation so terribly missed. Hands in his hair, your body is his to devour.

Tongue swirling around your hardened bud, he truly is a new man because of you. Seldom days pass without thoughts of your tits, and how much he likes to suck on them. Something about it just gets him so hard. He knows he could probably work out some primal reason to do with fertility or whatever the fuck it is, but he doesn't care to. All he cares about is how much cock aches in his pants whenever he's got your nipples in his mouth.

"So good," you whine. "Fuck."

He switches sides, caressing your other nipple with his thumb to keep the pleasure going. He'd do this for hours, if you let him. Doesn't realise you totally would.

Humming a purr of pleasure as he sucks, Jeongguk lashes splay over his cheeks. He's so pretty when he's like this, you always think. So gorgeous when he's yours.

"Keep doing that, baby," you whine, and the sweetness of such a name makes him whine, too.

Pulling away for just a moment, Jeongguk dapples your chest in kisses as he presses your tits together. Manipulates them to get your nipples as close together as he possibly can - then wraps his lips around them both.

The curse you let out is euphoric. Has him smiling.

His tongue is wet as he licks across your nipples, head darting from side to side. He keeps your tits pressed close together and builds his speed. Doesn't ease up, but occasionally he does dip forward ward to suck on one of your nipples quickly.

It's as he's doing this that you get to work on his trouser buttons, desperate to do the exact same thing to his cock.

Pulling away, you strip yourself of your dress as Jeongguk rids himself of his clothes. It's frantic in a way that you haven't known for quite some time. Desperate. Pathetic.

And yet as you're greeted with the sight of his swollen cock, all big and engorged, leaking at the tip from how badly he wants to be inside you, you pause. Let the breathlessness of your chest heave as you get into position between his legs.

Slow as you sink into a feline pose, one of your hands instantly wraps around the base of his thick cock. "I've missed this so much."

Jeongguk grunts. "It's missed-" your tongue runs up his shaft. "Oh, fuck."

Words are difficult for him to form as you take his cock in your mouth. Just like him, you're not wasting any precious time. All you want is to make him feel good - and as your mouth wets him, tongue caressing, hand tight around his base, he knows he'll never love another pair of lips more (though your pussy is a close second (or joint first ( undoubtedly joint first))).

"Fuck," he grits as his hand tangles in the back of your hair, pushing you a little further onto his cock. There's something about this loss of autonomy that gets you wild. Makes you wanna submit to each and every one of his commands - and so you sink down even deeper than he's making you. Indicating permission for him to be rougher - but instead, grip still at the base of your hair, he pulls your back. Is unbelievably turned on by the breathlessness of you, pouty lips covered in spit, desperate to be around his cock.

It only serves to make you fucking drip when you realise he's panting too. "Need a chess gesture," he husks. Wants to be rough, but you're both drunk. Doesn't think it's the right time. "Can't say it when you're giving head."

"I'll just hit your leg, or something," you tell him, not giving a fuck and dipping back down to take him again - but his grip on your hair says otherwise.

"Uh-uh," he grunts, using the grip to pull you up again. There's something so innately dominant about it that makes you whine. He pulls you further upwards, dropping a hand to your waist to help his agenda. Gets you on his lap. His tongue in your mouth. His grunts in your throat. His heart in your chest. "I've missed this so much. You know how many times I've watched those videos?"

You know the ones he's talking about; the one filmed together in moments of lewdness. Moments that would look tame compared to how animalistic you both are now.

"Tell me," you pant, as you begin to grind against him, desperately hoping he'll choose to push up inside you.

"On repeat," he whispers against your throat, nipping it with his teeth. "Watched them on fuckin repeat, B."

"Yeah?" You purr. "You like watching me play with myself?"

"You know I fuckin' do."

"It makes you cum?" You ask, as if it even needs an answer. You just like it when he gets all chatty. Have missed how loose his lips get when the blood rushes from his brain to his balls.

" You make me cum," he grunts, all dignity evading him. Swears down he wouldn't even get close to an orgasm if it wasn't you in those damn videos. "I watch you , and I think about how you feel, how you taste. How you smell. Fuck. I see you like that, and it makes me wanna see it in motion all over again. 3D. Off-screen. Videos are good, but fuck ."

"This is better?" You softly whine as you finally sink down onto his cock, unprotected, and frankly without a fuck to give.

"You really do ask some stupid fuckin' questions," he smirks. Presses his lips into yours. Is rough. Doesn't care for perfection. Pushes deeper into you, and revels at the way your body stretches for him, the whine in your throat an indicator of just how badly you've needed this. "Normally so smart when you're on my cock, arent you? Huh? What's got you so dumb today, baby?"

Does he really expect you to form cognitive thoughts when his thick cock is stretching you out for the first time in forever? He must be mad.

"You," is all you manage to husk before his lips crash down onto yours, hips pulsing into a rhythm that has you moaning into his mouth. "Gguk-"

"That's it, baby," he whines. "Taking me so well."

There's an undeniable chemistry between you both; an acknowledgement that sex has never been like this with anyone else. That if you lose this, you'll never find it anywhere else. Jeongguk knows it just as damn well as you do. Refuses to let that ever be a reality.

His eyes drop to where your bodies meet, his thick shaft pushing into your swollen pussy. Finds himself breathless. Swallowing. Groaning, "Tell me how it feels."

He needs confirmation that you're going out of your mind like he is - and of course you are. It's the whole reason you can barely speak.

"So good," you gasp out. "Making me feel so good."

"Yeah, baby?"

"Yeah," you nod helplessly, brows furrowed, mouth ajar. There's a beauty to the way you bounce on his cock, and how the rest of your body moves too. Jeongguk thinks you should be in one of those red-light district shows in Amsterdam. Knows he'd pay an insane amount of money to watch you have sex - but the fact he gets to fuck you? For free? Ain't no way he'll ever take it for granted. Brushes his thumb against your clit and squeezes at your chest. He wants you to know how much he desires every single part of you. "Fuck, Gguk."

"Shush, shush, shush," he hushes you fondly, covering your mouth with his hand, pulling your chest down to his. Your hair cascades around his face, and he's glad for it. Wants to suffocate in everything you are. "Too loud, gorgeous."

"Thought you wanted people to know?"

"I want them to know I make you moan," he teases, uncertain of when your friends will head back, too. "Don't want them to know how you moan."

He's got a funny way of showing it as his arm wraps around your back to hold you in place as his hips begin to pulse up into you at such a speed you can't help but whine. His spare hand claps your wrists and holds them behind your back, too, rendering you at his complete mercy.

"Shhh," he coos, as if you can stop.

The only option is to bite down on his shoulder - and he finds that it only serves to turn him on even more.

"Good girl, baby," he praises. "Keep it quiet."

"Fuck you," you pant, but have to bite down again immediately with the way his hips thrash against yours. He's deliberately making this hard for you. Enjoys the way you can barely contain how he makes you feel.

There's a silkiness to the way he fucks you, his cock fitting you perfectly. The warmth of your walls and the pace of his hips creates a sensation that could never be matched. Will never be matched.

Turning your head to the side, you press kisses up his neck, barely able to control your whines. He tilts his head to meet yours, and kisses you without reservation. Is utterly consumed. The weight of your body on top of his is so comforting, and yet the sensation of your hot walls tightening around him is insanely sexy. You make him feel a dozen different emotions with each passing second. It's overwhelming. Unbearable. Too good to ever stop.

"Babe," you whimper as a familiar sensation begins to make itself known.

"I know," he nods. "Me, too. Oh God, you're so fucking good, baby."

You shake your head. You don't think he does know. Use all your core strength to sit up. He lets you without hesitation, and drops his grip. Knows you're gonna do whatever you need to do to make this good for yourself - and you start rubbing against yourself with more speed than he thinks he's ever seen, he realises what you meant.

There's a soft whine reserved for moments like these; that only come with orgasms like this one. Jeongguk wants to bottle them up. Save them forever. Instead, just has to drink them in, and watch on as the most beautiful, outrageous display of sensuality he's ever seen takes place right in front of him.

"Oh, fuck," he curses. Nods. Encourages. "All over me, baby. C'mon, Byeol. You know how I like it. Squirt for me."

His hips pick up the pace. He knows you need it. Knows that it only happens when you're overwhelmed by pleasure, and needs it more than he needs his own orgasm. Isn't even thinking about it.

The way you're whining, all breathless and pathetic, is like music to his ears. Spanking against your clit, you feel a numbness in your arms. The control you have is waning, the state of pleasure simply too much. It shoots from your toes to your tummy, and then there's nothing you can do except let the onslaught of your pleasure gush around his shaft.

"That's it," he encourages, still pulsing his hips for you. "Yeah, you got it, baby. That's it- fuck ."

Whimpering as you soak him, you can barely manage to get a word out, but manage to stutter, "Inside. Inside ."

He doesn't need telling twice. Waits until he can't take the clenching of your walls any longer, but can't wait it out entirely. Groans as his cock pumps into your pussy, coating your walls with his thick, hot, cum. The way his whines, eyes closed, back arching, chest stuttering is pathetic. Lewd. Gorgeous.

Collapsing down onto his chest, you can't speak. Nor can he. Are in a mutual state of fucked fucked out bliss. You're breathing far too heavily. It's a miracle you can breathe at all.

One of his hands lazily comes to rub up and down your back. Though he doesn't utter a word, you know that he's feeling the exact same way you are.

Soft in how he touches you, Jeongguk presses a kiss into your hair. Rubs a flat palm over his face. Exhales the deepest breath known to man, and eventually says, "I'm never going that long without fucking you ever again."

You laugh now, still breathless. "Almost forgot how good it was."

"Liar," he smiles, and presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, now. "The way we fuck, B... You don't forget shit like that."

Turning your head, you press a sweet kiss into his lips and ignore the uncomfortable dampness between you both.

The world is always quiet in the comedown of sex with Jeongguk. It's like there's an emptiness, for nothing will ever compare. You're not sure if it's a lifetime or mere minutes before you both eventually get up. A shower is needed and your friends are yet to head to bed, so you're in the clear. Shower together in one of the two shared bathrooms amongst you all. Jeongguk holds you constantly. Washes you. Kisses you endlessly. Treats you with such adoration you don't think you'll ever be able to convince anyone you're 'just friends'.

Tucked in the corners of the Hanok, the journey to your room from the bathroom is only six or seven steps. Wrapped in fluffy white towels - packed by Jeongguk, of course - you're both in a state of bliss as you begin to walk to your room. It'd be perfection, if the grating voice of a little shit who loves being proven right didn't start cackling.

"Hello, lovers," Jimin beams.

"Oh, fuck," you say in unison.

Thing is, it's not just Jimin.

It's everyone .

Jeongguk does not have the capacity to deal with any of them. Hurries you into your room.

"Get fucked, Jimin," he calls back, the sound of his housemate's laughter echoing into the night.

"I'd tell you the same," Jimin yells back with absolute joy as the door slams behind Jeongguk. "But I'm pretty sure you already have!"

[mopeyy]

Eetu x reader pls? Maybe it’s after zommy dies and the reader heard that eetu was missing (he’s her mate) then he makes it back to the hometree and explains what happens and it’s just angsty and fluffy as she comforts him.

You hissed as another bracelet broke under your tense fingers. It was hard to focus on crafting when eetu had still not returned from his hunt. You were worried for your mate. What if something had happened to him? What if the sky people finally got too close? They were staring to become more bold with each day, and you could not seem to convince Eetu that hunting far from hometree would only put him in danger. "I'll be fine, you worry yourself yawntutsyìp." He'd say, pressing a kiss to your temple and leaving for his hunt. Well now you had a reason to worry. It was already dark outside, the glowing plants of pandora coming to life, and Eetu was still not home. Your anxious thoughts came to an end when you heard a commotion coming from the entrance of home tree.

You raced towards the noise, forgetting all about your bracelet making and only hoping that it was Eetu who had returned. The Na'vi were all crowding around something, blocking you from seeing. You pushed through until you were right in front of the crowd. When you got there, all you saw was the Sarentu, standing infront of someone and blocking your view. The Sarentu's eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on you. They dipped their head down as though they felt guilty, before stepping to the side, revealing the person behind them.

You saw that it was no other than your mate, Eetu. His side was bleeding profusely, the wound was covered by his hand so you could not see the extent of his injury, but based on his expression and the way he could hardly stand, you assumed the worst. When his eyes found yours in the crowd you didn't hesitate to walk towards him. His hand found your shoulder, using you as support so he could properly stand. You lifted your hand up to his face, running your thumb along the new cuts on his cheekbone. "y/n, I- hmph" He couldn't even finish his sentence before grunting in pain and almost falling as he stood. Your ears pinned to your head, scared at seeing his pain.

You waved over a healer from the crowd who helped you bring Eetu to the healing area of home tree. You sat at his side while the healers began to make quick work on his wound. When you saw them pull out a bullet you couldn't help but be upset. You had told him to be careful countless times, yet his need for adventure always gets the best of him before he gets hurt. He noticed the change in your expression, reaching to hold your hand in his. You looked at your held hands, before moving your eyes up to his face. He looked upset, and not just because he had been shot, but because of something else. You were sure that something had happened when he ran into the sky people.

After a while the healers cleared Eetu and he was allowed to go. You helped him up to your shared room in home tree and lowered him down so he could take a seat. The room was silent, and you decided to speak first. "Are you hungry? I think the gatherers brought in your favourite fruit today. I could go grab you some if you'd like." He was turnt towards the open side of your room, where the sky was on full display. "Im not hungry, thank you." he replied, eyes not moving from the view infront of him. You sighed before moving to take a seat next to him. You tilted your head to face him, watching him admire the sky.

You placed your hand on his arm, "You know you can talk to me, right tìyawn?" He turned towards you, looking at you for a moment. Suddenly he was pulling you into a hug. He tucked his head into your neck, and you felt a wetness hit your shoulder, a tear. He let out a shakey breath before speaking, "The sky people showed up out of nowhere. I tried to escape them with Zomey but I-I had to fight. I got trapped inside of their metal bird. I could hear them shooting at Zomey. Mocking her." His grip on you tightened, "The sarentu found me and let me out, but by the time I got to Zomey she was...it was too late." Your face dropped. Your mate loved his Ikran, they had been bonded for a long time, going through everything together. They had the same spirit, the same love for flying and hunting. A big part of Eetu was gone. You brought your hand up to his hair, softly stroking it. "Im so sorry Eetu. To lose a bond is unimaginable." He lifted his head up from your shoulder, shaking his head with pinned ears. "It is all my fault, I should have listened to you. I went too far out and my carefree actions got Zomey killed, and I wasn't able to protect her." He hung his head in shame. You had never seen your mate so upset, "tìyawn it is not your fault, it is the sky people. They kill without need. Do not blame yourself." You brought your hand up to his face to wipe the tears from his eyes. He leaned into your palm and moved closer to rest his forehead against yours. "She is at peace now, with eywa." You whispered, hoping to bring him some form of comfort.

"I can make you a bracelet with one of her feathers in it, if you'd like" You suggested. He let a small smile pass onto his face before pressing a kiss to your temple, "That would be nice, thank you."

[stargazedwinchester]

Begin Again | Sam

This one is part of my Taylor’s Version series! View the masterlist here <3

Summary: After leaving a toxic relationship, your facade of a white picket fence life can’t fool the eyes of your friendly neighbor Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Small flashback regarding toxic relationship

This one is a little different from the original Supernatural storyline at the start, Sam does have a white picket fence life and is still a hunter, just in case it's not clear enough in the story :) also part 2 maybe?? let me know!!

"I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does Is break and burn, and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again"

Word count: 1,082

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

“Fuck!” You shout, only just dodging his hit. You see the rage glow in his eyes, your cheeks are flushed maroon and your forehead sweating. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he states, his eyes fixated on you. He lunges forward with his fist clenched so hard his knuckles are white.

“No!” you shriek, taking the blow. You try your best to defend yourself but end up staggering into the china cabinet. You cower toward the floor, tensing your arms and legs hoping to be able to cover yourself from any more hurt.

It doesn’t help.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

A few days had gone by at this point and you’re finally allowed outside to go grocery shopping. Carrying the bags from your car, the sun shines lovingly on your face. Birds are chirping. There’s a couple of kids out playing fetch with their dog on the street. Sometimes days like this don’t make you feel any better than the Hell you’re living in. If anything, they help emphasise your insecurities that are made a hell of a lot worse because of that dipshit back home.

You don’t want to go home.

“Hey,” a voice startles you from behind. You turn to the left and see your new neighbour walk down the porch stairs. “Oh, hey Sam.” You greet him, a half-forced smile planted on your face as you squint from the sun.

“How you doing?” He asks, placing his hands on his hips, acting completely naturally. You nod hesitantly. “Yeah, I’m good. You?” Conversations with him are a little awkward for many reasons. He had just moved in last week. He had probably heard what happened the night before and he’s also extremely good-looking. You can’t look him in the eye. It’s too daunting.

“Yeah, uh, I’m sorry to bring it up—“He gets cut off and your boyfriend slams the front door and shouts something over at you. His face reveals that he’s mad and this time you have no idea why. “I’m sorry,” You whisper, “I need to go.” You finish, rushing off and leaving him standing there. His eyes never left you. Sam sighs and turns around to go back inside, keeping his gaze fixed on you to ensure that you make it inside without your boyfriend making a scene.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

It had been a couple of weeks and Sam had tried to talk to you about what he heard that night, but you never brought it up again. Maybe he had a change of heart and thought that if he brought it up, it could cause an issue, or even have upset you. Sometimes bringing things back up isn’t worth the hassle.

You haven’t seen him much, except for this 1967 Chevy Impala that parks outside every other day in the early hours of the morning where you can have a tiny bit of freedom from your everyday life. Window-watching and reading books in the moonlight has been your escape for as long as you can remember. But this time, instead of Sam, and you assume his brother, leaving toward the car, he makes his way over and attempts to peer through your window. Although he can’t see anything, he turns to his brother and says something, pointing back at your window.

Out of pure curiosity and some courage, you attempt to open the window without your boyfriend noticing. You slide it up, turning around to check on him each time. You’re damn lucky he’s a heavy sleeper.

“What are you doing?” You whisper-shout, confused as to what they’re talking about.

“What do you mean? Why are you awake?” He shouts back.

“You’re at my window, pointing at me with this strange man. So tell me, what the hell are you doing?”

The guy who’s with him huffs, shrugging his shoulders. He mutters something to himself and looks offended. “What’s his problem?” you reply, and Sam smirks.

“Strange guy?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I look like, a kidnapper?” He mentions, and it makes you chuckle quietly. “Listen, lady, are you coming down or what? Prince Charming here wants to rescue you from your... palace.” Sam looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” He questions, his mouth slightly agape, as he just cannot believe his brother outed him like that.

“Just come down, will you? Pack some things.”

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

You had practically moved across the country to live with Sam and his brother, Dean. Sam knew exactly what was happening back home and had made a deal with himself to get you out, even if it killed him.

This morning, the pair of you walk down to a cafe near a motel you’re currently residing in. Whilst ordering, Sam tells you to go find a seat and he’ll bring your drink over. You agree and find a booth in the corner. He brings your drink over and sits opposite you.

His demeanour is calm, yet like he needs to ask you something. You dismiss it though and assume it’s because he’s dealt with a lot within the past few weeks. And so have you.

“Y/N,” he starts, taking a sip of his black coffee. “Can I ask you something?”

“I feel like it’s gonna be a tough question.” You laugh, and Sam smirks. His dimple deepened into his cheek. “What made you want to leave your old life behind? And to just trust me after only knowing me for a month?” He asks, a genuine question you haven’t even thought of answering. You struggle to find an answer, because truly, there’s nothing that comes to mind.

“I mean... you want the truth?” You ask, and he nods. You update him what exactly what happened, who did it and why you thought to just say ‘fuck it’ and have the balls to finally have a chance to escape whether that meant losing your life for it. Sam has been concentrating on you telling your part so much that he looks emotional himself. His eyes are soft and understanding. They’re glossed over as if glazed with icing sugar. You can tell just from his aura he’s a sweet guy. Putting your trust in him seems like the right thing to do.

You both share your childhood trauma and as much as it hurts to bring it back up, you both poke jokes and find a little humour in all of it.

But at least in this little cafe on a random Wednesday morning, this place, this atmosphere, and Sam allows you to begin again.

[izvmimi]

cw: for @oooohno. smoking mention. set in a hospital.

The nurses will probably make a fuss if they see the plume of smoke building in the hospital room, the Commander considers, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for you to wake up. A few more moments pass in the quiet of the early morning, and then he caves to his own oft-suppressed good nature, cracking open a window to let in some fresh air. It’s not so early in the morning that the birds should still be chirping, but he still hears their song float through, and he lets out a sigh. 

How did the act of trying to catch a potential criminal develop such a romcom aesthetic? 

If Tashigi walked in now, seeing him reassume his position for the last half-hour, a leg crossed over a knee and reading a book, she’d think he’d softened up. She’s made enough hints in that regard, as if this arrangement weren’t simply temporary - he is simply doing his job the best way he knows how. 

You don’t usually wake up until 10am, he’s figured out by now, and he wonders if this is a side effect of the amnesia, or simply a ruse, or part of your true nature. He doesn’t know how he feels about it yet.

Then he remembers he shouldn’t have an opinion at all on the matter. 

He sighs and turns the page of his newspaper, and your eyes finally creak open. Slowly first, shuffling under the plain white hospital bed sheets, tucked in perhaps a little too carefully by an overzealous nurse, and freeing an arm to rub your eyes with. You haven’t noticed him yet. 

You continue to wake up in parts, freeing another arm and yawning loudly, covering your mouth. You stretch, and finally you turn, and your eyes widen for a moment, then soften. He’s unbothered, white smoke escaping through the corner of his mouth, waiting for you to say hello first.

You do that, without a hint of fear or surprise in your voice, something that both annoys and intrigues him. A stranger in your room, an imposing stranger, an admiral who believes you are not who you say you are (or aren’t), and you’re saying good morning as if he were an elderly neighbor picking up the mail at the same time you are.

“You ready to talk today?” he answers, making sure his tone is appropriately abrasive.

You smile instead, and the amusement in your eye exhausts him immediately.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, commander. I told you I don’t remember anything.”

He sets down his newspaper.

“You know, I could very easily continue this interrogation in a jail cell,” he reminds you.

You nod, pulling your feet slightly to your chest.

“I wouldn’t be too shocked if you did it once I got discharged from this place,” you admit, shrugging. You’re looking around the room, as if you haven’t been here for a month. By now, your injuries have healed and there is still no information on who or what you truly are, but Smoker knows one thing.

You’re damn beautiful and also potentially a nutcase.

If he had any suspicion you were a pirate or other bad actor, it’s practically gone by now, moreso by intuition than by hard evidence, but the charade still remains. Otherwise, what will he do? Hole himself in his office and find something else to do with his time? 

He has to admit, he likes tormenting you better.

“It’s a little funny to think that you guys might be afraid of me. Because even if I don’t remember anything,” you start, and chuckle to yourself, “I think I’m convinced I’m not a bad person. I don’t think I ever have been.”

Smoker lets out another puff, and you turn in his direction.

“Have you considered sharing?” you say lightly, and he blinks.

“Sharing what?”

“That,” you point to one of the cigars hanging on his person, and for a moment you think you can actually see his cheeks turn pink for just a split second. Before he can respond, you whisper a “Just kidding!” and laugh, the sound of a nurse coming in to present you with a late breakfast, interrupting whatever Smoker’s gruff retort would have been. 

Or perhaps saving him from embarrassing himself.

It seems like you like to torment him too.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 46: Oneirology

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey goes through a lot of exercises and examinations in the morning. Dr. Chaplin is there for all of it.

Mikey is made uncomfortable by his presence, by his calm smile that is consistent throughout the day. At one point, he places a hand on Mikey's shoulder, as if to make him feel comfortable. Or to create the idea that they are close friends, that Mikey can trust him.

It has the complete opposite effect, and Mikey's entire body is set to pins and needles at the touch. His stomach in knots, his mind static, his hands tremble under the immense weight that hand holds over him.

He sits as still as stone underneath that hand. If he moves, if he breathes, if he cries or smiles or laughs, who knows what punishment he will earn?

And yet... Mikey wishes the touch would last longer. It's warm, it feigns kindness and familiarity. He pretends the hand belongs to someone else, he pretends it belongs to Blue or Red or Purple.

Even though... they don't love Mikey. He doesn't blame them for not loving him, he doesn't even love him. How could he, when he's just a freakish mutant thing?

He tries not to shake, he tries not to cry. He ducks his face away so no one will see.

He wishes he wasn't such a monster. He wishes he was something else. A dust mite, a bottle, a picture hanging on a wall. Maybe a cat, or maybe a bird, or even a worm. Something, anything, that has even an iota of meaning and purpose in the world.

Their necessity in the grand scheme of things outweighs his own, in any case...

And someone must love those things, right?

Mikey can't stop crying. He catches himself on the verge constantly, the tears burning the edges of his eyes.

Dr. Chaplin watches over Mikey the entire first half of the day. He practically hovers over him, like Mikey is his little child at the nurses' office for a checkup, or a precious toy that is getting maintenance.

Dr. Timothy and Dr. Finn do all sorts of examinations and physical tests and check-ups and such and so forth. They take Mikey's temperature, they do a DNA test, the inspect his teeth and claws, they check this and that and that and this and this and that and...

...Why don't the colours love Mikey?

Didn't they love him at one time? Weren't they here with him once? They must have lived with him in the labs, so... were they family? Friends? 

Did they look like him? Smell like him? Did they have spots, too?

The doctors say that Mikey was the first and only success in the TCRI mutation experiments. Does that mean that Red, Blue, and Purple are...

...........dead.....?

...Mikey hopes not.

As awful as it is, as painful as it could be... Mikey hopes they left him. Mikey hopes they escaped, got out, something.

He wonders if they think about him.

...But they probably don't. They probably never looked back. And why would they? Why think about this place in any way??

Mikey.... Mikey hopes that they're happy now. Wherever they are.

The tests go on.

Mikey zones out for the whole of they day until he's put back in his cage.

...Maybe Mikey should stop thinking about them, too.

It hurts too much.

Mikey curls in his cage, turning his back to the other experiments in the room. It really is hopeless for him, isn't it?

They all really do hate him, don't they? He'll never get out of here. He'll never see them again.

It's... it's hopeless. He'll never find home...

This is your home, Instinct whispers. I am all you need.

Mikey is tired of listening to him. He tries to ignore him. It's hard.

So Mikey just lays there, in the uncomfortable silence of the labs.

The animals bark and yowl and mew and chirp and hiss and snap and so on.

The doctors argue and discuss things amongst themselves.

At some point, Mikey must've fallen asleep. He only figures this out when he is woken most abruptly by an alarm ringing through the labs. Feet scamper back and forth as scientists start grabbing what they can and then making a break for the doors.

Mikey turns to peek out just a moment to see what the fuss is about. He's never heard an alarm like this before.

"...how many intruders did they say?"

"Not sure, but we have to get everything out of here..."

"What do we do about the experiments?"

"Leave 'em! They're just stupid dumb animals--"

"And the Mikey experiment?"

Silence. Mikey looks out between bars as the two men contemplate what to do.

"...We don't have time to move him. Just... just cover up his cage and push it in the back. Hide him."

"Is that really wise??"

"You heard the alarm! I'm not risking getting nabbed by some thrill-seeking idiots! And what if they're robbers, or armed? And the likelihood that they'll make it to this floor before security gets them --"

"Alright, alright! Fine, geez... do you see a tarp or blanket or something we can use?"

"Yeah, I think there's a fire-resistant sheet in the closet for emergencies..."

Mikey watches with curiosity as one man grabs the blanket and the other starts pushing Mikey's cage into the back of the room, finding a dimly lit corner that will hide him well enough.

"Don't just stand there, help me already! This thing is heavy!"

"Right. Hey, how do we know this thing won't make any noise or something?"

"He's smart, he knows not to do that. Don't you, freak?"

Mikey swallows and whimpers, cowering even further into the corners of his cage.

The two finally push his pen into the corner, and drape the cloth over it. They press a finger to their mouth, signaling him not to make a sound before pulling the cloth as far over his enclosure as possible before running away and turning the lights down.

Mikey shivers. He's not sure why he's so nervous.

Stupid fearful wretch. Do you think this will keep you alive? Fear is weakness!

Mikey begs Instinct not to berate him right now. It's hard to stay quiet when Instinct is --

How pathetic you are. How revolting. They couldn't even care enough about you to take you with them.

Please, stop... Mikey's begging you, j-just --

And Instinct doesn’t just mean the evil humans. 'They' couldn't care less about you either. You spend every spare woebegone second crying over those worthless colours! And where are they now?! GONE, THAT'S WHERE! They LEFT you, and ABANDONED you, and all you can think of is how much they could have loved you?? HAH! I was wrong to keep you alive. I was wrong to save you, to fight for you. You aren't even worth it.

Mikey cries.

Stop crying, idiot!!

He can't.

It's... it's so hopeless. Why did he ever have hope? What for?? A happy ending? A family? Someone to hold him and love him?

What a hollow dream that was. Mikey should have known... h-he should have never hoped... Mikey isn't even a monster. He's less than that. He's nothing.

Oh, how long it has taken you to realize, Instinct sighs.

Mikey sobs quietly.

He cries and curls tighter and tighter and tighter around himself, hoping that he'll disappear inside of himself... if it's possible.

A door slams open, causing him to jolt out of his self-pity party. Mikey tries to stop sobbing. Keep quiet, keep quiet!!

Mikey can't stop crying, can't stop whining and whimpering and...

A-and...

What's... what's that smell?

Oof, it smells bad. Strange. But... but he.... he KNOWS that smell, doesn't he?

Red.

RED.

The colour engulfs his mind as the scent comes into focus.

I-it's... it's him. It's Red.

No, it can't be! Red is --

Is here in the room. Red is HERE!!

Oh.

Oh no. Oh, no, no no no....

Mikey can't let Red see him.

He hides, pushing himself as far away from the cage door as he can.

Red CANNOT find him! H-he can't, if Red sees Mikey, th-then he'll be so angry! Mikey knows they left him, Mikey knows that he was gone, they must be so angry at him! And Mikey knows... Mikey is a monster. Mikey can't remember what he looked like before, but he does recall that he looks different now... He doesn't want Red to see him.

Mikey prays that Red doesn't find him.

His heart pounds louder and louder as he listens to each step get closer. He BEGS himself to SHUT UP, STOP CRYING!! HE'LL HEAR YOU!

And hear him he does. Mikey hides his face, cowering in the dark as he hears the shuffling of feet coming towards his cage.

There's a loud CLANG noise as Red destroys the lock. Mikey's body freezes in terror.

The door opens.

Mikey finds himself reacting purely out of fear. He doesn't even know why he does what he does, but Mikey lunges out of the cage and hides behind Red. Red gasps in shock at the speed, but doesn't react beyond that.

Mikey clings onto him, breath trembling in his lungs.

It's Red... it's Red...

Oh..... oh the familiar feeling of hope.

He CAME. Red CAME BACK FOR HIM.

Despite his utter terror, Mikey can't bring himself to let go. Red seems to notice this.

"Alright, you can stay up there, but I need to go find my brother," Red replies with a sigh.

Mikey is confused... brother? He means Mikey! Does he not know? Has he truly not realized...

Mikey lets out a churr, unsure whether or not to tell him. He's... he's looking for him. He's searching for him. He WANTS to find him...

Red places a hand over his shell, helping him to stay in place on his shoulder.

"His name is Mikey," Red says, head swivelling from side to side as he searches the room. "He's got spots and the biggest smile you'll ever see. Mikey's also super talented. Kid can bake, draw, and dance better than anyone."

Mikey chirps, a smile gracing his face. He tries to hug him as best he can in his position. His tail wags, slapping the back legs of Red as he continues.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Instinct tells him not to fall for it, stay on his guard...

"I love him," Red continues, voice cracking. "A lot. I'd do anything for him."

Red goes on and on and on about Mikey, talking of special skills or talents he has, their relationship, and so many other things.

He... he loves Mikey?

He loves...

Someone.... someone loves Mikey.

Someone loves him enough to come into this place. To look for him. Despite what he's done.

Red loves Mikey. Despite all he thought, despite the hope that died and the many times Mikey was convinced of the opposite... he loves him. Mikey was wrong. Red loves Mikey...

He starts crying again.

"Ew! Did you just drool on me!? Come on!"

Mikey cries even more. Red loves him. Mikey never knew that... Mikey realizes that they didn't betray him, he betrayed them...

Red sighs and rubs Mikey's back.

"Hey, sorry for saying all that….you've probably been through enough already."

Mikey rubs his cheek against Red's head, gently wrapping his arms under his neck in what could loosely be described as a hug.

Mikey... Mikey is so sorry, Red. Mikey's so sorry...

"Don't worry about it. I'm not sad. Not as long as I find him," Red explains.

But... Mikey is right here?

Red doesn't understand. Mikey still can't show him his face. He's too scared. Maybe Red will stop loving him if he sees Mikey...

But he has to help Red. He starts tugging Red's shoulders, pulling him in a specific direction. Out of the room, into the hall, towards the elevator.

"I can't go without my brother," Red refuses, trying to pull Mikey off of his shoulders. "Here, you get out, you've probably been trapped long enough."

No, Mikey can't let Red see him!

Red gets irritated as Mikey mews in anxiety, clinging onto his shell and acting completely uncooperative. Red groans in frustration.

"Listen, I can't-"

The scales on Mikey's skin stand up on edge. He smells something.

Danger.

Mikey turns back and sees the cages of the mutants be opened remotely. That's not good. He looks up and sees a camera in the hallway watching them.

Oh. Oh no.

This is Mikey's fault. They don't want him to leave. They're going to take Red away from him again --

NO.

Mikey can't let them have his... brother... They cannot take Red.

Mikey leaps off of Red's back.

"I can't let you down! They're still coming!"

Red whirls around and comes face to face with reality.

Mikey stares at him, eyes sad and smile just barely visible.

Mikey's so sorry, Red...

"M-Mikey….?"

Mikey turns around and growls at the oncoming battle.

Shall we kill? Instinct asks.

Yes, Mikey answers.

WONDERFUL.

Mikey charges.

He'll make it up to Red. He'll protect him. He'll save him, he'll fight for him, kill for him, die for him. Anything.

Mikey will do good.

.

.

.

Mikey has to guard his face from the light as he steps through the door. He wonders how many times in one night can he endure this...

As the light dims and fades away, Mikey notices that the flooring beneath his feet seems change. It slowly shifts from soft and smooth wood to hard concrete bricks, cold and wet or slimy with every other step.

The light finally subsides, revealing the scenery around him.

It's the sewers.

Not a minka or pagoda built for a big family.

But a wide open series of tunnels refurbished for a family of five.

Mikey knows this place from his memories...

The walls are spray-painted with artsy symbols and phrases from movies like Hot Soup! or Jupiter Jim Saves the Day! and Heroes in a Half-Shell -- Turtle Power!

Mikey hears something down the hall. He follows the noise as it gets louder and more distinct. There's laughter, shouting, giggling, eggings-on of children...

Mikey enters into the rec room, where all the other halls lead and eventually connect to. There are four turtle tots making such a joyful ruckus as they play games and run after each other.

There's little Raphie, wearing an oversized jersey and a football helmet over his mask as he plays tag, running from the others at a slightly slower pace so they can catch up with him.

Baby blue Leo is next, just about to latch onto his tail in the game of tag. His mask is bunched up like a bandana over his head, the iconic blue tee with the word RAD flows behind him as he chases after the biggest brother.

Donnie runs after the two at a slightly slower pace. His puffy jacket hinders his speed ever so slightly, and he stops every so often to readjust his glasses.

Mikey watches with awe at the sight of his brothers so teeny tiny, so young, so carefree...

"Guys! Wait fow me!"

Mikey's eyes widen at the sight of one singular tot, chubby and small, waddling as fast as he can after the trio.

"I has wittle legs, I can't keep up!"

The corners of Mikey's mouth turn up in a gradual smile as he watches the fond memory of his childhood.

"They're cute, aren't they?"

Mikey's head snaps to the side. There's... another person here.

He barely recognizes him at first. But he's had enough of his memories to return to be able to remember his former self.

"...It's you..."

The former Mikey smiles brightly at him, snickering just a bit.

He looks almost exactly like his memories, apart from a pair of large rose gold glasses adorning his face.

"How... I-I mean, why...."

"Aren't they adorable?" the other Mikey asks, glancing back to look at the toddlers. "Can you believe we were ever that cute?"

Mikey doesn't answer yet, he just watches the kids playing.

Turtle tot Mikey pauses, and turns to look at them. The other tots don't seem to notice the grown kids, but he does somehow. He smiles and waves at them.

"Who ya wavin' to, Mikey?"

"Just some friends!"

The tots all run down the corridor. Mikey reaches out to the child, almost begging him to stay.

"Where are they going?" he asks the other Mikey.

But the other Michelangelo doesn't really respond.

Mikey runs after them, following down the corridor for the kids. They all run into the TV room, where Splinter had left a copy of Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn playing on the projector screen.

He watches with slight nostalgic jealousy as the kids try to recreate the scene from the movie.

"Hard to believe that's us," says the other Michelangelo as he struts in after Mikey, leaning against the archway.

"Y-yeah," Mikey stammers, thrown off by Michelangelo's reappearance.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Michelangelo asks, gesturing to the side table and wraparound couch in the corner of the room.

Mikey follows his counterpart and sits across from him, eyeing him nervously.

"I thought we could talk for a bit," Michelangelo says with a gentle smile.

"What about?" Mikey asks, tail twitching restlessly along the cushions.

"Some things that I felt were important to address. Before we have to leave."

"We?? Don't you mean me or you?" Mikey corrects.

Michelangelo leans on the table, hands folding into one another as he studies Mikey's face.

"See, that's exactly what I want to focus on. Why do you assume that you'll be leaving? Or me?"

"W-well...." Mikey swallows as he glances about the room, avoiding the double's gaze. "I don't know. I thought maybe... we weren't the same."

"Just because we look different?" Michelangelo asks.

"We act different, too," Mikey sighs. "You can't climb walls. You don't have a voice in your head telling you to hurt people. You don't have my scars."

"And that's what makes us different?"

Mikey stares at him in confusion at the audacity of a statement.

"Doesn't it?"

"Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't," Michelangelo shrugs. "But just because you went through something doesn't mean you aren't the same person you were before. I might not be you, but I'm still a part of you."

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

Michelangelo points down to where the children play.

"Look at him. Is he the same as us? No. But he is us, regardless. He will always be a part of us, no matter what. We carry him along, and sometimes he comes out and sometimes he shys away. But he's there all the same."

Michelangelo smiles.

"Just like I will always be there, too!"

Mikey finally meets his eyes. He swallows. Michelangelo reaches out and takes his hand.

"I know it's been hard for you to feel accepted after everything, and you've been fighting to find your place. But it was always there! Yes, you changed, and that's fine, that's even healthy. If you didn't change after something like that experience, then we should be a little concerned. But don't think that just because you changed that you aren't still yourself. I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now!"

"So... you're saying that you're still a part of me?"

"I've always been here, dude!" Michelangelo smiles.

"W-why?" Mikey asks, tail flicking nervously under the table. "D-don't you...."

"Don't I what?"

"...Hate me?"

Michelangelo laughs. Fully laughs, head thrown back cackling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh so much -- but why would I hate you?" he asks, lifting his glasses to wipe a tear away.

"Because... well, just because!" Mikey argues. "Why wouldn't you hate me??"

"Because it was never your fault, dude!" he replies. "And you keep forgetting, we're not two different people. We're the same. I'm just some kind of subconscious representation of your inner feelings or something."

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind, you'll figure it out eventually."

"But you should hate me!" Mikey protests. "I-I replaced you, I-I ruined you, I--"

"Do you think he hates us because we grew up and changed?" Michelangelo asks, tilting his head to gesture to the tot version of themselves.

Mikey is taken aback, stuttering and stammering at the suggestion.

"I-I... I don't know, I--"

"Do you think that Donnie and Raph and Leo hated us when our powers evolved and changed?"

"That's not the same!" Mikey argues.

"But do you think Casey hated his Sensei when he lost his arm?"

Mikey pauses.

"Or do you think he hates us because we're the younger versions of the people he knew from the future?" Michelangelo continues.

"...I.... I don't... he kept talking about them, he misses them so much..."

"But he doesn't hate us or resent us. Or our brothers," Michelangelo explains. "Love doesn't give up when something changes. As we grow, it grows. As we change and evolve, so does love. And when we love someone, we don't simply forget who they were, or give up loving that part of them after they grow past it. We still love that part and hold it in our memory, and the love doubles. They will love every part of you, even after you've changed. Because people change, dude."

Mikey sighs.

"All this time I thought that they'd hate me because of how different I was..."

"...But I think the only person who really felt that way that might've been you," Michelangelo replies, taking Mikey's hand again. "Don't hate yourself over something you had no control over. You were hurt, and you healed. Might not have happened the way you wanted, and maybe you'll never be the same again, but you're still you and you can let yourself grow from there."

"So... you're really not mad at me?"

"No."

"Not even for... what I'd decided to do?"

"Oh, you mean about the cure?" Michelangelo asks with a smile. He waves his hand at Mikey and leans back nonchalantly. "Nah, I'm not mad."

"Would it have been the right choice?" Mikey asks. "To stay like this, and not undo the mutations? Or would it have been a mistake?"

"Well, firstly, I don't know if there was a wrong answer to that choice," Michelangelo thinks aloud. "If you'd have chosen to go back to how you were before, you'd still have all the memories of what you'd been through, and you'd have to go through learning how to live without the mutations and all the stuff you'd just gotten used to. Probably get war-like flashbacks every once in a while. And not to mention how painful it would have been, too. So it wouldn't have been easy. And the choice you made, to stay the way you are now, that's not wrong either. But it also won't be easy. Secondly, why are you talking in the past tense hypotheticals?"

Mikey blinks.

"Because.... because I'm dead, aren't I?"

For the second time, Michelangelo starts cackling.

"You're not dead!" he laughs.

"I...I'm not?"

"Nah, fool!" Michelangelo says, giggling as he claps Mikey on the back. "What made you think you were?"

"Well then what the heck is all of this?" Mikey yells in confusion. "What the heck was all of that whole paradise I just went through with all those Hamato people??"

"Oh, that," Mikey sighs, calming down. "Okay, maaaaybe you were kinda dead. Technically, your heart did stop and you weren't here on earth anymore, but that was only for maybe a minute or so. Not too long, no lasting damage. I think the ancestors just wanted to make sure you got home okay. They knew it wasn't your time yet."

Mikey swallows, feeling just a tad bit dizzy from the realization. And tired.

"Then... then what is this? A dream?"

"Call it a long overdue conversation with yourself," Michelangelo says with a wink. "A reflection inward, if you will. And I do. Dr. Feelings and Dr. Delicate Touch have been out on sabbatical for a while, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to dust off our truthful therapy skills!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Mikey yawns. "I've been a little busy..."

"Hey, don't worry, I get it!" Michelangelo says with a wave of his hand.

"But... maybe it's time for them to come back?" Mikey offers. "Start accepting the truth and really healing..."

Michelangelo slowly takes the glasses off, rubbing his thumb over the lenses.

"Yeah. I think so, too," he says as he hands the specs to Mikey.

"So... would this be like, you giving me your blessing or something? Saying I'm the superior Mikey or something?" Mikey asks.

"It's a dream, dude," Michelangelo says flatly. "Not everything is completely meaningful. It's your subconscious."

"Right, right..." Mikey yawns. "So, if I'm not dead, then where am I?"

The Dream Michelangelo leans back, putting his feet up on the table and folding his hands behind his head as he stares off into space.

"Oh, right about now I'd say that your at home in the medbay, sleeping it off. I think you've been there for at least 20 hours now. You should probably wake up soon..."

"Yeah, I guess so..." Mikey sighs, a deep and heavy exhale escaping his lungs. "But... Just to be clear... you're really not mad at me? You're not mad that I decided to stay the monster?"

"You're not a monster, man!" Mikey cackles. "You're a teenage mutant ninja turtle!"

Mikey chuckles.

"Yeah. I'll work on that. But, y'know, the weird thing is," Mikey says, tapping his fingers against the table. "I'm actually kinda... thirsty?"

.

.

.

"What did you just say??"

Mikey has no idea why everything went so pitch black and then blinding white. He was just talking to himself, and as soon as he mentioned feeling thirsty... the whole world went away.

He tries opening his eyes. They're so extremely heavy, and as soon as he attempts it, light instantly cracks in his vision, seeping through his eyelids and causing red to pierce his sight. He fights through the pain, groaning softly as he does.

Once he opens his eyes, Mikey sees that he's in the gurney from the medbay at the lair. He can't really feel his body, which is weird. He lifts his arm. That works. He can't feel it, it's numb and weird, but it's there. He thinks his hand is disconnected from the joint since he can't feel it either, and it looks really floppy. But after he shakes it and manages to get the fingers to curl and uncurl, he finds that everything is okay after all. He flops the hand around again, snickering at the sight and sensation. A large, gruff but gentle hand takes his to make it stop. Aww, booooo...

He notices a tube and needle stuck in the center of his hand, pumping some sort of clear fluid into it very slowly. He follows the tube and sees it connects to a bag of the same clear fluid. Beside that bag is the owner of the hand, staring down at Mikey with wide and red-rimmed eyes hidden beyond a red mask.

"Mikey, what did you just say?" Raphael asks again, voice soft and airy, hanging on every potential word Mikey has to offer.

Mikey smacks his lips, which are awfully dry and chapped, and have just the tiniest remnants of crusted blood in the corners. He tries to find his tongue, which seems to be missing. Well, no, it's not, it's thick and it's right there, but he can't get it to wake up just yet. Funny, he could talk so easily a moment ago, why is it so hard now? He manages to get the lazy good-for-nothing muscle moving...

"...Th'rsty," Mikey croaks.

Raph practically knocks the IV pole and bag over in his desperate attempt to hug Mikey, almost flattening him against the mattress. He sobs almost uncontrollably, confusing an already out-of-sorts Mikey.

"GUYS! MIKEY'S AWAKE!!" He yells rather loudly, causing Mikey to flinch away from him.

He's not sure why Raph would say that, Mikey feels like he's still asleep, or will fall asleep again at any second again.

Leo and Donnie seem to materialize in the doorway just as the words leave Raphael's mouth, eyes wide and mouths open. As soon as they arrive, any thought of falling back asleep leaves Mikey. They fling themselves onto the gurney, sobbing hysterically and laughing profusely.

Casey and Splinter run in just a moment later, joining the fray and asking a hundred questions that Mikey has no idea of answering.

He still can't get his silly tongue to do anything for him.

Raph eventually remembers that Mikey wanted something to drink and gives him a glass of water, helping him to sip it. Or rather, to drool and dribble half of the contents down his chin as the rest barely manage to enter his mouth.

Mikey stares down blankly at the water running from his face.

"...Spilled it," is all he can manage to say.

The room erupts into laughter.

"...Where..." Mikey croaks, breath slow and relaxed from the heavy painkillers, "...Where am I?"

"You're home, Mikey!" Leo says, making it sound more like a congratulations than an explanation. "You're home!"

And for the first time, Mikey truly feels like he finally has come home.

Prev || Next

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Six

Series Masterlist

Cw: Angst, Novali's SA not too descriptive

Every child should grow up at some point, but most are forced to at an early age, when they should be enjoying their childhood. Growing up too soon robbed children of their innocence and freedom. Like a bird being caged before it has even learned to fly. It's quite unfortunate how society often forces children into growing up too soon, robbing them of their innocence and the joy of being carefree

Novali Rae was one such High Fae, sitting in her closet the young faeling was hiding, hiding because her life as she knew it was about to be over

Novali huddled in the corner of her closet, her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. She had been here many times before, each time feeling the same fear and dread. But this time was different, today was the day that would change everything for her.

Her slender fingers traced the intricate patterns of her favourite dress, the one she wore almost every day since her parents never spent money on her. The thought of never wearing it again brought tears to her eyes.

The door creaked open, and her mother's voice drifted through the crack. "Novali, come out now."

Novali swallowed hard, her small frame trembling as she stood up slowly. Her mother waited patiently outside, her arms crossed and a stern look on her face.

The circle her parents ran in, always made Novali sick to her stomach, it was pretty common knowledge for the upper-class Fae of Hewn City, that when a fae female turned a teen, she was married off, and today was the birthday Novali dreaded the most, she would be fourteen.

As Novali stepped out of her room, her eyes met those of her mother, who held a delicate piece of parchment in her hand. A marriage contract. The girl's heart dropped, knowing full well what it meant.

"Novali," her mother began, her voice laced with love, as if she wasn't selling her off to someone. "Today is your birthday. You're no longer a faeling, you're a female now and we've decided… we've decided that you're ready to take your place among our kind."

Novali felt her legs go weak, and she sank onto the plush carpet, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "But Mother, please…" she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm not ready… I... I don't want a male. I don't wa-want a male..." She hiccupped.

Her mother knelt down beside her, placing a harsh hand on Novali's shoulder. "We know it's difficult, sweetheart," she said, her voice anything but soft. "But you have too. All your friends went through this."

Friends. The word seemed foreign, she never had any friends, and the children of her parents' friends weren't even close to her. Novali looked up at her mother, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She'd never had friends of her own, only companionship from her parents. And now, they were forcing her into a life she didn't want.

"Can't we… Can't we wait a little while longer?" She whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own sobs.

Her mother sighed, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if losing patients she didn't even have. "Novali, you must understand," she said. "It's not just about finding you a mate. It's about preserving our lineage, ensuring the survival of our kind. This is how things work here."

But why do we have to suffer? Novali wanted to ask but she knew, those questions were futile. She knew those other faelings were unhappy, the oldest was nearly 25, married to a male well over 400, and she knew, if she didn't marry, her parents would kick her out, she would end up as a street-side whore for anyone to use her how they wanted. And that thought made her wonder if being married wasn't the worst option, but was it really the better thing.

Novali felt her world crumbling around her, the weight of her fate pressing down upon her shoulders. She couldn't escape, couldn't refuse, not without facing a future far worse than marriage.

"Why does it have to be so cruel?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why must we suffer like this?"

Her mother's expression didn't change, and she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Novali's face. "Our way of life isn't cruel, dear," she said. "It's simply the natural order of things. Females bear children, males provide. Together, we ensure the continuation of our kind."

Novali shook her head, unable to accept such a simplistic explanation for the complex web of oppression that governed their society. "What about happiness?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother's patience was wearing thin, and she slapped Novali across her face, "Enough nonsense, girl. You are coming downstairs right this second."

Novali gasped, her hand flying to her stinging cheek as she stared at her mother in shock. In her fourteen years of life, she had been struck by her parent for the most minimal things, but she never got used to it. Tears welled up in her eyes, both from the pain and the betrayal.

"I-I'm sorry, Mother," she stammered, scrambling to her feet. "I didn't mean…"

"Save your apologies," her mother snapped, grabbing Novali roughly by the arm and dragging her towards the stairs. "Your betrothed awaits, and we will not keep him waiting any longer."

As they approached the bottom of the stairs, Novali's gaze fell upon the man awaiting her. He was tall, his body muscular and strong. His silver hair shimmered under the chandelier lights, and his icy blue eyes pierced through her with a chilling intensity.

For a moment, she wondered if he might not be so bad after all. If she were older, perhaps she could appreciate his physical attributes. But she wasn't, and she found herself more repulsed than anything else.

Her mother released her arm, stepping back to allow the two to meet properly. "This is your betrothed, Novali," she announced. "Lord Sailas, this is our daughter."

Novali stood frozen, her eyes locked onto Sailas' as her mother introduced them. She could feel the weight of his stare, as though he was already claiming her. There was something unsettling about his presence, a coldness that made her skin crawl.

She managed to dip into a curtsey, her movements stiff and awkward. "It's… nice to meet you, Lord Sailas," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

As the days passed, Novali found herself sinking deeper into a state of numbness. Being engaged to Lord Sailas was everything she had imagined. There was no romance, no affection, just a cold, distant relationship where he expected obedience and compliance from her. But this horrible period in her life was only a preparation for the worst of it. Marriage.

Each morning, she woke up in the large bed they shared, the sheets cold against her skin, she hated it. Her heart was heavy with the knowledge that these would be the last days of her childhood. After breakfast, she would spend hours in her room sewing or embroidered, trying to distract herself from the reality of her situation, unless she was made to cook or clean for him.

When evening came, she would be summoned to join Lord Sailas in the dining hall, where he would eat in silence, occasionally throwing a glare her way if she dared to speak out of turn.

Their interactions consisted mostly of formal dinners, where she was expected to entertain guests with her singing and dancing skills, and nights spent in a bed that felt colder than the male lying next to her. Despite her efforts to adjust, she struggled to find any happiness in her new role. The loneliness ate away at her, leaving her hollow and empty.

As the days stretched into weeks, Novali found herself growing increasingly withdrawn. The constant pressure to perform, to be perfect, took its toll on her. She lost weight, her once vibrant curls becoming dull and lifeless. Her dark eyes, once bright with curiosity and hope, now carried a sadness that mirrored the bleakness of her existence.

One night, as she sat alone in her room, sewing yet another little pattern on the little cloth she could afford, she heard a soft knock on her door. Assuming it was one of the maids who came to collect her to cook dinner, she called out a permission to enter.

The door opened slowly, revealing Sailas' imposing silhouette. For a moment, Novali froze, her hands stilling on the fabric before her. She watched as he closed the door behind him, the click echoing ominously in the otherwise quiet room.

Novali stayed silent, sensing his awful mood, and the alcohol on his breath. Sailas moved silently towards her, his boots making no sound against the plush carpet. Novali watched him approach, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew better than to provoke him, especially when he was inebriated. Yet, there was an undeniable sense of dread creeping up her spine, a chill running down her body despite the warm glow of the fireplace.

He stopped beside her, his shadow looming over her as he towered above. "You've been avoiding me," he accused, his voice low and rough. "Why?"

Novali kept her gaze focused on her sewing, her fingers trembling slightly as they worked the needle through the fabric. "I-I don't know what you mean," she spoke, doing her best to maintain her composure. After a while, she set the fabrics down so she wouldn't stab herself.

"I've given you weeks, fiance." He spat, inching closer. "To get used to me."

Novali swallowed thickly as the male approached her, evading her personal space, "What... What are you doing?"

Sailas grabbed her chin forcefully, turning her face towards his. His icy blue eyes bore into hers, a glint of malice flashing within them. "I'm tired of waiting," he growled, his grip tightening painfully. "And I want my bride."

Novali whimpered softly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She could taste the fear in her mouth, bitter and metallic. "Please…" she begged, her voice barely a whisper. "You can't... We aren't married." This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to have at least a few weeks to mentally prepare herself for her husband-to-be.

His response was swift and brutal. With a swift motion, he pulled her up from the chair, his hands roaming over her curves, exploring her body with a possessive hunger. "I will habe you tonight," he hissed, his lips inches from hers. "And every night until you learn to please me."

"Get off me!" Novali said, with every bit of anger she could muster in her fear, her feet connecting with Salias' chest, but doing nothing to push him off her.

Sailas laughed cruelly, the sound grating against Novali's ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Feisty, I love a female who can try to fight." he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip her hips firmly. "But you're mine now, and you'll learn to behave."

Novali's mind retreated further and further as Sailas pushed her further, her thoughts fragmenting into shards of pain and terror. She couldn't process the sounds around her, Sailas' grunts of exertion, the ripping of fabric, her own ragged sobs.

At some point, she felt a searing agony between her legs increase. Novali lay there, broken and bleeding, her vision blurred with tears. She could taste copper on her tongue, and the stench of sex and violence hung heavy in the air. She could feel nothing. She was nothing.

"This is what you are now," he declared, his voice dripping with disdain. "My property, my possession."

Novali had thrown up on the side of the structure where the throne room sat, wave after wave of nausea hitting the twenty-year-old, she could still feel the faint touch of Nyx on her back, Sailas' hands on the inside of her thighs, Nyx holding her close, Sailas forcing himself on her, Nyx's hands, Sailas, Nyx, Sailas, hands, touch, she threw up with another wave of disgust.

Novali had gasoed awake in her bed, her stomach convulsing as more bile rose up her throat. She could hardly breathe, let alone respond to the mockery in her mind. She was dirty, violated, and utterly defeated. Every part of her body ached, each breath a painful reminder of what had transpired mere hours ago, of what had happened years ago.

As the waves subsided, she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her quivering form. She wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air and leave this nightmare behind.

Novali remained huddled on the floor of her room, her daughter asleep, her body wracked with sobs as the full extent of her trauma crashed over her once again. The memories of that night, the violation, the degradation all came flooding back, each detail etched into her mind with unerring clarity. She could still feel Sailas' hands on her, violating her, she had thought she had goten used to that feeling, but there was never any getting used to it.

Novali's mind raced with the memories, the past and present blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of pain and humiliation. She could still hear Sailas' taunting words, see the cruel smirk on his face as he claimed her innocence for his own sick pleasure.

A sudden knock at the door startled her from her reverie, and she scrambled to her feet, wiping frantically at the tears streaking down her cheeks. She couldn't let anyone see her like this, not like this. Not ever again.

"Just a moment," she called out, her voice hoarse and strained. She quickly splashed water on her face, trying to compose herself before opening the door a crack.

It was Aleks, her concerned expression immediately shifting to one of alarm as he caught sight of Novali's ravaged state. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Please leave..." Novali breathed, her arms wrapped around herself. "Leave me alone."

Aleks looked at her, concern etching deeper lines across his forehead. He reached out to gently touch her arm, but she flinched away, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips.

"Novali," he pleaded, his voice laced with worry. "You're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

Novali just shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. "It's nothing," she lied, her voice barely a whisper. "Just…a bad dream."

"What was the dream about?" He asked, sitting down next to her, still maintaining a good distance, his amber eyes burning with hurt for her, "Are you open to telling me about it?"

"No," Novali replied sharply, though the word was torn from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the terror of the dream, of the memory. She knew that if she told Aleks about it, if she shared the details of that night, of those nights, she couldn't bring herself to.

"I can't," Novali whispered, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. "Not even to you, Aleks. Please understand."

Aleks nodded slowly, his expression a mix of sadness and determination. "Alright," he said quietly. "But promise me something, Novali. Promise me that if you ever need help, if you ever feel overwhelmed, you'll come to me. I won't judge you, I swear it. I'm your oldest friend."

Novali hesitated, torn between her desire for privacy and the comfort of having someone she trusted nearby. Finally, she managed a shaky nod. "I promise," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you, Aleks."

He leaned forward but then pulled back, sensing touch wasn't what she needed. "Always," Aleks stood up, giving Novali space to collect herself. "If you change your mind, or if you just need someone to talk to, I'll be here," he assured her softly.

"It's..." Novali whispered faintly. "I just know the kind of reaction you will have when i tell you."

Aleks sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Novali, whatever it is, I don't care about reactions," he said earnestly. "All I want is to help you. If it helps, I won't overreact. I promise."

He paused, looking at her intently. "And besides," he added with a small smile, "You've seen me cry before. Remember how ridiculous I look when I do? That should reassure you."

Novali managed a weak smile at that, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You're ridiculous either way," she teased, trying to lighten the mood. But despite her attempt at humour, she knew the gravity of the situation lingered in the air between them.

"It's just..." Novali inhaled, "Memories... Everything I've lived through, it comes back to be in fragments."

Aleks listened attentively as Novali spoke, his expression growing increasingly somber. "Fragments of what?" he prompted gently, leaning against the wall opposite her.

Novali closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Of the past," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Things I thought I'd buried long ago. Things that…hurt."

Aleks frowned, his brow furrowing in concern. "Is that why you pushed me away just now?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing. "Because you were thinking of him?"

"I always think of him when someone touches me..." Novali said in a small voice. "I... Can't help it."

"I'm sorry, Novali," Aleks said sincerely, feeling helpless. "I wish I could take away your pain." His eyes softened as he studied her, seeing the torment etched onto her face. "Perhaps talking about it might help. Even if it hurts, maybe it'll give you some closure."

He moved closer, reaching out tentatively to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm here for you, Novali. Always."

But he wasn't there. Novali had made it all up in her head. He didn't stay back, Novali had told him to go and he had respected that. She could never tell him what she wished she could, she could never voice it. How every time she touched someone, or someone touched her, she was back under that monster, that feeling was all that remained. She could not tell him. Because then, he would be scared to touch her. And she'd lose the only few constants she had in her life.

{Meeting in Grey Taglist- @sleepylunarwolf @sarawritestories @sheblogs}

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

[tawneybel]

Get Stuffed: Chapter 1

Note: “The killer John Carver aka Eric Newlon from thanksgiving movie 2023 is a DILF. Do some x readers of him whenever you get the time to see the movie.” Also posted on AO3. There’s bad dark humor and mention of male anal.

Imagine Sheriff Newlon kidnapping you, but not because he’s out for revenge.

So the Carver’s a cat person, you thought, after just missing your neighbor’s murder. The killer patted Dewey, who nonchalantly ate dry food, while Manny’s body lay a couple yards away, open neck spewing blood all over the floor. 

Out of habit, you’d immediately locked the door behind you. With a murderer on the loose, it had seemed like a safe choice. As a security guard, Manny would have approved. As a corpse, Manny would remain unmoved. And have to settle for being the most useless warning ever. 

John Carver straightened up. You readied the spare key in your fist, behind your back. He could probably guess what you were doing, but he hadn’t rushed you yet. Lizzie McMullan’s lower half had been displayed way up on the RightMart sign. Manny was headless. The killer was clearly determined and seemed to have a game plan. You were a surprise. And you could be a bombshell. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you Americans don’t celebrate Guy Fawkes Day?”

A chuckle escaped from beneath the mask. Nobody moved. Except Dewey, who had almost finished dinner. 

“Where’s the head?”

The Carver indicated a black bag on the table. Out of reflex, you looked. Gave him an opening. 

You felt the prick on your neckline before locking eyes. Or trying to, because John Carver was blatantly ogling your breast. Or maybe just the dart sticking out right above your girls. Hopefully. 

Then he rushed you, to catch your bountiful form before it slumped to the floor. 

“I was supposed to be kittysitting,” you said after waking up in the John Carver House. Like Sheriff Newlon needed an explanation. Of course, you didn’t know your location or his identity. 

It was just cute you felt the need to explain why were at that fuck’s place. Eric had been stalking his targets for almost a year. If you were sleeping with that failure of a security guard, he’d have known. It wouldn’t have kept him from “rescuing” you, though.

He felt zero guilt about seducing Amanda away from Mitch. Got a thrill out of it, even. Like how he got a thrill about thinking how horrified the other guests would be to see ______ ______ get some extra stuffing. If he’d pulled a Ghostface, maybe you’d get some sloppy seconds.

Looking through your phone, he found you were a slasher fangirl. Perfect. Eric wanted you to get off. 

He and Amanda never got around to any roleplay. Again, the thrill of the affair kept them both sated. And the bun in the oven. Speaking of which…

You gazed, dazed, down at your chest. There was a Band-Aid over the entry point. Even with cranberry sauce shimmering on a stove, you could smell rubbing alcohol. You wanted to rub the blurriness from your eyes, but your arms were restrained. Why would the Carver bother disinfecting and dressing a victim’s wound? Particularly such a small one?

At least you were completely dressed. For now. 

Wait, no, you realized, blinking rapidly. No socks, no shoes. Just your little piggies wriggling. Painted piggies. The color suited you, even in the dim kitchen. Newlon smiled, before returning to stirring.  

Where did you put my boots? 

You hoped there wasn’t any broken glass or nails or anything. In case you actually managed to get free. A free bird. Now it was your turn to chuckle. Your captor slyly glanced over, taking in your bare toes and jiggling chest. Soon. Just needed to get the other bird in the oven first. 

“Hey, my bra!” 

Rock hard underneath your top, all you could do was curl your toes in embarrassment. Even though John Carver was the one who had apparently gotten a glimpse of your nipples. It wasn’t too cold, wherever you were, yet they felt like they could cut diamonds. 

How long was I out? 

Instead of filling you with shame, the thought of the Carver playing with your chest got you a bit hot and bothered. He could’ve taken those black gloves off to get a couple handfuls. It was a longshot, but maybe they could dust for prints. If only there was a way to escape. 

At least he didn’t use twine. Or piano wire, you thought with a shudder, turning away from him. Or- Oh my God. 

Finding himself just a bit too distracted by those cute tits, Sheriff Newlon decided to get to work. As he made his way to Kathleen, he took a moment to run a gloved digit up one sole, then down the other. Your bound form mimicked a hypnic jerk while he continued to the other prep table. Subjecting another woman to his per/versions and touching you while you’re conscious? Just how long were you tranquilized, anyway? 

Now you were mad. “Did you take my panties, too? Huh?”

He ignored you whilst brushing Kathleen’s feet with oil. Kathleen, who was either out of it or pretending to be. You couldn’t blame her. But you had to turn the Carver’s attention back to you. Somehow. 

“Your toes are curling again.”

“In distaste!” you spat. 

“Jealous? Don’t be.” 

He was obviously enjoying whatever this was. Yet, aside from teasing you, it didn’t seem sexual. Not that I like where this is going any better, you thought, spotting the chopped veggies circling Kathleen’s body. 

“Not into food play,” you muttered. Louder, “You’re, you’re going to splooge into my socks later? Aren’t you?” 

That’s when you noticed the large industrial oven. Preheating or already preheated. The heat could be felt even from where you lay. You needed to cook up a better distraction and quick. 

“It could be worse,” he said. 

“Why?” Turkey thigh.

“You could be wearing poultry frills.” 

“What?” Turkey butt. 

“Like in those old cartoons.” He snapped his fingers. “Kathleen would look so funny in those.”

“You would look so funny with a meat thermometer up your ass.”

It was the best you could come up with. Cringe, maybe, but the severity of the situation was weighing on you. That, and the unwanted arousal. Sweat that had little to do with the oven’s warmth dripped down your sides. 

Even from behind the mask, his body language suggested the Carver hadn’t considered butt play. 

He chuckled. “Maybe with an actual rectal thermometer.” Turning away, he added, “You and I can focus on stuffing later.”  

Eric really was enjoying your presence. You were saucier than he’d expected. It could have just been the sedative, but he didn’t think so. He knew the mouthy kind. Always had to have a  comeback, even when backed into a corner. You had a mouth on you, and he was going to put it to good use. 

Whatever he’d planned for you, it wasn’t going to be anywhere near as grisly as what he had done and was planning to do to others. The Carver wanted to have his way with you. And you had a nagging suspicion it wasn’t going to be puritanical. That unorthodox parts would be played with. Namely, your feet and his asshole. It shouldn’t be surprising that a masked killer was kinkier than most. 

Pilgrim, you amended. The actual John Carver was a Pilgrim, not a Puritan.

Under your breath, “Soles are in jeopardy.” 

Now unconscious Kathleen was having a handful of salt sprinkled on her face. The Carver, growing wise to your ways, rested a hand on your thigh before you could pipe up.

“Jealous, again?”

“What, that you’re getting your rocks-?”

“Huh. I was going to ad lib something about salt-”

“-on her face,” you said together. The Carver hadn’t ceased seasoning Kathleen; a salt shaker was being employed on the rest of her. Which was gussied up in mock Pilgrimess attire. Dress too short to be considered historically accurate. 

“She’s the main course, but you’re the centerfol- centerpiece.” 

It was clear you were horny. Both of you were horny. Kathleen was thankful neither the weird girl nor the serial killer knew she was awake. ______ ______ might not even care. You would be no help. That she was sure of. Or, rather, Kathleen thought, you could be a distraction, your voice dripping with honey. Ugh. You were freaky. Even if you were more interested in getting spatchcocked than escaping, Kathleen supposed some gratitude was due. She wasn’t going to give thanks until she got the hell out, though. 

Eric knew the heat (and the boner) were getting to him, because he really wanted to show you his face. This was tiring. He didn’t want his first time with you to be next to one of his revenge victims. At least, not an alive one. But he could edge himself a bit longer. Make you anticipate something really kinky.  

Horror, horniness, and heroism were duking it out inside you. Instincts were telling you to either be submissive, in order to make it out alive. And get bred. (Not to be mistaken with “get breaded,” which might’ve been on the table for Kathleen had this been another holiday.) Or be submissive, in order to help Kathleen. How was she still out? 

Holding the bottle of Mydayis, Sheriff Newlon almost scoffed. If only he had fertility pills, not just dextroamphetamine. He hadn’t expected to be so charmed. John Carver mask resting on top of the oven, Eric popped a handful. Moments later he admired his reflection, particularly the singed outline around his left eye hole. If he played his cards right, you would be leaving his ass/hole burnt like that later.  

Your nasty slasher kink… Surely you’d like it if he kept the mask on, right?

While Eric pondered that, you thought back to poor Manny. At least Dewey had fresh meat until someone came to check up on his owner.