#sorry for being deranged on main do you still think i’m hot?

[rzeckism]

animated hidden inventory is perhaps the most baffling thing that has ever happened to me i’m. speechless. how do you move on from this absolute insanity.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 10 - Kirishima’s “roomies forever” party (1/2)

Summary: Y/N and Izuku gets an invite to a fancy party at Katsuki’s house. They have a really hard time getting there though.

Warnings: Swear words, suggestive - it’s literally 50% reader being thirsty and 50% Deku trying to keep in his pants. 16+

First Chapter Master List

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The weirdness starts with a simple invitation.

Nothing suspicious, it’s just a message from Kirishima in a brand new group chat.

New group chat: Everyone Katsuki definitely does not care about.

Kirishima: Dear friends! I would like to invite you to my house for a little get together this Sunday. It’s our 7th Roomie Anniversary, so please come in smart casual clothing, not in your underwear or pajamas (or that Pikachu onesie I absolutely adore on you, Kaminari. - It hurts me just as much as it hurts you, buddy.)

Please, do your best to be able to attend I have a surprise for him and I want you guys to be there for it!

“Damn, 7 years.” You mumble to yourself, tangled together with Izuku in the bed. It’s one of those days when Izuku miraculously managed to get home by 10PM so you are both lazing around, doing literal nothing because Izuku deserves a fucking break. “They must really like each other to stay together for so long.”

“Well, Eijirou was Katsuki’s first real friend if you don’t count me and trust me, back then, I did not count.” Izuku giggles. “He was the only one who could handle Kacchan’s temper and the only one who could calm him down when he went berserk. But Kacchan wasn’t the only one benefitting from this relationship; Kacchan helped Kirishima with studying and from being one of the worst students he ended up to be one of the best in only a few months. I’m not one of those weird shippers but I must admit they are perfect for each other.” Izuku mumbles into your neck, half asleep.

“Oi, don’t you dare look down on my kind, nerd!” You retort incredulously as you sit up to stare at the hero judgmentally which is a hard task right now, because he’s shirtless and absolutely beautiful and you kinda just want to kiss him all over which then makes you think about your cheeky evening in the hot tub which makes your insides turn upside down and… okay. Focus.

Also, you still haven’t seen his broccoli tattoo properly. This needs to change ASAP.

… not like that’s important right now.

Okay. Let’s go back to the main story. Sorry about that.

“Admit it, it’s weird! I don’t judge you or anything, but it is certainly… a funky little hobby.”

“You know what? I hope they fucking get engaged on the party. I’ll enjoy the pain on your face as you realize how wrong you were.” You pout and Izuku can’t help himself; he attacks your pouty lips right away with small, barely their kisses.

“I love you, but you are deranged.”

“What did you just call me?!” You giggle as Izuku slowly moves down from your lips to your neck, his lips barely grazing the skin and he doesn’t stop there; he makes his way towards your chest then down your belly and…

“Teasing my deranged little girlfriend.” He answers as he yanks your oversized t-shirt (okay, Izuku’s oversized t-shirt.) over his head and leaves tiny kisses all over your naked tummy and chest, slowly making his way up towards your breasts, his head completely hidden under your shirt.

“I’m not wearing a bra, Izu…” You mumble, pink dusting your cheeks. How are you supposed to not make a sound right now?! How?!

“Hmm… indeed.” You don’t need to see Izuku’s face to know there is a shit eating grin on his face. “I’ll close my eyes then.”

“That’s not the point, you silly!”

Honestly, this new, confident side of Izuku will be the death of you. The way he knows you don’t actually mind him there, the way you don’t need to beg him anymore to let himself loose… damn, how much you just want to push his face into your chest and…

Uhm… let’s calm down. He’s just having fun.

Suddenly, Izuku’s head pops out through the collar of your your shirt, the poor fabric almost tearing from the abuse.

“Want me to chill out? I can chill out.” Suddenly, Izuku lays down on top of you with all his fucking body weight and you literally can not breathe.

“Oh my god, you are like those massive Great Dane dogs who think they are lap dogs and suffocate their owners by accident.” You giggle while you ruffle his unruly hair.

“Woof.”

Midoriya fucking Izuku just licked your cheek. Like… literally licked a stripe up your face.

“Izuku, you absolute weirdo, I love you so much.” Somehow, Izuku is taken aback by your sudden confession. He looks up at your face, looking for something, probably signs that you’ve meant it in a sarcastic way but needless to say he can’t find anything but pure adoration. “What?”

“I’m being my absolute worst and your first thought is that… you love me?” Izuku starts drawing circles into your hipbone with his thumb while his ring finger is playing with the hem of your pajamas. It’s getting really hot in here all of the sudden.

“Yeah. I really love when you go all unhinged and just… do stuff you want to do. I love that you know I won’t say no. Because I can’t, Izu. I can’t say no to you and I never will.”

You can see the moment your words get acknowledged by Izuku’s brain because suddenly, his eyes go all dark and half lidded and if eyes could physically devour you’ll be nothing but a few bones by now.

“You make it really hard for me to go to sleep, you know that?” Izuku’s voice goes deep and husky and hell if it doesn’t go right into your core. There is so much restraint in every single syllable it’s actually painful.

“Do you need to?”

Honestly, you should just downright tell him to get down on you at this point. You are way too obvious. Izuku kissing and sucking on the skin on your neck doesn’t help, either.

“I have an early shift tomorrow.” Izuku sighs, defeated. “I… uhm… when we… do stuff I want to have all the time in the world. I want to kiss your whole body from head to toe until your skin is tinged pink all over. I want to take my time. I want to cherish you as long as I can and not rush it.” Izuku mutters with half of his hands down your pajama pants, caressing the skin in your lower tummy as he speaks. “I want to love you all night, maybe even in the morning. Make you breakfast after then cuddle up by the TV.” He murmurs into your ear; your arms are full of goosebumps from the depth of his voice, from the warmth of his breath and…

“Let’s take a cold shower then.” You look at your boyfriend pleadingly. “Ice cold. Yeah.”

“Deal.” Izuku pops his head back into your shirt and skims your nipple with his chin by accident. You can’t help but yelp. “Goddamnit Sweet Pea.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” You giggle as a red faced Izuku finally climbs out under your shirt. “I would like to invite you to share the shower with me but I feel like it would just make this situation worse.”

“Please, stay away from me.” Izuku giggles and goes towards his bathroom. “Ahh, why did you say that, now I want to shower together!” He whines once again but closes the door behind him anyway.

“Silly nerd.” You sigh as you make your way towards the main bathroom. You can’t wait for the day when Izuku is free again. You can’t do this for much longer. Izuku pulls you in like a magnet, and you want more and more as the time passes; one day, your restraint will snap and you won’t be able to stop yourself and neither will he so if Izuku really wants to have your first time the way he planned it, he really needs to hurry up.

Damn, you always hated when you were reading a nice, fluffy fanfiction then suddenly, the main character went all slutty for the hero but now that you are living the dream most people only write and daydream about, it really starts to make sense.

Don’t tell them that, though.

~•🥦•~

Thanks to Izuku’s inhuman working hours, Sunday comes much sooner than you’ve expected. You are standing by the massive mirror in your room, accessing your dress and looking for flaws but by the look on Izuku’s face as he stares at you while sitting your bed, this dress was the right choice and there’s no reason for you to be stressed about it. You can hear the massive gulp even from the other side of the room as he stares at your your naked back, utterly mesmerized.

“Uhm… this dress… is quite revealing, isn’t it? Like… I could just… move that little strap and it would all fall down… uhm… not like I would…” Izuku mutters and you can’t help but giggle at that.

“You need a cold shower, Izu-Izu?” You slowly push the mentioned strap down. “Oh look, it’s still on! Magic of the dress tape!”

“I’m going to have a shower and put my own shirt on.” Izuku mutters, avoiding eye contact as he leaves the room in two long strides.

“Have fun!” You snicker to yourself, all over the moon from the fact that you have such an effect on your favorite hero.

“First of all…” Izuku pops his head back into the room, offended. “This is not smart casual.” He points at you from head to toe aggressively. You can barely stop yourself from laughing. “Second of all, fuck you.”

“Oh sorry, since when am I dating Bakugou Katsuki?” You snicker, adoration clear in your eyes.

“Oh, if I would be Bakugou Katsuki you would be naked by now.”

Wow. Izuku is in a sassy mood. Thank god you absolutely adore Izuku in a sassy mood.

“The only reason I’m not naked right now is the fact that we shouldn’t cancel on your two best friends.”

“That’s… a fair point.” You can see the steam coming out of Izuku’s red ears.

“Come on now, I want to have my own little meltdown when I see you in that gorgeous dark green dress shirt. Also, those trousers? I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Somehow, this was the right thing to say; Izuku gets all excited and makes a dramatic leave after grinning like an idiot for half a minute. Ahh, there are literally no words for how much you love this man and his silly little sassy fits.

After around fifteen minutes, Izuku emerges from the bathroom; his dress shirt is messily put on, half of the buttons still open, his hair a mess but somehow, an artistic mess that makes him look badass instead of… we’ll… messy… uhm, fuck, it’s really hard to use words right now to be absolutely honest.

Why?

Because when Izuku turns around to close the door, the sight that welcomes you is…

Izuku’s perfectly juicy peach. In a tailored fit trousers which cup his… well… his bottom… perfectly. The whole messy dress shirt thing also doesn’t help your… well… situation. If this would be a no plot just cheeky stuff kinda fanfiction, this would be the time when Izuku throws his non-existent tie on the floor and devours you without asking for permission and in only a few minutes you would be screaming his name like s mantra. And to be absolutely, totally honest… you really hate that this fanfiction isn’t one of those right now.

“Cat got your tongue?” Izuku purrs as he slowly comes closer and closer while he finishes his buttons on the way to you. For the love of god, stop the violence. This is pure torture.

“I’ll call the police.” You retort awkwardly, your fingers pointing at all the really lovely bits on Izuku’s body, like for instance, his absolutely gorgeous pecks under the green, tight-fit shirt. “This… whatever this is… is surely illegal.”

“Uhm… I really wanted to retort with something cool and flirty but what if I just throw you into the wall and kiss you senseless instead?” Izuku mutters with a red face, clearly embarrassed.

“I mean, that would have been something cool and flirty if you wouldn’t ask for permission… uhmpf…”

Izuku is all over you and he smells like expensive cologne. He kisses your lips, your neck, his hands wandering are all over your back, grabbing and caressing the naked skin and you can’t help but yelp and moan and just make all the sounds humanly possible because it’s not enough, it’s never enough, you want more and you wanted it for so long but you can’t help but respect his decision, but that doesn’t make it easy.

“We need to go. Let’s continue this in the car.” Izuku looks at you, disheveled, flushed and panting.

“Izu, we’ll be really late if we do that.” You giggle into his mouth that moves relentlessly on yours even as you try to speak.

“To quote my good friend, Kacchan… I do not give a single flying fuck.”

Needless to say, you two were really late to the party. Not like any of you really cared.

… Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Damn, honestly, these two need to get a room. I’m actually sorry for them at this point. I will burn in hell for this.

- Haha so funny story: I was so focused on the two specials I literally did not have a single word done of this until yesterday. Then I had a random urge to write and wrote two chapters in one go. Welcome to my life.

- The next chapter will be a Kirishima x Bakugou centered one so I’m sorry if you are not into that! This is my AU though, so like… I can do whatever I want. 😂 You can skip it if you really want but I’ll be really happy if you give it a try. This is NOT the same AU as the original and I’m not a fanatic KiriBaku shipper it just made sense in this AU. I love all the ships and I respect those who don’t ship anyone at all. So please, be nice or else I’ll cry. 😂💜

- Have you read the two Izuku x reader specials? If not, go on my profile and check them out! Send me your thoughts! 💜

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! 🥦 Taglist is still open!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[bourbon-ontherocks]

any fic recs where brio are in a secret relationship and do couple things in front of annie and ruby, which makes them suspicious?

Hi anon!

I’m sorry I took forever to come back at you!! I hope you’re still around...

Sounds like the kind of trope that’s simultaneously present to some level in every GG fic while also not being the main focus. Regardless, here’s a little selection that benefited from a huuuuge load of help from my dear friend @sdktrs12 <3 <3

Something by thingcalledlove A hilarious season 1 Annie POV investingating Beth and Rio’s lunatic shenanigans that culminates on walking in on them barely clothed

My mom's new boyfriend by amazonstar  @misshazelevers20 Beth and Rio do couple things in front of the kids instead of Annie and Ruby, but it still fits the general idea I guess? Also features Boland kids POV which is a very fun and original concept

I Wanna Fuckin' Tear You Apart by sunken___ships A season 1 fic where Annie and Ruby are nosey af about Beth and Rio’s chemistry, and drunk Beth blabbers nonstop about how she’d be interested to fuck him, although nothing happened yet so they’re not in a relationship, it’s more pre-fucking lol

The One Where Everyone Finds Out by Strawmari @xstrawmari Pretty much what is says on the tin. Blatant tdiots idioting around, includes Friends references and hot-tub sex.

Hide and Seek by Sdktrs12 @sdktrs12   A delicious season 4-divergent fic where Beth and Rio are boning discretly (so they think) and get unfortunately outed by a stained scarf. Yes, that’s the plot. Yes, that’s my definition of delicious, fuck off! Also, I hope that your definition of “do couple things” involve dirty fuck anon!

On the Outside Looking In by femalegothic @femalegothic A series of outsiders’ perspectives on these weirdos interactions...

The Pancakes Series by convolutedConcussion @johnisntevendead A post pancake lie canon divergent fic where Beth is all in her head about her pancake fantasy which soon comes true, causing her to act weird around Annie and Ruby. Contains a lot of great porn too.

Parting Ways by brokensatellites @bensonstablers A pre-season 2 fic where Annie and Ruby notices what Beth wouldn’t even see

Degree of Separation by brokensatellites @bensonstablers A post bathroom break canon-divergent fic where Beth and Rio follow a business partners to business partners with benefits to established couple sort of secret route and are not very subtle at it. Also features Dean as a complete douchebag for everyone’s enjoyment

the drop by zetuslapetus @querenaxx Ruby POV. Annie and Ruby witness Beth and Rio’s mating parade at a casual drop. Spoiler: it’s unsubtle and hilarious

hard times (and i gotta get to rock bottom) by zoeyclarke Absolutely flawless and hilarious Annie and Rio POV where they accidentally end up roadtripping together

Blurring the Line by thingcalledlove A season 1 fic where bougie!Rio buys Beth all sorts of expensive gifts (including a massive hipster kitchen renovation which is brilliant considering that it was written way before 2.11 aired), which Annie and Ruby find very suspicious. Includes lots of denial and dumbassery, fake dating, flirting, and deranged!Rio makes an appearance in the final chapter

Curious Case of the Hickey by voraciouswriter A post season 1, post Boland divorce fic where Annie notices a hickey on Beth. Roasting ensues.

let’s play a game to get some answers by vuccijl @lilliloves A girls’ night turns into a drinking game of roasting exclusively Beth

Thinking of You by mintletters16 Rio crashes the Hills anniversary party. Suspicion ensues.

Also I’m pretty sure that there was some awkward cheek kissing in front of an unwarned audience in my A part of it series

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Just Wants An Uneventful Holiday (Part 1)

This is not how you wanted to spend your break.

The school was supposed to be empty. Everyone except the Octavinelle trio was supposed to be gone.

Not to say you don’t enjoy your friends’ company but. No magic-using people means no magic-spewing overblots.

You were looking forward to just bringing the fairies their firewood and working on your winter homework while taking the first opportunity in a good long while to unwind with Grim and the ghosts. No investigations to worry about, no weird dreams to get worked up over, no overblots to frantically try and survive.

You wanted a break.

This? Marching 10km into the desert with the rest of Scarabia dorm for the third day in a row due to their leader’s looming psychotic breakdown? This is not a break.

Although...

There’s definetely something rotten in Scarabia dorm, you think to yourself as you watch Viper-senpai hand out skeins of water. Kalim-senpai had no problem using his unique magic yesterday, and yet today he acted like Grim had mortally insulted him when he asked for a repeat performance.

If the outburst had been after two or three other instances of Kalim-senpai using Oasis Maker and receiving what he felt were insufficient thanks for it, then his current attitude would make a little more sense. But taking umbrage after using it just once? And being universally praised by everyone else the rest of the day for it?

It doesn’t add up.

Even deranged behavior has some sort of internal logic to it, as Rosehearts-senpai and the Rules of the Queen of Hearts have taught you. Even with how nonsensical all 810 rules are, it’s rare to find a scenario where one rule actually conflicts with another— all of them usually work smoothly in tandem with the goal of having an orderly unbirthday party in mind.

Even if they do violate most forms of dignity and common sense.

Kalim-senpai’s behavior though? It’s erratic without rhyme or reason, bouncing from nice to mean and back again seemingly as he enters and exits a room. He insists you and Grim stay and participate in this asinine “training”, despite the fact that you both belong to a different dorm, and are technically rivals to Scarabia in Magift and exams.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s almost like he’s trying to imitate Rosehearts-senpai before his overblot—and doing poorly at it.

And with how much Viper-senpai has been invoking parallels between the current situation and what happened back then...

The smartphone Crowley gave you is a cold, heavy weight in your pocket. Its charge ran out yesterday, which is unsurprising given how many times you dialed and redialed the dumb bird headmaster’s number only to be met with his voicemail. You can probably recite that stupid message by heart now. You’ve heard nothing from Ace and Deuce either.

One thing is clear; no one’s going to help you out of this mess but you.

“Kalim-senpai?” You brace yourself as you step towards him. “Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly question me about?” He barks, glaring down at you haughtily.

“Well, I was just wondering, what’s the point of all this?” You fight to keep your nerve as his posture stiffens. “I don’t mean any disrespect, none at all, but you do want everyone to do better in Magift and exams, don’t you? I was hoping you could explain to me how the parades and defensive magic training are supposed to do that. I apologize for my ignorance, I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but could you please tell me why we don’t just practice Magift and brush up on the class material inst—”

Your head’s ringing.

You think you hear faint yelling, though it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

Your cheek aches.

Numbness blooming into a sharp stinging throb that feels like it’s growing with every second that passes, burning hotter than the sun above you.

You cautiously poke your tongue against your teeth, but none feel loose, thank the Seven.

Damn, the desperate, near-hysterical thought flits through your head. Even a pampered rich boy like him has strength behind his hits, huh?

The rest of you is just trying to process what the Hell just happened.

“How. Dare. You?!”

Asim-sama looms over you, red eyes burning with fury.

It’s a fight to keep yourself from curling into a terrified ball under his gaze, tucking into yourself as though seeing less of you would abate the anger, the shouting, the hurt, like you used to when you were a child.

“You dare to question my methods, my leadership of this dorm?! You? A sniveling street rat leeching off my hospitality?! Do you know who I am?!” He rages. “I am Kalim al-Asim! I am the Head of this dorm! I don’t have to explain ANYTHING, justify ANYTHING to the likes of you!!”

You knew, you knew you were pushing your luck when you first asked, but you thought it would just be yelling, like it was before. You can handle yelling, nothing Asim-sama can say could ever be worse than what you’ve already heard.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think—

“DON'T YOU TOUCH MY MINION, FGNAH!”

Your arm whips out almost on instinct.

You jolt forward slightly as Grim collides with it, hissing and spitting like he really was an irate cat, the flames in his ears flaring brightly enough that some detached part of you is worried about getting burned.

The other Scarabia students are reaching for their magic pens.

“Lemme at ‘im! Lemme at ‘im!!” Your friend howls, fighting to get past you. “Forget butt on fire, I’ll BURN IT TO A CRISP FOR HURTING MY MINION!! I'LL STEAL EVERYTHING YOU HAVE AND SELL IT FOR LUXURY TUNA!! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR CROSSING THE GREAT GRIM—”

“No, Grim.”

Your friend halts in his flailing to stare uncomprehendingly at you. “But Yuu—!”

“It was my fault.” You say, trying to keep as much emotion out of your voice as possible. Tears and trembling only show weakness, only make them worse. “Asim-sama was just correcting me. He was right to do so. I shouldn’t have questioned him. I overstepped my bounds.”

Asim-sama sniffs. “At least you know your place. Be glad I don’t punish you anymore than this.”

“What?! He slapped you for asking a question, you can’t possibly believe—” You gather Grim into your arms and hug him close. You quietly thank the Great Seven you at least have him, trying to hide the quiver in your limbs by burying your face in his fur.

But that’s exactly why you can’t let him do this. It’s just the two of you, you can’t win against an entire dorm of wizards like you did against the ghosts. Maybe if Ace and Deuce and Jack were here...but it’s just you. You need to protect your friend in the only way you can. “We can’t win this. Please, Grim.”

You feel him grumble, then a paw carefully pushes at your forehead. “Hrm...I’ll show mercy for now, so geroff already. It’s too hot for you to keep hugging me like this, I’m cooking here fgnah.”

Despite saying so, he settles onto your shoulder, tail smacking your arm as it flicks irritably.

“If you’ll excuse me, Asim-sama.” You duck your head slightly. “I will remove myself from your sight and head back early as penance for my behavior. Once again, my deepest apologies for insulting you.”

Asim-sama gives you a curt, dismissive nod.

You turn and make your way through the crowd of Scarabia students, snatches of muttered conversations floating to your ears.

“How could he—?”

“Just for a question?”

“Isn’t that going too far...?”

“Unforgivable...”

“Prefect.” Viper-senpai takes you by the shoulder, turning you to face him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You reply monotonously, eyes on the sand below you. “Just...just need to be by myself for a bit.”

His lips purse and you can feel him study your face. He presses a full water skein into your hands. “Take this. Even if it’s not as cold as I’d like, it should help with the swelling some. Plus you need to stay hydrated out there.”

“Thank you, Viper-senpai.” You nod, keeping your eyes down.

“And Prefect?” He squeezes your shoulder, voice lowering only a fraction. “I am truly sorry about this. All of this. It will not happen again, you have my word.”

It would’ve been a nice apology, had you not caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face.

You nod, making sure not to outwardly react to that or to the way the whispers of the other Scarabia students turn from the condemnation of their dorm head to the exaltation of the vice dorm head. You begin following the tracks in the sand back to the main dorm.

The sun beats down on your back as you take a swig from the skein and pass it to Grim to drink from. He’s still grumbling about how you should’ve let him recreate his rampage at the entrance ceremony.

For your part, the distance and good company have let you pull yourself out of that headspace enough that you can try and look back objectively on what happened.

Your mind keeps circling back around to one question: why did Asim-senpai hit you?

Based on your interactions before this, Asim-senpai doesn’t seem to be the type to resort to physical violence as a first response, or even a last one. Which means something in your question likely backed him into a corner enough that the normally pacifistic dorm head felt lashing out physically was the only way to get you to stop.

...Like the fact that he couldn’t answer it?

Even when screaming abuse at you, his ultimate response was that he wouldn’t explain himself to you. Is that because he didn’t want to? Or because he couldn’t? Does Asim-senpai himself not know the reasons behind his own actions? But how can someone act without knowing or meaning to, without being under the influence somehow?

Under the influence.

People acted without knowing or meaning to thanks to being under the influence of Buchie-senpai’s Unique Magic during the Magift incident. But he went home, you saw him leave, so what...?

You pull out your notebook, flipping through the pages with sweaty hands until you get to your records of the testimonies from the incident. You scan through the testimonies from Scarabia students, hoping to find something, anything—

Oh.

Oh.

“Motherfucker.” You hiss, staring at the page in dismay. You are an idiot. You are the biggest idiot, you make Deuce look like a genuis, how could you forget about this?? It was only the key testimony that helped pinpoint Buchie-senpai and Savannahclaw as the culprits behind the injuries. And it explains so much— why you kept agreeing to stay here despite wanting to go back to Ramshackle so desperately, almost like your mouth was speaking without your consent.

“Minion?” Grim asks, pushing the water skein back onto you. “What’s wrong?”

You snap your notebook shut and slide it back into your pocket, taking another fortifying swig from the skein. “Grim? Think we can get back soon enough to work on the escape route in our room before the others arrive back for lunch?”

“If we pick up the pace a bit, yeah.” He hops back onto your shoulder. “But what’s the rush? We have all night tonight to work on it.”

“Let’s just say the sooner we can get out of here, the better.” You mutter, cogs and gears turning in your head as a tentative plan begins to form.

This is not how you wanted to spend your winter break.

[toricrypticice]

The Golden Scarred

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

Chapter Four (Messy Memories)

Hunter woke up feeling heavy and out of it. He blinks trying to adjust to his surroundings. 

This couldn’t be right.

 He sits up from his bed. He was back in the covens palace? His room. 

“What?-

 ..Was it all just- a dream?”

 He seemed confused and a small bit hopeful. He stands looking around the room, feeling happy until he notices Rascal isn’t on his desk. In fact the Palisman was nowhere in sight. His heart stops

 “Rascal? “ he calls, but is met by the silence of the room. He starts to look around where the Palisman usually hides.

  “Rascal!?” He sounded a bit more desperate as he tried to keep his voice down not wanting to be caught . Hunter tore through the papers on his desk, even pulling everything off his bookcase and kneeling to look under the bed. He stands panting, feeling panicked as he opens his door. He runs out into the hall frantic to find the small bird. 

“RASCAL?!!” 

He calls out helplessly, losing all composure. Only to notice he wasn’t in the hallway. He takes a breath. He was in the main throne room now. 

The Titans heart beating loudly. 

“What- but I was-“ he mumbles confused and still a little frantic. 

“Hunter” 

The voice stopped him dead and his eyes widened with fear. He felt smaller as Belos towered over him.

 “You need to be taught that there are dire consequences for your actions” 

The words were familiar. 

Bitter. 

Cold. 

He knew this. 

He knew this all too well. 

He wanted to run away 

To stop what he knew would happen. . 

But his feet stayed planted in place. 

 Belos lashed towards him. The glimpse of a haunted smirk gracing his features as he advances on the boy. 

Hunter doesn't move as he feels a sharp pain pool through his jaw. The feeling of something sharp slicing through the area deeply making his vision swim and his breath hitch. 

-…

The sound of Belos sighing as he sits down. 

“See what you made me do….”

Hunter pulls himself off the floor, sniffing as blood pools from his face. He tried to will away the hot tears that fell down his cheeks to no avail. He covers the gash feeling shakey as he kneels in front of the throne. “I-I’m sorry E-Emperor Belos“ 

“Tsk, and to cry after punishment…

Such an embarrassment “

 Belos tuts before he stands. Hunter looks down, staring at his feet, the males words piercing his very being. Belos steps forward, his footsteps making Hunter’s shoulders quiver in anticipation. He shuts his eyes expecting another blow. There was the sound of something metal clattering in front of the younger male. 

“Stand up and Hide your shame. “ 

Hunter looks down to see the shiny gold mask he knew so well. 

He frowns. 

This is where everything changed. 

He wanted to scream, 

to throw it, 

to stop what was happening and leave it in the past.

 But instead he stares at the mask before his fingers wrap around the cold metal as he slips it over his blood soaked face nodding up at Belos. 

“You’ll now be known as The Golden Guard now so no more slipping up.. you are a face to our coven. 

You understand?”

Belos lays a hand on the males shoulder. 

“You need to be better, the titan knows you are better. “

 Hunter has to stop himself from crying as his cheek throbs, blood dripping down underneath the mask.

Not this again. 

Please

His heart pounds heavily as he looks up at his uncle. 

“I only do this because I care” Belos’ squeezes his shoulder forcefully making it ache slightly. Almost as a sick way of showing affection. 

Hunter puts his head down smiling brightly as he blushes at the older males words feeling bashful. 

 He remembered being so happy when Belos said that.  

Now the smile on his face seemed to hurt.

“Yes of course, “ Hunter states distantly. 

“You’re not even listening, of course I’d get stuck with you on this?!”

Hunter looked back quickly to see he was now standing with Lilith in the forest. His uncle's hand gone from his shoulder, the pressure and pain in his face fading. Hunters voice came without him willing. 

“Yeah well you better not screw this up Belos is counting on us to deliver” he snaps as his feet move forward with purpose. He felt agitated. 

Why was this happening again!?

Lilith laughs cockily. “Of course I’ve trained my life for The Emperor's Coven- “she goes to boast but Hunter cuts her off smirking cockily. 

“Unlike you I was chosen by the Titan, they already know what I’m capable of. Unlike you I don’t have to prove anything” he laughs walking ahead of the female, the words leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

 It was a lie. 

Such a lie. 

He was constantly trying to prove himself. 

Always striving to be better. 

He had to.

He was The Golden Guard after all. 

“Spoiled brat!” Lilith snaps

Hunter turns angrily about to quip only to see he was now standing above Kikimora. He blinks in confusion, his head felt like it was spinning. 

“What the powerful Golden Guard thinks he’s worth something? “ Kiki mocking tone was evident. 

He remembered this..

This was after..

Hunter grit his teeth feeling all the anger fill him “i matter to Belos,  unlike you” he snaps. 

Kikimora only laughs “you keep telling yourself that. But you're just a spoiled brat that he takes pity on. What part could you possibly play in the Titans will? ” She smirks. 

Hunter held his ground but the words cut deep. He did wonder, ‘what part did he play in all this?’

“You're just a child” Kikimora chuckles darkly.

Hunter felt his blood boil as his ears ring. 

A child! 

That’s all anyone ever saw him as! 

He clenches his jaw as his eye throbs in irritation. 

“Watch your mouth, I am your superior and you shall treat me as such” He glares, deciding to remain formal knowing Belos’ might be listening. Kikimora only seemed to laugh, it started as a low chuckle but then got a bit more deranged making Hunter feel a bit uncomfortable as he grips his staff holding his own. 

“You think You’re all that but I'll rid you easily.” She chuckles starting to walk off as Hunter Growls loudly.

“Is that a threat!” He snaps only to be met with the Humans look of disappointment as he stands over her, staff ablaze. 

He takes a step back, eyes wide. 

‘What- Again’

Back to another memory,

 the Palisman mission.

But this was different. 

There was no Kiki. 

He was yielding Rascal as his staff instead. 

No other Palisman in sight

“You’re not my friend you’re just The Golden Guard” 

The words stung for some reason Hunter couldn’t understand then or now. 

But before he can reply like he did in the past Luz starts to melt into the floor becoming nothing but goo. Everything around him becoming a dark black sludge melting down into the earth. He gasps as Rascals wood cracks, the bird tweeting in pain before his staff turns to dust in his hands. He stares wide-eyed in fear, his hands shaking as he feels tears fall. 

No No No

That didn’t just happen?!

He didn’t-

There’s a rumble in the ground below his feet causing him to fall back. The sticky black substance soaking his clothes and hair. 

‘This never happened?!’ He panics

Hunter pants trying to get up as muddled hands rise from the sludge grabbing onto his shoulders, his cape, his hair, anywhere they could get their hands on, soaking him in the dark liquid. He coughs gagging as he sinks deeper, the substance making its way into his mouth.  

He couldn’t breathe. 

He choked back the bitter heavy muck as he wrestled to stay above. 

He tries to call out.

 To fight his way out of the thick liquid. 

“You’d be such a hassle to replace…” 

Hunter's eyes widened and all the fight in him seemed to leave immediately. He lets his body sink into the dark muck, only his mask staying above as he slips further down. The blackened sludge finally filling his lungs, the words echoing as his vision goes dark. 

Black. 

Only Black. 

And then...

“BOOM”

 The sound vibrates off his skull painfully as his ears ring. 

He gasps loudly as his eyes shoot open, sitting up quickly when he realizes there’s nothing holding him down. 

“Gah-“ he grips his side in pain as it flares up by the sudden action. His head pounding as his vision swims. 

“Titan” he pants still catching his breath as sweat pools down. What a nightmare.. Now where was he? 

He could recall what happened. 

He betrayed Belos 

His side hurt. 

He knew that much.

And he had slept. Which was- weird?

 He shakes his head to rid the dream trying to get a grip on reality as he looks around. He was resting on something soft. Nicer than the coven beds. He looks around to see he was in somewhere slightly familiar- 

Someone’s home 

“ah?” He grits his teeth as his fingers graze a fresh gauze bandage wrapped nice and secure around the male torso, way better than something he could ever do on his own. 

That’s when he remembered and his blood ran cold. His eyes widen and his heart skipped a beat as terror sunk in. 

He was in the owl lady’s home! 

She had helped him!  

He let the enemy help him?!  

How degrading.. 

He was more of a traitor than he first thought, 

He stands up only to immediately fall to his knees when he loses his footing. “Ugh” he huffs at himself holding his side as it throbs, his vision swimming. 

“Hey i hear you're awake I brought some-“ there was a gasp and the sound of a tray being put down before he was helped to his feet and back onto the couch. 

When his vision focuses he sees the worried human standing infront of him. “You gotta be careful. Eda says you have a lot of internal damage and a slight concussion. “

“What-?” Hunter was bewildered at a loss of words. What was this- He takes a breath to sort himself. “What do you want with me? If you're looking for leverage against Belos you can-”

“Whoa whoa whoa” Luz cuts him off as she puts her hands up in defense. She laughs softly. “You just woke up. Plus We are only trying to help you-” this time Hunter cuts her off.

“Why?!” Hunter snaps loudly, holding his head as it spins badly, his ears seemed to ring. “Why are you helping me?! What does this- “ Hunter takes a deep breath as the room starts to spin. 

“Easy easy, look Lilith was in the Emperor’s coven and she told us- look we know you need help just let us help." Luz hums smiling at the male. “I brought some food and some water for you, Eda went out for medicine so its just me and King-”

The rest of Luz’ words seemed to fade off as those words hit him. Eda was going into town just for him. To help… Hunter shook his head feeling guilty and angry. 

“Town! Its crawling with coven scouts. How will she defend without magic? ” Hunter states, raising an eyebrow. 

“Awe you care” Luz teases  with a big smile to which Hunter's face turns a dark red as he scoffs. 

“What- no i just-” Hunter growls in annoyance looking away. “I just think its stupid... She’s a stupid witch” he adds as he crosses his arms pouting. 

Luz laughs, smiling.

“Yeah yeah anyway make sure you eat.” She gestures to the tray heading to the door. Hunter frowns seeing flashes of his dream. 

“Human, how long have I been asleep?” Hunter absentminded taps on the arm of the couch as he questioned the girl.  

Luz seems to tense a little at the question as she freezes looking a bit worried. 

“Um only 27 hours haha but Eda said-”

“What-! I wasted so much time” He sits straighter. “Belos is-”Hunter's words stop as his eyes widen and he stands quickly, his legs wobbling. “Where’s Rascal!?” He demands, trying to hide the desperation that leaked out.

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

[uniarycode]

Dawn and Dusk

Series: Xros wars/Hunters

Written as part of @digiweek. Day 4, prompt: dark/light

Set shortly after the hunters go to Hong Kong.

Wordcount 2966- a bit heftier than the rest of what I've been posting

Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts.

Yuu did not bring many friends home to the Amano penthouse, but whenever he did the reaction was the same: pure, unabashed jealousy.

His parents were obscenely rich, he was wise enough to recognize it was more than just well off. His home was a middle school student's dream: indoor hot tubs, rooms one could reasonably play basketball in, and no parental supervision. Now, out on the balcony, he could look down and see trees the size of Legos, and a view that stretched out to the ocean. Most kids his age could not help but be envious. To Yuu however, only one feature stood out prominently.

Just how empty it was.

That void grew greater in its sheer size. Ceilings twenty feet high only served to underline just how little there was left to fill the silence. The distance between himself and those he could see on the ground, more metaphor than physical.

His recent trip to Hong Kong had only made this emptiness grow. He loved his sister, and while he’d thought himself used to her absence, it now rushed back to him in full force. They had spent years together in this home, and no matter how many corners it had, each and every one of them hid a precious memory between the pair.

His parents were away; his parents had always been away. Working, logging thirty hours every day to ensure that both he and his children’s children would be able to maintain this life of luxury with no effort on their own part.

So devoted were his parents that the very idea of indulging in such opulence like creature comforts or family were beyond them.

It had taken years for Yuu to associate the concept of ‘father’ with the man who bore the title. And in turn, possessed by Harpymon as he was, his father had not recognized him at all. Next to the protective love for his daughter, the son apparently did not matter at all.

Of all things, Yuu had been mistaken for a prospective suitor, which was certainly not something he wanted to unpack.

And that had been the first time he’d seen his father or his sister in months. Only once before in the year since returning from the digital world had he seen them together. He didn’t hate Nene, he couldn’t hate Nene, but even still, having her leave him like this…. Resentment wasn’t the right word. Bitterness was closer but didn’t quite fit. Envy was the most accurate of the bunch.

Yes, he was envious of Nene, for being able to go out there alone and fulfill her dream, while leaving him behind staring into memories of the past.

“You’re just like Nene.” He’d been told many times, from those who thought it a compliment. They were wrong, he’d initially believed they were wrong on both counts.

Yuu was smart, he knew it, even if he tried to be modest. Concepts just fit together to him in ways as naturally as walking. He even struggled to tutor others. The very idea of not understanding something was one of the few things he himself struggled to understand.

Nene was also intelligent, but it was far from natural. Whatever she did, she threw all her effort behind. With her being the eldest and thus the designated heir, failure was not an option, and she took advantage of every resource necessary to outcompete and outlast the others.

There was only one word he could think of to describe Nene at her most focused: Ruthless. There was no doubt about the success of the Amano corporation under her leadership, she would crush everyone she needed to crush and think little of the consequences. Even in her current profession: becoming an idol was merely a test of how far she could push herself, and Yuu sympathized with any who made the error of underestimating her.

But then, Yuu sympathized with everyone. That had been the other difference he’d believed existed between the siblings. From the lowliest ant to the grandest emperor to the most heinous criminals, he couldn’t stand to harm any of them.

Even the girl who would break the rules to try to steal his friends and swore to turn him into her prisoner, he just couldn’t bring himself to do any lasting harm to. He simply told himself if he was kind enough, if he showed how outmatched she was then Airu would eventually come around, or at least get the help she needed.

His parents had learned his bountiful generosity early. They only sent gifts these days, any allowance would immediately and indiscriminately be forwarded to various charities. He had never seen the problem with it; there were millions who needed money more than him.

He had, in childlike fantasy, seen that as the main distinction between himself and his sister. She had been named for dusk, and he for dawn. She had thrived in cut-throat competition, he had blossomed in a world without scarcity. She was the harbinger of darkness and despair, and he would be the one to lead others to the light.

And yet, he had, with these hands, “So easily…”

And she, in all her ruthless determination, had halted him, saved him.

Even if he didn’t deserve to be saved, maybe it had been out of her own selfishness. Why was his life worth any more than those he’d ended, those he’d tortured? Simply because she knew him and had an emotional attachment? But even that was a blemish on her, sticking her neck out for the likes of him. And he’d done it so easily before, with so little prompting. Who was to say he couldn’t do it again? “Wouldn’t it have been better if I wasn’t saved at all?”

He discovered a surprising bonus to just how long the drop off the balcony was.

“No good, No good.” A voice called out from his pocket. “Thoughts like that are no good at all.”

He stilled his breathing and took a step back. Damemon was right of course. There would be no penance found in death. He couldn’t die now, with the hunt on and needing to help with the digiquartz; his death would be only one more burden he was imparting on those around him.

But he needed to be careful. Damemon was no longer the only Digimon in his Xros loader. He had hunted Superstarmon. That was the point of the hunt, to capture all the Digimon, lost in the Digiquartz.

But the simple idea made his stomach turn. Digimon were living beings, with hopes and dreams, they didn’t deserve to be hunted for sport any more than Taiki or Nene did.

He didn’t feel bad about hunting Superstarmon, the Digimon had himself been hunting Taiki. What worried him, what scared him, was how much he had enjoyed the act of hunting. Of manipulating Tagiru and Ryouma into a situation where he could steal all the glory. Of joint-crossing with Taiki, something that he had been the only one of the original Xros Heart generals to never actually do. Of sneaking Tuwarmon in at the end to steal the capture out from the other hunters.

If he found himself enjoying fighting a bit too much, if he found himself taking joy in the pure act of hunting like Tagiru did, or sacrificing morals for his goals like Airu did? Could he? Would he go back to those times? If he would, shouldn’t he do anything it took to prevent it from happening again? Even if….

He shook his head. If nothing else this last year had proven just how wrong he had been; being compared to Nene was a compliment he didn’t deserve.

His empathy prevented him from truly stopping deranged criminals before they hurt more people. His aptitude was a gift born of biology and circumstance, not an accomplishment to be paraded around.

Even now, he was paralyzed by his own darkness, wallowing in it. While she was on stage, inspiring thousands, becoming the light that kept them moving.

Damemon popped out of his Xros loader. “You need to talk these things through, you can’t just keep it all bottled up.” His partner said.

Talk to whom? This was one subject that he couldn’t even breach with Damemon. ‘Sorry I’m so terrible you had to fight for evil and die’ was even more destined for disaster than his current train wreck of thoughts. “It’s no worse than normal.” He said.

“This is normal?” Damemon asked, seeing through him in an instant. “You need a better normal.”

“It’s just.” He exhaled. “I don’t know.”

And he didn’t. This wasn’t the answer on some test, and he was too wise to search his own knowledge of psychology for an answer. There weren’t any therapists that he could confess to without being either dismissed or thrown in the looney bin. “I got spirited away to another world and became a villain.” is the plot of some anime, not real life.

Tagiru wouldn’t understand. Taiki...might, he was at least physically present and could understand the magnitude of it all. And Taiki was the one who had originally broken through his wishful thinking. But Taiki also tended to attempt to shoulder all burdens by himself, even if there was nothing he could do. There was no reason for Taiki to exhaust himself just for Yuu’s sake.

And somehow, he was too embarrassed to share this weakness with his leader.

“I’m telling you it’s no good.”

It took a few seconds for Yuu to realize his partner wasn’t talking to him and had instead taken advantage of his introspection to swipe his phone.

“Hey.” He objected, reaching down to reclaim it. “You can’t just go calling people.”

“Yuu, are you okay?” His sister’s voice called from the other end of the phone “I’m heading over.” She declared.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, you don’t have to, you can’t-” The line was already dead, he didn’t know how many of his feeble protestations she heard.

The average flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo took over four hours. How Nene left her apartment, procured one, and arrived at his door in less than 2 he didn’t bother to ask. It would have at least required breaking the sound barrier.

But then, barriers had never stopped her before.

“What’s up.” She asked simply

He did his best to muster a scowl. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here; I can take care of myself.”

As was his custom, Damemon destroyed whatever farce Yuu presented. “It’s no good, Yuu’s been having no good thoughts.”

“No good thoughts.” She said quietly, looking between them. “Yuu, you have to understand that wasn’t your fault.”

He quaked but did not respond, her hand reached out to rest on his fist as she repeated herself. “It was not your fault.”

“But it was.” he drew back, “It was my fault. If it hadn’t been for me, then hundreds, thousands, who even knows how many! They all wouldn’t have had to suffer! None of them would have had to die!” he threw his arm out, knocking over some cabinet, a priceless vase colliding to the floor.

Nene seemed unfazed by his outburst, “Bugramon was the one who chose the path of war. You had nothing to do with that, he chose to make them suffer, not you.”

“I chose! I saw them suffering, I saw their pain and I ignored it. No, it’s worse: I enjoyed it! I felt like a god, being able to choose who won and who lost. Using some as pawns to die and keeping others alive for my win.” His voice dropped. “Bugramon didn’t do that. I was the one who did it.”

“That wasn’t your fault either. Darknightmon tricked you. Even I -”

“-Because of me!” he shouted “He used me to enslave, he used me to manipulate you. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to stain your perfect hands. -”

“-Perfect?”

“- God I’m such a screwup. You’re the heir, you’re the eldest. Literally no expectations on me except ‘don’t mess things up’ and I turn both of us into mass murders.”

He felt her arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He couldn’t find the strength to break free, so he stayed there, staining her shirt with his tears.

“I am not perfect.” She said “You are not a screwup. And neither of us are mass murders.”

“We, we.” He couldn’t bear to say it. “It doesn’t matter if they came back. I still…” he unleashed another bought of sobs.

“No good, that thinking is no good.” Damemon insisted. “Death is different to us Digimon. It is unpleasant yes, and best to be avoided. But it’s not like humans do. Digimon never completely die.”

“We are not mass murders.” Nene insisted. “That doesn’t make what either of us did okay, but neither of us are truly murders.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed. His fingers curled into fists. “Even if Digimon come back, humans wouldn’t, right? Taiki had to trick the rose to be set free, you couldn’t just kill him and revive him. And he, I almost.” he couldn’t even bear to say it. “…It was so close.”

Yuu felt a bile burn in his throat, remembering just how little effort more he would have needed to snuff a life out completely. “You too Nene. If Minervamon hadn’t hidden in your Xros loader. In that case I would have, and you would have….”

“But you didn’t,” she said, “and you didn’t intend to. There’s no point worrying about what could have happened if it didn’t happen and you never intended for it to happen. I know you would never want to hurt me.”

He shook his head. It was easy enough to say no harm done, but his nightmares disagreed. Whether or not he was intending to kill her, he was certainly intending on putting a blade through her heart. And he almost did.

She took advantage of his silence to score one more point. “And I am far from perfect. I’m not like you, I stumble more than anyone. Grandma did use to say, it took me a year to learn how to walk, you did it on your first try.”

What did that matter? It wasn’t the first attempt anyone remembered, it was the last one.

“But you always stand back up, and right now, I, I don't.” he swallowed. Everything came to him as easily as walking, and yet, “I don’t always know if I should?”

His sister didn’t respond at first. Perhaps even she was caught off guard by his confession. But then, stumping Nene was a feat he dare not have the audacity to claim.

She held him, bringing them to the ground. One hand rubbed his back, up and down, up and down. “You know, if something were to happen to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“You would survive.” He muttered, “You always seem to.”

“In name, maybe, but I wouldn’t enjoy any of it. I can’t see life without you.”

He continued to sniffle. God, he was so pathetic, crying here like a baby. “I’m not worth it-”

“You are!” she insisted. “You are worth it all. If anything, your biggest issue is you don’t know your worth; you’re too selfless, you value everything else above yourself.”

“I-I-I” she pulled him into her shirt more fully, muffling his resistance.

“One of these days I’ll teach you to be selfish like me. Until then, we’ll have to weaponize that selflessness of yours.” She pulled him away and stared him dead in the eye. “I want you to promise me, whenever you feel like you can’t keep going, whenever it feels like too much, you’ll find a way to pull through. For me.”

He took a few deep breaths. “That’s awful selfish of you.”

“I said I’d teach you to be selfish like me. You’re learning from the best.” She said “Promise.”

“I could never break a promise with you.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

She took a deep breath. “I told you I stumble more than anyone. I’ve faced failure after failure. Going to Hong Kong, Father cut me off. I had no money, no connections, I had to start from zero. I thought there was no way I could keep going more times than I could count.

“And when those times come, I think of you. I think about how you’d stop everything, just to give a funeral to a butterfly. I think about how you’d always try to help everyone, even when too young or too small to be of any real use. You are my light, the thing that keeps me going even when immersed in darkness.”

Her hands were now on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “Now promise. Promise me that wasn’t all in vain. Promise me that I won’t lose my reason for continuing to push myself. Promise me you’ll keep going, if only for my sake. That’s all it has to be for now.”

Yuu took a deep breath, body shaking as the request percolated through him.

“I promise.”

She smiled, and pulled him close again, suffocating him in her embrace. “And now your first lesson in selfishness: Just let it all out. Don’t worry about me or Damemon or anyone else.”

That night Yuu released a year’s worth of tears.

Note: one etymology for Yuu is twilight, which doesn’t have to mean dawn, but it kind of fits here.

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming​

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 1: The Restless Summer Air

The girl watched the toast pop up from the mint green Burlington toaster mere seconds after emitting the smell of the now charred breakfast. The toaster almost perfectly matched the vinyl covering on the kitchen chairs and the geometric pattern on the off-white linoleum flooring. The whole house, in fact, looked like it came straight out of a magazine, which, in all honesty, it had. Her mother had dog-eared the pages of the latest styles before they even bought the house. The kitchen, as noted, was mint and off-white themed. Clean and crisp. The living room, which flowed out from the kitchen, featured wood flooring adorned with a large ornate rug with a velvet baby pink couch and loveseat. The one piece that didn’t quite match the room was her father’s green-ish recliner. It was the sore thumb of the room that he refused to part with. The fireplace was surrounded by a brick mantle, on top of which was a wooden clock that ticked loudly. It was very nearly time for her to be on her way to school.

She sat in her usual seat at one end of the table watching her mother, who looked at the slightly charred toast with little regard and tossed it onto a plate. She watched as her mother haphazardly slathered it with strawberry jam. She was doing it wrong, again. 

Across from the girl’s place at the kitchen table was a full breakfast plate - two fried eggs, two pieces of (unburnt) toast, buttered, and three sausage links - next to a cup of coffee. The sun shining in from the living room illuminated the steam willowing out from the top of the mug like smoke from a chimney. It curved and swirled upwards, slithering almost, until it disappeared.

“Ed!” her mother called, for the fourth time, more shrill than the previous three. 

She plopped the plate of toast in front of her daughter before grabbing her “secret” pack of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer. When the girl heard the back door open and the strike of a match, she got up from her seat to grab the jar of jam and knife that were still on the counter. She dipped the knife gingerly into the jar and spread jam into the forgotten corners of the toast, but not so near the crust that her fingers would get sticky when she ate it. Then, she cut the toast diagonally. 

“Morning,” her father smiled at his daughter as he entered the kitchen. She smiled back, but her mouth was too full of toast to return his greeting. He was in one of his nicer suits today, the dark blue one, with a silk paisley tie. His coat was already swung over his arm, his hand clutching his briefcase beneath it. He blew quickly and gently on his coffee a few times before gulping some down, wincing. Still too hot. He gave up on it, and turned to leave. The girl’s smile dropped.

“What are you doing?” her mother’s voice came from behind her.

“Going to work, dear, like I do every morning,” he replied cheekily. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He paused, annoyed by the delay. His eye spied the full plate of food at his spot. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time to eat.”

He moved to leave.

“You’re supposed to bring her to school today.”

“Hun, I’ve got a meeting first thing. I really gotta go.”

“I have a hair appointment-”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kat-”

“Ed, you promised that you-”

“I hardly think your hair is-”

“That’s not the point-”

“Don’t forget who pays for your hair to look like that.”

“Here we go.”

“I’m not doing this now, end of discussion.”

He grabbed a piece of toast from his plate and shoved it into his mouth before leaving out the front door. 

Her mother slammed the back door shut. She hastily untied her apron and threw it on the counter, then rushed off to the powder room to fix her hair and put on some make up. 

The girl finished her toast in almost complete silence, but for the steady ticking of the clock.

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

The Academy basement was almost always dark when Gregg got in. Today was no exception. He enjoyed being the first one there. The more work he got done sooner, the better change he had of making it home for dinner. Granted, he didn’t always make it, but he made the effort, and that was enough for his wife. Plus, the mornings were quiet. He could get settled, organized. It was a different kind of quiet from the late nights. The morning quiet felt promising, hopeful in a way. The evening quiet was a slow drag, your thoughts muddled with too much information that had accumulated over the course of the day into a tangled ball of yarn. 

They had a coffee maker now, and an electric kettle. Some of the perks of the increased funding and attention the Behavioral Science Unit had received. Gregg would make a strong pot, stronger than he liked it. He was the odd one out in the team who preferred weaker coffee, so he would make it strong for their sake and add hot water to his mug until it was tempered to his liking. 

On this particular morning, Wendy was the next to arrive. She and Gregg exchanged silent greetings as she hung up her coat before retiring to her office. A stack of files was waiting for her on her desk, but it was only a partial set. The remaining files were in her briefcase, having been read the night before. She took them out and placed them in their own pile on her already busy desk. The “done” pile. Though not “done” as in finished with; “done” as in read and flagged with numerous Post-it Notes. 

The interviews had been behind ever since the Atlanta case, even though that was closed over a month ago. The phone had been ringing almost constantly with police from every county thinking every slightly disturbing murder was the work of a deranged psychopath. Poor Gregg was getting the brunt of the phone duty, which sucked up his time on more important work. They did get an answering machine, but between checking the tapes and the stacks of unsolicited faxes that would come through, it was becoming a full time job to sift through it all.

Wendy heard the main door open and wondered if it was Bill. She got up from her desk to check. She needed coffee, anyways. 

It was Holden. A few weeks ago, he would’ve asked her if Bill was in yet, but his late arrival was a regular occurrence by now. They exchanged their usual good morning head nod as Wendy exited to obtain her caffeine fix. 

Some papers floated off the edge of the fax machine tray, which was still spitting out pages.

“How long has this been going on?”

Gregg, fully immersed in a recording, didn’t hear Holden.

“Gregg,” he said louder.

Gregg paused the tape and removed his headphones.

“When did this start?” Holden asked, picking up the pages from the floor and stacking them, along with the rest, next to the fax machine.

“I’m not sure. It was empty when I got in this morning.”

Holden sighed as he gave a few of the pages a cursory glance. Nothing excited him.

Wendy returned armed with two cups of coffee. She gave the coat rack a scan for Bill’s coat, but it was still absent.  

“Hey,” Holden said, making his way over to Wendy. “Do you think we should’ve told him yesterday?”

“He had already gone home.”

Holden looked at the second coffee cup in Wendy’s hand, waiting for her to offer it to him. 

“Yeah, I know. But should we have called him?”

Wendy shook her head.

“He doesn’t need to be dealing with work when he’s at home.”

The hypocrisy of her advice isn’t lost on either of them. Holden’s not exactly innocent either. 

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“There’s not much we can do.”

Holden looked at the coffee again. This time Wendy noticed. 

They’re interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the hall. Moments later, Bill walked in, without a coat, looking slightly worse for wear than usual, with a manic glint in his eye.

“Morning, Bill,” Wendy said.

“Morning,” he responded reactively, not bothering to look in her direction. 

He stood at the coat rack for a moment before realizing he didn’t need to be there, then headed to his office. 

Holden and Wendy shared a look. She’s got this. Wendy followed Bill, both cups of coffee still in her hand, leaving Holden to fend for himself. 

Wendy leaned against the doorway of Bill’s office while he settled himself. She half expected the inside of his briefcase to be a slough of loose files, but he pulled out a single tidy, albeit thick, folder. 

Wendy said nothing. 

Bill sighed and finally looked up at her.

“Look, I appreciate the concern.”

“Bill-”

“I do. But what I really need right now is to not be treated like I’m a…a bird with a broken wing, or a child.”

He paused. 

“Or some other helpless thing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I know I look like shit.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

He almost smiled. 

“While Holden and I share some…concerns,” she continued. “That’s not entirely why I’m here.”

Wendy stepped inside his office, closing the door behind her, and took a seat, placing one of the coffee cups in front of Bill.

“Gunn came down here yesterday, after you left-”

“Shit.”

“He knows there’s something going on, more than whatever it is you’re telling him.”

Bill leaned his forehead into this hand, rubbing his temples. 

“He really likes playing us off each other, doesn’t he.”

“It’s actually rather smart, if you think about it,” Wendy responded wryly. “He knows by now that we talk to each other about this kind of stuff, and that Holden and I have a better chance of getting through to you than he does.”

Bill finally took note of the coffee in front of him and gulped some down. 

“What did you tell Gunn?” he asked.

“Nothing. I said I wasn’t specifically sure what was going on outside of work and assured him that we were catching up from time lost during the Atlanta case.”

“Is that true?”

“Marginally.”

He scoffed.

“But that’s not your fault,” she added.

They sat in the silence of a mutual understanding that nothing either of them could say would change the reality of the situation. 

Wendy shifted in her seat, about to stand up, when Bill interrupted her.

“Brian answered the phone this morning.”

She opened her mouth, but no words formed.

Every day since Nancy left with Brian, Bill had been calling her parents in Connecticut. There was nowhere else she could’ve gone to. She had no siblings, and had too much pride to confide in any of their friends. 

“I called this morning, expecting to leave another voice-mail, but after two rings it stops. I hear breathing. Background noise from the kitchen. Bacon sizzling.”

Each word is harder for Bill to say out loud, but he keeps his composure. Wendy can feel it, though. 

“And then I hear Nancy freak out, telling Brian to hang up the phone. Then…”

He imitated a dial-tone.

“I don’t know what to do, Wendy.”

She exhaled softly. She wasn’t sure either. 

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

That was her cue to leave. She paused in the doorway, and turned back around.

“You don’t have to tell Gunn everything. Just, something with a grain of truth. Enough that he feels you’re being honest with him and will give you some leeway.”

“I will.”

“Sooner rather than later.”

Bill nodded.

“He’s out today, yeah?” She nodded back. “I’ll tell him next week. Promise.”

Wendy left him with a sympathetic smile. 

Holden was finally settled at his desk when Gregg interrupted him.

“I’ve got an Arthur Osborn on the line. Alaska State Trooper. He’s got a case that I think it worth looking into.”

Don’t they all.

“And he asked for me specifically?”

“You or Bill, but I figured…”

“Yeah, sure, put him through.”

A moment later, Holden’s phone rang.

“Special Agent Holden Ford.”

“Agent Ford, thanks for taking my call.” Osborn’s voice was deep and had a midwest lilt. Definitely not a native Alaskan. 

“How can I help?”

“We’ve had four young women found dead in less than two years. All of them under 21. The youngest,” his voice cracked, “was eleven.”

Holden waited for him to compose himself.

“They were noted as missing before the bodies were found,” Osborn continued. “Two months ago, Lori King, 18, was reported missing. We think it was the same guy. We want to find him before she ends up like the others.”

“Of course. What condition were the bodies in when they were found?”

Osborn took a deep breath. “There was significant decomp by the time we found them.”

“Anything notable in how they were staged?”

“Staged?”

“Yes. Positioned. When you found them, were they sitting up, lying down, what were their arms and legs doing…”

“Nothing particular, really, I don’t think. We have photos.”

“Good. It’s possible this is the same unsub, but I’ll need to look at everything you’ve got on it.”

“Yes, Agent Ford.”

“Did you already fax us the files?” Holden was already dreading having to dig the related pages out of the stacks.

“What? No, no. We thought we better call first.”

“Good thinking. Send them through when you get a chance. We’ll take a look.”

“Thank you.”

Less than thirty minutes later, the fax machine started printing.

Later that afternoon, Holden gathered the rest of the team in the war room to review the Fairbanks case files. It turned out Osborn was right in his suspicion that this could be the work of the same unsub.

“Our first victim is Glinda Sodemann, 19. Newly wed and a new mother. She went missing from her home in North Pole on August 29, 1979.” 

Holden pinned a photo of Glinda onto the board.

“Her husband came home to the baby asleep in the crib and Glinda gone. There were no signs of foul play, and no indication that she would have had a reason to run away. Two months later, her decomposing body was found near Moose Creek, just over twenty miles south of Fairbanks, in a gravel pit near the highway.”

Next to the smiling black and white yearbook photo of Glinda, Holden pinned the photo from the dump site. 

“She was shot in the face with a .38 caliber. The pistol cartridge was found next to the body. There were no signs of sexual assault.”

“Did they look into the husband,” Bill interjected.

Holden nodded.

“He was their prime suspect for a while. Even failed a polygraph. But there was no evidence.”

The next photo Holden put up was of an even younger girl.

“Almost a year after Glinda disappeared, 11-year-old Doris Oehring goes missing from North Pole. Her and her older brother were riding their bikes on June 11. She had ridden ahead of him, and when he caught up to her he saw her talking to a man with a blue car. The hood was popped open as if he had engine trouble. As soon as her brother got closer, the man slammed the hood, got back in his car, and sped off. Two days later, Doris disappeared.”

“Were they able to get a description from the brother?” Gregg asked.

“They got a rough sketch,” Holden answered, adding said sketch to the board. “The brother said he thought the man was wearing a blue shirt that looked like a uniform.”

“Military?” Wendy suggested.

“Air Force.” 

“There’s a base in Fairbanks,” Bill added.

“They found Doris’ bike hidden in the bushes near her home. A witness said they saw a blue car near that area around the time of her disappearance. The driver appeared to be struggling with someone or something in the seat next to him.”

“Fuck,” Bill muttered under his breath.

“They also said it looked like he had a military haircut. Now, based on all of the descriptions of the perpetrator, the state troopers got a list of every single blue car that was registered to drive on the Eielson Air Base. Anyone want to guess how many names are on that list?”

They looked around at one another.

“One hundred?” Gregg suggested.

“550,” Holden responded. “They questioned Glinda’s husband again. This time the polygraph was inconclusive.”

The team collectively rolled their eyes at that cursed word.

“They brought a polygraph expert in after that to question him again. They said that he had an irregular heartbeat that made it impossible for him to pass a polygraph. It would always show either as failed or inconclusive. Due to lack of alternative evidence, they had to remove him as a suspect, at least for Doris’ disappearance.”

They fell silent, processing the implications of this information. How many people failed a polygraph because of a heart condition?

“The third disappearance happened January 31,” Holden continued. “Marlene Peters, the oldest victim so far at age 20. She was last seen hitchhiking from Fairbanks to Anchorage to visit her sick father. Now, initially, there wasn’t enough reason to think that her disappearance was connected to the others. Five weeks later, Wendy Wilson, 16, goes missing. She was also last seen hitchhiking, and a witness saw her get into a white pickup in Moose Creek. They found her body three days later, over thirty miles south of Fairbanks. She had been strangled and then shot in the face. Two months later, Marlene’s body was found in similar condition, not far from where Wendy’s had been. Which also happened to be very close to -”

“Eielson Air Base,” Bill finished.

“Bingo. The latest disappearance occurred a couple days after they found Marlene’s body. Lori King, 19.” Holden puts Lori’s photo on the board. “She was last seen walking alone in Fairbanks.”

“Did they ever find Doris Oehring?” Wendy asked.

“No. They’ve searched near the air base and all the areas where the other bodies were found, but no sign of Doris, or Lori.”

Holden took a step away from the board, indicating his descent into theorizing.

“He’s single. Lives alone. Definitely has issues with women.” The team all nodded in agreement. “Probably has a hard time holding a job. He has a history with the military, but I don’t think he’s part of the Air Base.” 

“Even though it’s close to the dump site of the victims,” Gregg inquired.

“It’s more notable that the bodies were dumped off the highway. It doesn’t feel like it’s about the proximity to the Air Base,” Holden replied. “So, why does he shoot them in the face?”

“To hide their identity?” Gregg suggested.

Wendy shook her head.

“It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s a relatively tight knit community. People know that these women are missing, and identifying them wouldn’t be that difficult, even after their faces had been shot. It’s more about substitution. He’s taking them and killing them in place of the person - woman - that his aggression is actually directed at. Once they’re dead, he sees that they didn’t fulfill the fantasy in the way that he wanted, so he disfigures their face to erase their identity in order to satisfy his illusion.”

Gregg nodded.

“I disagree about the military aspect, however,” she continued. “I think it’s highly likely he does work at the Air Base in some capacity.”

“Because of the haircut and the blue car?” Holden responded.

“And the uniform. The location of the bodies. The evidence we’ve accumulated from other cases. He likely has disciplinary issues, maybe even a history of abusive behavior towards women.”

“Okay.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he also had a history of institutionalization,” Bill added. “He feels tangibly unhinged.”

“Okay,” Holden repeated. “I think we’ve got a good basis for a profile.”

Holden faced the team, hands on his hips.

“Hey, we should grab a drink later. It’s been a while.”

“I got to get home to the family,” Gregg replied.

Holden gave him an understanding smile as Gregg grabbed his notebook and left the war room. He turned and looked expectantly at Bill and Wendy, his real targets.

“Come on, it’s a Friday. We’ll go to The Fern.”

“I don’t think so, Holden,” Wendy declined.

“Yeah, I’m not really feeling it tonight,” Bill added.

Holden shot Wendy a look. For Bill’s sake.

She contemplated, and gave in.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Come on, Bill. I’ll go if you do.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“My other condition,” Wendy added, “is that we find a new place.”

“What happened? I thought you liked going to The Fern?” 

She shrugged.

“It wasn’t as great as I thought it was.”

Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” was playing upon their arrival at The Velvet Arrow. It was not as full, or as dive-y, as The Fern, but it was certainly more bizarre in its decor. The walls were covered in a mix of Native American art and 1950s advertisements. The bar stools, true to the name, were covered in red velvet (and stains) that reminded one of movie theater seats. Thankfully, the booths where they chose to sit were vinyl.

“I’ve got the first round,” Holden offered. “Bill?”

“Bourbon.”

Holden turned to Wendy.

“White wine. Thanks.”

When Holden was safely out of earshot, Wendy leaned in towards Bill.

“Did you tell him about this morning?”

Bill shook his head.

“Okay.”

It was understood that the phone call with Brian stayed between them. They both agreed that Holden needs to know enough of what’s going on to not be a dick, but not so much that he gets too involved. 

“It really feels like we’re his parents sometimes,” Wendy noted.

Bill exhaled loudly through his nose.

“That kid, I tell ya.”

They shared a small laugh as Holden returned with their drinks.

“What’s so funny?”

“Wendy just told a great joke,” Bill replied.

She cut him a glare, tempered with a smirk. 

“Wendy told a joke?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” she replied, more defensively than intended.

“No, I mean -” Holden flustered. “You’re…funny.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why do I feel like I was the joke,” he added.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Bill grinned.

Wendy sipped her wine. At least it was better than whatever they had at The Fern, not that The Velvet Arrow’s was in any way exceptional. She scanned the rest of the bar. It was mostly men, military looking men at that. A few of them were here with what appear to be girlfriends, or at least hopefuls. 

Her heart stopped. A woman at the bar, a customer, back turned. Her slight frame and long straight brown hair were familiar. No. It couldn’t be. 

She gulped down more of her wine, unable to turn her eyes away, just in case the woman turned her head to get confirmation or denial. 

“How about it, Wendy?” Holden asked.

She turned to look at him.

“What?”

“Darts. Wanna play?”

“Um...”

“Come on,” Bill coaxed.

“Fine.”

While the men got up, Wendy stole a glance back at the woman. Her profile was in full view now, and it was a face she didn’t recognize. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“You coming?” Holden asked.

“Hmm? Yes.”

She anticipated how poorly she’d do. Bill and Holden assuredly had low expectations.

“Ladies first,” Bill said, handing Wendy a dart. 

She slowly shook her head at him, a slight smile on her face, and took the dart. It was heavier than she expected. It was just like archery, right? She did that once, at a summer camp. Poorly. 

Wendy stared down the dartboard. 

Square up. Shoulders to the pins.

Kay’s voice came into her head. She positioned herself.

Now, put your weight on your left foot.

She did.

Take a deep breath and just do it.

Wendy fired the dart.

It stuck two inches from the center.

Bill and Holden didn't bother to hide their surprise, nor their delight.

“40 points,” Holden exclaimed.

“Nicely done, Dr. Carr,” Bill beamed.

“Looks like we’ve got to step it up, Bill,” Holden added.

The game ended with Bill winning both rounds; Wendy and Holden earned a second and a third place ranking each. The trio walked out to the parking lot in the warm summer air. It still smelled like smoke, but it was fresher than inside the bar at least.

“See you Monday, then,” Holden said.

They waved their goodbyes and entered their respective vehicles. Wendy was about to pull out when she heard an engine struggling. 

It was Holden’s. 

She looked around and saw that Bill had already driven off. Holden looked at Wendy from across the parking lot. Their eyes met. There was no escaping now.

She got out of her car and walked over.

“Need a jump?”

Holden sighed. “I think so. Bill’s gone already?” She nodded. “Do you have cables?”

“I can check.”

Wendy looked in the back of her car and the trunk, but no luck. She returned to Holden empty handed.

“I’ll call a tow truck,” he concluded.

“At this hour?”

Holden shrugged.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” she offered. “You can deal with it in the morning.”

Holden willingly agreed.

Wendy turned on the radio, hoping it would keep Holden’s small talk at bay.

“So how do you think Bill’s doing? Like, really?” he asked.

She thought about it.

“I think he’s handling it as well as he knows how. I mean, how is someone even supposed to cope with your wife leaving with your child while you’re gone, with no contact whatsoever?”

“I offered him one of my Valiums the other day,” Holden said casually.

“You did what?”

“You know, just to maybe help take the edge off.” Wendy shook her head. “He declined, by the way.”

“You really shouldn’t be offering prescription drugs to people.” As if it needed saying.

“Well, when you phrase it like that,” he smirked. “Left up here, then I’m on the right.”

Wendy turned and pulled up to Holden’s building. He took off his seatbelt, but didn’t get out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride, Wendy.”

She smiled politely. He smiled back, still not making any move to leave.

“Do you want to come in?” he offered. “For a cup of coffee, or something?”

“Uh, no. Thank you.”

Holden wasn’t phased by the rejection, which only made Wendy more convinced he would keep trying.

“Okay.” He opened the door to leave. “Drive safe.”

She nodded. He closed the car door behind him.

Wendy saw him in her mirror standing outside, watching her drive away, before disappearing inside.

[degenerate-yandere]

Maybe something for yan Izuku's s/o pretending and humoring Izuku's delusions because she's scared of what will happen if she doesn't and hopes that if she plays along it'll build up good credit. Like acts like the perfect house wife, greets him when he gets home in hopes that she'll still be able to go outside to run errands outside.leans like a maniac to distract herself from how stressed and paranoid she os of him snapping. smiles, kisses, holds him, and hopes he stays happy and bubbly

Yet another great request that I was afraid to ruin. Hope you enjoy it anyway, Hun! 

A/N: This takes place after the main events of the story, when Izuku is the adult No.1 pro hero.

TW: Abuse, threats of violence, kidnapping, toxic relationships

Deep breaths.

The taunting tick of the clock signaled the approach of that terrifying inevitability.

6:58 PM

You’d prepared dinner; two steaming plates sitting opposite each other across the table. It was a laborious task - not from the work of slaving over the stove, but the pure emotional toll of cooking for your captor. It was humiliating, an open submission to the domestic delusion he’d trained you to uphold. Just like now, as you waited by the locked door like a dog anticipating its masters return. He loved being greeted home with a peck on the cheek. It never failed to make his freckled face flush, uncaring that the act was performed with such rehearsed sterility. How hard it was to withhold the retch when your lips met his skin, or scream when he gently took your hand in his larger one as he guided you to the table.

7:00 PM

Any moment, he’d be back and you’d be forced to repeat that deranged routine - the one that ensured he remained nice and gentle. First hand experience had made you realize just how long a broken bone took to mend. Your leg still tensed with pain whenever you stood on it - a reminder of just how desperate you were to escape the psychotic hero. That was your first punishment. 

You hugged the frame of his bed, staring at the chain coiled around your ankle with eyes wide in complete terror. He just sat beside you, the mattress dipping from his weight. He smiled sweetly as you begged and pleaded; as a hundred confused questions flooded from your mouth like the tears seeping down your cheeks. He hummed in response - a despairingly unsatisfying answer to the suffocating situation you were in. Calloused fingers began tracing your leg as his emerald gaze devoured your petrified form. Violently, you curled inwards away from his sickening touch. He didn’t like that. Nor did he like your subsequent promises of escape. His mouth quirked into a slight frown, disappointment flashing in his eyes. To your utter dismay, his hand swiftly advanced to grasp your leg, forcibly yanking it outstretched. You winced in pain - tears intensifying as his gaze turned regretful; shifting into a silent apology. Oh god. Breath quickening to such a pace it felt as if your heart would spew from your mouth, his grip growing tighter and tighter and tighter. Words were held back by the insurmountable dread choking your throat.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I really don’t want to do this. It’s for your own good, promise.” You begged through frantic, painful jerks of your head. Placing his other hand on your knee only cemented the torturous anticipation. Izuku simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m really, really sorry, honey. I just - I can’t let you get away with hurting me like that.” The irony was palpable, but your drowning fear silenced any retorts. “You’ll forgive me though, I know you will. You’ll see, (Y/n). Everything I do is for you.” Green sparks ran along his forearms. The sound was just as deafening as the pain was blinding.

Snap

The familiar sound of keys clicking into place demanded your attention. You breathed in and out slowly, a learned maneuver to be able to tolerate his crushing presence. A glimpse of greenery from the slither of open door was as tempting as it was fleeting. Hope was replaced with utter disgust as you met with his face. It was slick with a light sheen of sweat, bruises and dirt painting it with the usual consequences of hero work. He beamed so brightly when he saw you. It was blinding in its psychotic bliss.

“Hey, Honey! I’m so sorry I was late - got a bit held back at work. Y’know how it is.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His apologies meant nothing, you’d learned that much.

“Welcome home, Izuku.” Your pace was slow, a fragile string of words carefully repeated time and time again. You couldn’t afford to stutter. Izuku had to believe you wanted this as much as he did if you would ever be able to chance an escape. Make him believe this was real; that it was normal and reciprocated. The eager acceptance of his intrusive affections was what made him remove that damnable chain, he finally trusted you to wander the house. He didn’t bother to hide knives or makeshift weapons; almost taunting you with his power to overwhelm you. You leaned into him, lips slightly pursed as you thought of kissing anyone else but him. A finger met your mouth, causing your eyes to snap open with surprise. You didn’t rehearse for this.

“Hey, I was thinking, could you call me Deku, just for tonight?” his finger withdrew, opting for his gloved thumb to rub against your cheek. That’s when you saw it. That glint of lust in his eye. Izuku’s lips drew closer to yours, breath dusting against your face. “I’ve had a really long day. You could make it all better for me. You want that, right? To make me feel better?” Your heartbeat was deafening, thumping harshly against your rib cage. Without a second thought, your hands were pushing against his chest. A quizzical raise of his eyebrow sent numbing chills down your spine.

“I-I’ve made dinner, Izu - Deku.” His tongue darted to wet his lips as you spoke his hero name so adorably. You repressed a shriek as his hands snapped to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His lips ghosted the shell of your ear.

“I’m hungry for something else tonight, (y/n).” Bile rose to your throat as his lips pressed fervently against yours. Pretend its anyone else - just pretend. You couldn’t take it much longer; you wrenched your head away, Izuku’s brows furrowing in response. “What’s wrong, babe?” He almost sounded authentically concerned, if not for the impatience that laced each word. You opted to look at his boots - it was far easier to compose yourself when you did.

“I-I cleaned the house today,” He let slip an infuriating ‘aw’, thumb tracing the bottom of your lip.

“That’s great, honey,” Izuku cooed.

“Maybe I should reward my good, little -”

“We’re out of food, I-I thought maybe when you’re working tomorrow I c-could go and get some more.” You were emboldened, electrified with newfound confidence. That soon proved fleeting, however, when he took a step back, fear filling its void as his eyes narrowed. His head shook as he scratched at his cheek.

“(Y/n)… that would mean-” Your hands trembled in front of you as you hesitantly placed them upon his chest, a plea for his trust.

“Leaving the house - I know,” Swallowing back your anxiety, your head arched to meet his concerned expression. “But you can trust me, ‘Zuku. I’ll come back, I-”

His hand crushed your wrist like a vice, your composure exploding into choking fear. “No!” He shouted. It was terrifyingly uncharacteristic.

Shots of pain accompanied the cracks from your wrist. “I-Izuku it hurts!”.

“Does it (y/n)!? Maybe it feels even a FRACTION of what I feel!” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, as your pained ones did the same. With his free fingers, he rubbed his eyes harshly, wetting his fingers in the process. Those green eyes shot to you; furious and sorrowful. The muscles of his face moved erratically between the two extremes. When you tried to look away, his grip only tightened.

“Why… why is it so hard to just love me.” Izuku’s voice was riddled with hiccups and sobs, teeth clenched so hard that they threatened to crack. “What will it take, (y/n)? Why do you want to leave so badly? You hate me, don’t you?” Your head shook, fighting against the desire to tell him how right he was.

Izuku was completely crying now, no restraints upon those fragile emotions. His palm rubbed against his face as he grunted in pure frustration. It was when he grew silent, however, you became petrified. His eyes ensnared yours, solemn and terrifying. 

“It’s okay, (y/n). I can help you.” That voice, previously overflowing with provocation, was purposeful and strict. Against your pathetic resistance, he dragged you to the bedroom, shoving you upon the soft mattress. “You’ll learn to love me. I know you will. This is for you.” You could only cry as you knew what would inevitably ensue.

He cracked his knuckles.

“Everything I do is for you.”

[quidfree]

Someone asked u for ur book recs, so I’m here to ask for your anti-rec list. Are there any popular books/authors that you dislike?

Btw I’m late but ur fem tdbk? Genius

oh my god anon this is so funny

i'm actually struggling to answer because while i have attempted to read a lot of popular books i have also abandoned said attempts on page 5 because i can't stand bad writing, so it's hard to remember any examples off the top of my head. and i'm pretty tolerant where classics are concerned- old or dense writing styles don't really throw me so long as the story is good. @ audience please send me your hated books/authors so i can give my two cents.

in terms of classics i am a big 19th century realism/naturalism hater bc i can only suffer through so much over-descriptive repressed bourgeois prose about listless middle-class women lusting after bland men to fill voids in their lives and then dying dramatically. une page d'amour is my number one enemy in this vein- rarely have i come across such intensely frustrating female characters, and that's saying something. something about the whole 'mother and daughter who are obsessed to deranged levels w the obnoxious male lead to the extent that the sickly daughter essentially offs herself bc of her jealousy' vibe, you know. and zola doesn't even have the decency to throw some social commentary in there to distract from the misogyny. flaubert is the worst offender of that category of authors though- un cœur simple is so condescending a look at the serving class' inner lives it still makes me want to brain myself despite being like 10 pages long. also despite my admiration for rabelais i hate his works bc i hate weird bodily humour- i feel similarly about chaucer. outside of french classics i found 1984 really annoying to read because the main character is so intensely weird about women, and of mice and men is at best just okay in my eyes. also i'm sorry but i can't get through most of plato without rolling my eyes. it may just be philosophy ptsd but socrates is so very annoying.

otherwise just a lot of YA is really... bad. i don't even mean the super obvious shit like twilight, i just mean... i remember reading stuff like 'fangirl' or any john green book (especially the 3 books that aren't fault in our stars) and just feeling my soul wither at how incredibly unlikeable everyone was. also! many moons ago i used to like the mortal instruments for its characters and it was incredibly hard to read because the writing sucks. while im at it simon v the homosapiens agenda was also bad. ditto the divergent series. and whoever tried to convince tumblr that captive prince was not insanely bad and weird should cross the street if i see them around.

anyways im sorry i can't think of any hot takes off the top of my head but i will attempt to do so if i next come into contact with a bad popular book. what's your anti-rec list??

also re: todobaku girls- thank you, i love them, and am always happy to talk about them. send prompts!

[glitterbootsharry]

chapter one.

taglist 

The wooden door with the famous stain glass mermaid window opens as Harry walks through the threshold, jostling the bell. He’s running late, which isn’t normally like him, due to the fact that he couldn’t decide which overcoat to wear, finally deciding on the tan one instead of the navy. He wanted everything to be perfect when meeting Daphne J. His stomach turns as sheds his jacket and carries the garment over his arm while raking his fingers through his brown messy hair.  

He takes off his black flat top baker hat before scanning the pub quickly, a worried look flashing across his face until he saw her sitting on a stool that has a leg a few centimetres short of the others. She’s jostling the chair as she waits for him. He pushes the through the group of friends that are currently yelling orders to the barmaid. She doesn’t look up until he reaches the table.

“Daphne?” he asks, sliding onto the stool. He reaches out for a handshake, but a wide-eyed look takes him aback. She looks up at him with her honey eyes, and smiles at him quizzically. He is nothing like Daphne imagined. She holds onto the small glass cup between her two fingers. The man thanks her for ordering the pint ahead of time. 

“I’ve been proper shacked.”

Not the best way to start the conversation, but Daphne Jones figured it was the best to talk about the invisible elephant in the room first before they got to the good stuff. Harry sits back in his chair as he watches the blonde with the full figure take back a shot of whatever brown liquor she requested. She had worn what she promised: olive green jumper with her hair in a low side bun.

She had seemed alright given the limited messaging they had fueled back and forth. She insisted they meet in a public place, which Harry understood. She even said that she had brought along a friend in case anything weird were to happen. She had stressed the word weird out like Harry had planned on kidnapping the birdie himself or something of that nature.

Sure, Daphne was easy on the eyes to him. She might have even been his type to chat up if they had been two strangers in a pub on a Thursday night, but they were potential flatmates and crossing the lines would bring disaster upon itself.

“But I want to let y’know that I’ve got first and last month’s rent plus possibly a deposit,” Daphne smiles as Harry mulls over the newly presented fact that Daphne now has no job. “Depending on if I get my furniture back from Stephen.”

“Don’t suppose I need any of that. Just want someone to help with bills and such. Mind if I ask why you were sacked?” Harry takes a long sip of beer as Daphne rolls her mouth in. She looks to Eliza, whose sitting at the bar waiting for the signal. If Daphne blinks twice, she’s ready for action.

“I, erm, told the CEO of the company to stuff her opinion of my presentation that could bring the company thousands where it does not shine,” Daphne pouts her lips out as she looks anywhere but Harry’s green eyes. For a stranger, he had a way of making Daphne feel inadequate.

“Mm.”

“She said it didn’t have enough research to help back my idea up. The trollop has no idea how long I’ve done research. I’ve about done my head in with numbers and shit,” Daphne waves for another drink. Her smile is genuine when she looks back at Harry.

“How long have you been without?” Harry rubs his scruffy chin with his thumb and forefinger. Not quite sure how to take Daphne, he still continues to conduct the interview.

“Just today,” Daphne grumbles. She puts her hands in mid air as if she surrenders. “But I would not have come if I didn’t really want to live somewhere besides my friend’s couch. Got an interview Monday.”

Harry is pleased with Daphne’s work ethic. She stands up for herself which would come in handy. when it came to Harry’s mates. 

“Whose Stephen?” Harry remembers the name Daphne mentioned earlier. “Why does he have your furniture?”

“Arsehole of a boyfriend, I’ll tell you that. Ruddy bloke broke it off with me last week via work email because ‘it wasn’t working out’. Well, it wasn’t working out when he started seeing Miss Slag from Accounting, but he kicked me out and I’m stuck with Liza. Fucking ball-bag.”

Harry remembers Katherine from accounting at his job started seeing a Stephen a few weeks back.

“Does this Stephen work for Smith and Weston?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s the assistant manager to God knows and he thinks his cock is Jesus Christ himself. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you cook?” Harry asks, leaning his elbows on the table. The short woman brings out the brown liquor and fills Daphne’s small glass.

“Do I need to take offense to that?” Daphne cocks a brow up before throwing back the shot of burning liquid.

“Sorry, I just...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. “My mum used to cook, and...”

“Used to?” Daphne holds the small cup, anxiety filling her body. She must have said something wrong. “Is she?”

“No, she isn’t dead,” Harry half laughs. “She’s still very much alive. Just haven’t seen her in a bit with me working in the city and all. She’s out in the countryside running a posh little pub like this one.” Daphne sighs, a burst of wind of relief.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Are you gay? Because it’s cool if you are. I just want to be prepared when you bring someone over.” Harry says, his lips forming a tight line. 

“I’m not gay.” Daphne heaves her brow up before letting it down. She looks over at Eliza again- still waiting. “Should I take offense to that?”

Daphne shakes her head. “No. Few more questions. Are you a serial killer?”

“Does it really matter at this point?” Harry takes a long look at the small black line on Daphne’s skin just above her collar bone that is sticking out from under her jumper.

“No I guess not. You’d kill me by now.” Daphne laughs as Harry’s smile widens. She was starting to feel more comfortable around him.

“What’s the view like?”

“Kensington Gardens. Sunset is quite beautiful.”

“I’m in.”

“Just like that?” Harry asks bewildered. “No background checks? No wondering if I own a sex slave? No deranged friend asking the like?”

“As long as you’re not tossing it in the main room, I do not care what you do. That’s your business. Plus, I’m desperate.”

“Well, alright then, I guess you’ll want to see the place. We can schedule-“

“None of that,” Daphne is beginning to get louder as the alcohol soaks into her system. “A round for newfound roomies.” She waves over the waitress and asks for two new shots. Harry smiles at her and watches Daphne become pissed.

☕︎︎

It was sometime before Daphne got up the courage to ask what was desperately eating at her. “Why don’t you have anyone? You’re quite handsome.” She is currently being walked to her new home after she insisted on seeing the view tonight. Daphne had warded Eliza home after much protest.

“Haven’t found the right one, I guess,” Harry hold Daphne’s arm over his shoulder as they wait for the lift to move. Her face is close to Harry’s neck and as she inhales, she smells the distant scent of expensive cologne.

“Forgot to ask you what you do...for a living,” Daphne burps and she tastes the alcohol again.

“I work at Smith and Weston.”

The lift opens up to a wide hallway as Daphne gasps. The cream walls reflect from the lighting hanging on them and the brown carpet runs along the length of the building. Harry stops at the fourth door on the level. “This is where I die, isn’t it?” Daphne giggles.

“Yes,” Harry laughs as he pushes the door open. The white walls illuminate the tile floor as a chandelier hangs down inside the main room. The view from the large windows is currently being blocked by the gray no-peak curtains blanketing the night sky. The brown leather couch sit perpendicular to the widows with the large flat screen television sitting on the wall that cuts into the hallway. Daphne turns and sees the open kitchen with the small island. The brown and grays suddenly stop where the main room begins. Two hallways on either side of the flat run down to the bedrooms and baths. 

“So,” Harry clears his throat after putting Daphne on the brown leather couch. “Your room will be there.” He points in front of him. “And mine is back here.” The hallway with the television leads to Harry’s paradise.

“Nice,” Daphne stretches out her word before smiling, “I’ll like it here. We’ll make a great team.” Daphne yawns before stretching her body on the incredibly soft leather. “Can I stay here seeing how I’m living with you now?”

“Sure, I can get you a blanket or-” Harry is cut off as Daphne speaks over him. “We can share your bed. I need the extra support.’

Harry thinks is over for a moment. “Okay.”

Harry leads Daphne to his bedroom. Everything has its place Daphne noticed. The large television is propped against the wall as it looks down on Harry’s rather large bed. The quilt looks hand made and is very rich in color. Small pictures are gathered on the funiture, but what takes Daphne’s notice is the small bottle of lotion and tissues next to Harry’s sunken side of the bed.

Daphne giggles as Harry lays her down on the right side. He looks up, eyes wide, his cheeks instantly become hot. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Daphne yawns again as she lays down. Her head hits the fluffy pillow and before Harry could peel off his coat, he heard the soft snores escaping Daphne’s mouth.

☕︎︎

“Daph, you twitch in your sleep,” Harry’s voice thick from his slumber. His knuckles rub the blurriness away; his eyes open at the sound of Daphne sighing heavily. “And you moan.”

“Sorry,” Daphne grumbled. She turns her head to face her bedmate- wild blonde hair sticking out of her messy bun. Harry stops himself from taking his fingers through her tangled hair.

“You sound like a proper sex phone operator. Didn’t know if I should wake you or not. Didn’t want to disturb,” Harry chuckled to himself as he lingered on his last word. Dark circles had formed under his new roommate’s eyes.

“Sod off, Harold. Now isn’t the time for your jokes. I had enough of them back at the pub. My head is ringing and I’m looking at an ugly bloke. Not how I wanted to start my morning,” The last bit hurt Harry quite a bit and he didn’t know why.

“I’m not ugly,” Harry sat up on his elbow. He was pleased that Daphne had made through the night alive.

“Arrogance before coffee,” Daphne rolled out of bed- the clothes from last night sticking to her body. “Just how I like my men.” The tone of her voice was what threw Harry for a loop. This wasn’t the same girl from the pub last night. No, the girl last night threw banter around like a child digging in the dirt. The girl before him was unusually cruel.

Harry sighs as he closes his eyes again. He was in it from the get go. 

[prairiesongserial]

11.6

John and Val had disappeared into the throng of carnies setting up for that night’s show, but Friday herself didn’t feel a particular inclination to help. She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether or not she hated Johannes and Ezra and their whole operation. Besides, it was hot.

She sat on an empty crate and watched as an outdoor stage took shape on the middle deck of the gigantic steamboat. Tents went up, strings of lights spiraling down their eye-searing red-and-white stripes. Her decision to sit this one out was becoming an uneasy one. Cody had gone off with the actress, Bellamy, to be some kind of courier for the day. And it had been a while since Friday had last caught a glimpse of John or Val among the carnies carrying boxes and wheeling crates. Maybe John was sitting the rest of the day out, too. Could be his knee was bothering him. She sure knew the humidity was bothering her, and she hadn’t been shot lately.

Friday tossed her hair agitatedly. Her curls weren’t behaving today, or very much at all, lately. She needed a haircut.

Friday finally spotted Val among a dozen carnies raising what had to be the main tent. Friday stared at it, transfixed, for a moment. Every time she thought she understood the size of the tent, another hidden pleat in the fabric was pulled taut. By the time the carnies had finished their work, the tent was so large that the tentpoles strained against the deck rails on three sides. The gulf air whipped the tent dangerously, threatening to send it out to sea like a sail sans boat.

The circus wasn’t alone on the deck; an odd mix of people had gathered to watch the circus set up. Apparently this steamboat, rich as it was, was just another place a citizen of Everglades City might take a walk on a hot afternoon. Locals with sun-leathered faces gossipped with their friends and the uniformed security. The security - that’s what they had to be - attracted all Friday’s attention. They wore white linen cut in a severe enough style that the apparel was recognizably a uniform, despite everything else about their appearance being casual. Friday watched one of them, a big, hairy-chested man who wore his uniform shirt open, loudly laugh and slap Johannes on the back.

Val soon found her. He was out of breath and drenched in sweat, which wasn’t a bad look on him. Friday passed him her canteen, which he eagerly gulped down.

“It’s hot,” he said, unnecessarily.

“You’re wearing too much,” Friday said. She gestured to the rest of the circus. Those who had been wearing shirts at the beginning of the day had lost them, or were at least down to their undershirts. By contrast, Val wore long sleeves and long pants, both black. Still no collar, though. It had been days since she’d last seen him wear it. It gave her the feeling they were just about due for a summer storm.

“You would say so,” he said gruffly, nodding to her. Friday examined her outfit. It wasn’t so revealing as all that She had bought the dress in New Orleans, not used to the wet heat of the southeast. Straps thinner than her pinky finger supported a plunge neckline - but that didn’t count as revealing. Plus her hemline ended just above the knee, which more than made up for it.

She frowned and glanced around the empty and half-emptied crates scattered at her feet. An opportunity to shrug off the slight leapt out at her.

“It’s true!” Friday sighed. “I’m underdressed.”

She stood theatrically from her crate and wandered over to an open box of wigs - from the look of them, the wigs for burlesque and clowning were stored together. Friday picked one up, a red yarn wig with wire in the pigtails, which held them at a jaunty angle. She dipped her head to put on the clown wig, then snapped up. Her back twinged - a reminder she was old, and therefore had to stretch before acting cute.

Val raised his eyebrows at her. Friday tilted her head this way and that, the pigtails bouncing on their wires.

“What do you think? Should I add this one to the regular rotation?” Friday asked, smiling toothily at him.

“You’re deranged,” Val said. He tried to take a drink from her canteen again before remembering it was empty. He slowly screwed the top back on. There was no hint of a smile on his face. Usually he’d give her something, out of the priestly obligation not to be a jackass, even if he didn’t think she was funny.

Friday squatted over the box of wigs. The pretty ones were on mannequin heads labeled with names - except for a short blond wig labeled “spare.” Friday swapped the clown wig for the real one. As the carefully styled locks of curled blond hair fell over her cheeks and the back of her neck, she felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed her silly powder blue wig, how awful it had really felt to catch her reflection and think “It’s fine. It’s good enough,” before turning away, day after day. Feeling little better than okay about her hair didn’t hold a candle to this.

Friday shook her head, making the blond curls bounce.

“I might keep this one,” she said as she wandered back over to Val. “This one has class.” Friday took his hand in hers, using him as leverage to step up onto the crate she had been sitting on. She delicately let Val’s hand fall, getting into character as she posed. “This one belongs to an upper echelon Hemisphere wife, don’t you think?” she drawled. “Why, this wig could go to cocktail parties...on the arm of a very important man who does terrible things.”

Friday waited for Val to scold her for being awful - and she was being awful. She would have been ashamed of herself if John or Cody had been around to hear.

Val simply said, “Yeah.”

Friday had been all ready to pout at whatever appeal for propriety Val had in hand, and so she was put off-balance by his utter lack of reaction. Something was wrong with him. Granted, she hadn’t felt so sunny herself about the hours they’d spent in a truck bed that morning, but no reaction at all?

A sharp whistle right next to her ear drew her attention away from Val for a moment. The preparations for the show were loud, but the whistler happened to be at the railing just a few feet away from Friday and Val. It was one of the uniformed security, a woman holding a clipboard. She had the attention of another woman in the same lightweight linen uniform, this one holding an ice cream cone. Friday wanted an ice cream cone. Somehow, whoever was selling that ice cream had got it in a red and white pinwheel, just like the circus tents.

The woman with the clipboard barked at the woman with the ice cream to take Miss Bellamy her ticket and seat number for the show. Friday watched with mild interest as the woman with the ice cream made a sound of dismay, gesturing to her ice cream, which was beginning to drip pink splotches onto her wrist.

“Sorry, sugar,” said the woman with the clipboard. “Oh, and better hang around the mansion in case Fleetwood wants to send a return message. I don’t think they’ve filled the courier spot yet.”

“Wait, are you serious? What happened to Adams?”

The woman with the clipboard beckoned the other woman in close. Friday gasped as the woman with the clipboard plucked the ice cream cone out of the other woman’s hand.

“What do you think happened, sugar?” she said, licking a drip up from the bottom of the cone. She flipped the top paper on her clipboard up and held it out. “Ticket and seat number.”

“Man, this sucks,” the other woman said, snatching the proffered paper and passing right by Friday’s nose as she took off down the length of the steamboat. “I used to date Adams.”

“What was that?” Friday hissed to Val, squatting down on the crate.

“What was what?” Val said, raising his eyebrows.

“That prime piece of drama, Val,” Friday said, still keeping her voice low as she watched the woman with the clipboard eat her stolen ice cream. “What happened to Adams?”

“What are you talking about?” Val said. His sharp purple eyes examined her with concern, and Friday felt some of the tension of the last few minutes drain away.

“Those, those bouncers - or whatever they are - were just talking about how something happened to a courier around here,” Friday said. “The courier who used to have Cody’s new job.”

“That’s…”

“That’s worth looking into, is what it is,” Friday interrupted. She sprang up to her feet, taller than him by an inch standing on the box. She paid close attention to how much attention Val was paying to her; his eyes tracked her, that scary, lifeless expression gone for now. “This is a job for you and me: Father Lecter and his beautiful assistant Friday Wilmot, private investigators.”

That may have been a step too far. Friday quickly amended.

“All seriousness, Val, if the last guy who had Cody’s job is missing, shouldn’t we find out why?”

She pouted; Val relented.

“Sure,” he said. “Right, lead the way.”

A wide grin broke across Friday’s face. She took Val’s hand, helping herself down off the crate. This was how things were supposed to be. Whatever was wrong with Val, whether he missed the convent or his shoes were too tight or, just, whatever it was - Friday was giddy with relief that he had rejoined her in the pattern.

“I think we had better grill the ice cream stall for information first, don’t you think?” she said.

“Ah,” Val said, nodding thoughtfully. “Now I see.”

11.5 || 11.7

[vannahfanfics]

May I request A current in-character canon-compliant, soft, angsty, romantic soowon x yona endgame fic please 🙏 thank you very much!!

Hello, dear! Very sorry it took a while to get this request to you; I’ve had a lot going on with the semester and my 200-follower event and such. However, at long last, here it is! ^.^ Enjoy!

Mad World

The wooden floor of her palace room groaned and moaned with her feverish footfalls as Yona paced back and forth, back and forth, back and back and forth and forth and back again. That was all Yona could do, was pace and think and think while pacing and pace while thinking. Back and forth, think think think, riddle on what the hell she was supposed to do basically imprisoned in her bedroom like this. No dragons, no Yoon, no Hak, just Yona. Yona, alone and pacing and thinking.

It was maddening.

With a sudden, deranged screech of lunacy, she whirled on her heel to tear into the curtains framing the large window overlooking the palace courtyard. Her fingernails ripped into the silken fabric, reaming into the threads and pulling them asunder as she yanked on the curtain with all her might. Little, angry screeches spilled from her mouth while she tugged and tugged, rattling the curtain rod mounted into the stone wall. The linear metal piece desperately tried to cling to the rough surface, but with Yona’s continuous and manic assault, dust began to rain down as the brackets began to wrench loose. Yona wasn’t sure why the poor curtain was the object of her ire, but nevertheless she tore into it like a mangy feral cat, dropping shreds of torn fabric around her slippered feet. Very soon the screws could bear no more and jumped from the wall; the heavy, decorative metal ball welded to the main body made the rod’s plummet all the hastier. Yona jumped violently as it collided into the wooden floor with a massive thunk! and the curtain slipped from her hands to puddle like white milk at her feet. She stared dully at the half-destroyed, dismounted curtains with burning red eyes. It was not satisfying at all; her fingers still itched to maim, to tear into everything in this room and leave it a maelstrom of silk and cotton and splinters.

“Princess! Are you all right?” Of course the noise would attract whoever happened to be nearby. Yona hadn’t much cared of the consequences of her actions at the moment; she was boiling with boredom and anxiety and frustration, and desperately needed an outlet. Normal people might cry, but Yona had elected that tears wouldn’t do. She was beyond tears now, or so she told herself. But…

Why did it have to be Soo-Won?

The young king stared with wide eyes at the curtain rod hanging at a diagonal angle from the wall, the one set of brackets struggling to support its weight, and the tatters of silk curtain surrounding the hem of Yona’s pink kimono. Her eyes were lidded and cold as she just watched him gawk. This was all his fault, really. Sure, Yona had decided to entire an alliance and come to the palace, but if Soo-Won hadn’t set off the chain of events that resulted in that alliance, this wouldn’t be happening.

Yona immediately regretted the thought. She knew better now. If none of this had happened, her people would still be struggling and Yona would be living in blissful ignorance. Sometimes, however, she just couldn’t help but crave that ignorance… Especially when the lingering flames of her love for Soo-Won decided to rear their ugly heads.

Yona’s mouth curled in on itself as her heart lurched in her chest just at the sight of him. It was maddening, the way her desire to dig her fingernails into his cheek mixed with her longing to softly caress it, the way her desire to rip every one of those flax-golden hairs out of his head mixed with her longing to run her hands through him, the way her desire to scream and yell and curse him in a thousand tongues mixed with her longing to throw herself at him and sob and beg and surrender. Maddening, yes it was. It was driving Yona to near insanity, and as she stood there, she was wide-eyed and teetering on an abyss from which there was no return.

“Yona.” His voice was soft and full of concern as he uttered her name. His eyes, still huge with the sight of Yona’s shredded prey, finally flickered up to meet her own fiery ones like dawn. To his credit, he did not flinch away at the inferno there; he just stared, measuring, waiting for her response. “Are you… displeased?” he said finally when she refused to respond. Really, Yona was still so embroiled with her own feelings that she couldn’t formulate a response. His question returned some sense of normalcy to her mind. The fire died in her eyes, cooled by the sheer incredulity at his question.

“‘Displeased,’” she echoed. Slowly, like water trickling from within rocks piled high, her wits returned to her. Her head dropped to do as Soo-Won had, stare numbly at the carnage she had wrought on the poor, innocent drapery. Her hands began to sting terribly with the weight of the own violence she had wrought, as if they were coated in hot, sticky, burning blood and insides. They were just curtains; it wasn’t like she had killed someone. Still, Yona’s stomach flopped about with the unsettling possibility that if someone had stumbled upon her in her mania, she might very well have unleashed on them like a woman possessed. It made the bitter acid of shame flood her tongue. Yona had never been so violent before. Sure, she had done violent things, but always with good reason. This was wanton destruction, and the fact that it was borne of her own hands rattled her to her core.

Well, it wasn’t entirely without reason, she rationalized. “Displeased,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Displeased” didn’t even scratch the surface of what she was feeling right now. She didn’t have a word for what she was feeling right now. Silent, teeth clenched, she just stared at the mangled curtains and lamented her own sorry state of being. How had it come to this? Cool, calm, collected, and strong to manic, deranged and mad?

“Yona.” His voice called her with maddening power. Of its own accord, Yona’s head rose to obediently meet his beckoning gaze. She hadn’t heard his footsteps, but he had closed the distance and was standing in front of her. She compulsively swallowed. His eyes were the one burning now, pulsing with a soft yet furious heat that made her tremble. It wasn’t anger, or disappointment, or disdain; it was something else entirely, and it both frightened and excited her. He tilted his head to the side slightly as he smiled that gentle reassuring smile that she missed so dearly but wanted to slap off his face. “Tell me what happened.”

 She wanted to lie. She did not want to admit that she had just had a psychotic fit and wrenched the curtain rod off the wall and destroyed the curtains like some kind of beast. Yona, however, felt the pitiful attempts at falsehoods dissolving on her tongue under Soo-Won’s gentle yet critical stare. There was no point in lying and he knew well enough what she had just done. “This alliance isn’t working out the way you wanted it to, is it?” he asked her with a degree of amusement in his voice that made her skin itch with fury.

“No. No, it is not, Soo-Won.” The steel in her voice was sharper than the finest-crafted blade. At the iron on her tongue, the king exhaled deeply and his body sagged sadly. The reaction disquieted her; was he acting for her benefit or truly displeased that she was going crazy cordoned off in this bedroom? His eyes shut for a second, and when they opened, Yona felt electric shocks pulse over every single one of her nerves. The way he was staring at her, apologetic and guilty, was a look she had imagined every day since she witnessed him drawing a bloody sword from her father’s limp body.

It was not satisfying, not at all. Somehow, she wanted more. The madness began to scratch and howl in her ringing skull again.

“How dare you. How dare you look all sad and guilty when I’m stuck here with nothing to do but pace and think and fret all day!” she screamed at him suddenly. She lunged at him, fingers clawing into his kingly robes like they had done the curtains, but rather than shredding them, she only clutched onto them with an iron grip. Her red eyes burned as they bore into his, as if a glare alone could make his combust. “How dare you. You want to know what happened? I am losing my mind! I can’t take it anymore!” A dam erupted inside of her, releasing long-held feelings and tears. They were like rivers of ice and fire as they flooded down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she hissed again, “I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what is up and what is down. My mind is reeling. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what you’re doing, and the one single comfort I could be afforded while I’m all but your prisoner in here is barred from me!” Her head dropped, chin banging against her chest. Her quivering hands held onto his clothes like the were the lifeline preventing her from being washed out to sea. She hated herself right now, admitted all this to him. But if she didn’t release it to anyone, even if it has to be Soo-Won, she really was going to go insane. What was her country? What was her fate? What was Soo-Won’s plan and how should she respond? These questions plagued her, maddeningly so.

With the weight of her on psyche mounting on her frail body, her knees finally buckled. Soo-Won reflexively caught her under her elbows as her legs folded in on themselves. Sobbing and groaning, she just cried pathetically while he held her up. “And you know… you know what the worst part is?” she choked out between sobs. “I hate you, but I love you. I despise you for what you did but I love you still. I thought I had grown so much, but I came back here, and it all has come crashing down upon me. I’m still that naïve, foolish little girl who wasn’t worth killing.”

“Yona!” She did not expect such harsh bite from his voice. It made her head snap up to look at him with wide and watery eyes. His lips were drawn into a taut line and his eyes were their fieriest yet. “I did not let you go because you were ‘not worth killing.’”

“Then why?” she demanded in an agonized cry. Her fingers dug further into his clothes, probably bruising the skin underneath. “Why, Soo-Won, I don’t under-”

The rest of her words came out as a surprised squeak muffled by his lips crashing into hers. It was not at all kingly, the way he kissed it her; it was passionate, carnal, desperate and mad. If Yona’s legs had been able to support her then, her kneecaps would’ve been obliterated to dust the instant their mouths smashed together. Her eyes fluttered shut with a low, needy whine; as if responding, Soo-Won’s tongue pushed into her mouth and tangled feverishly with her own. She didn’t object. She got drunk off him like she was partaking in the finest wine in the world, her tongue savoring every little bit of his essence. She could vaguely feel his fingers in her dawn-colored hair, caressing and twisting, but most of her senses were dominated by the explosion of feeling fireworking over her body. Oh, oh, how she had wanted this, and how much she hated herself for it.

She lamented the loss of his warmth and touch as he pulled away, and despite herself, her lips involuntarily chased him. She wanted to spend forever in that kiss. In that hazy fog, she didn’t have to think about the circumstances or how wrong it was; she just had to think about him, her mouth on hers and his hands on her body. It was simple. Easy. Uncomplicated. He permitted her pursuit for a moment, giving her another softer kiss with more feeling, but pulled back again after a few seconds. He said her name and it pulled her out of the fog, back to her confusing and complicated and maddening reality.

“Does that answer your question?” His voice was breathy and laced with a fair bit of irritation. Maybe with himself, maybe with Yona- maybe both. She swallowed and licked her lips, mouth suddenly drying up. Was she supposed to be satisfied with that? A kiss that seals the deal and makes everything all right? The trouble was that she was one hundred percent satisfied with that.

She stepped away from him, trying to hide the tremor in her still-recuperating jellified legs. She felt that her hands needed to be doing something so she smoothed out nonexistent creases in her kimono. Her brain whirled desperately trying to make sense of everything, but nothing made sense anymore. That was her problem to begin with. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” He sounded amused, like he had expected it.

“What do you expect?” she huffed. The fight was dying from her voice and spirit, replaced with indescribable weariness. She was so tired. She was so tired of fighting whatever this fight was, but that was the only thing Yona could think to do was fight. Surrender simply was not in the meek, naïve, ignorant princess’ blood, apparently. Her hands continued to fix her perfectly fine kimono while she refused to look at him. “I just… I can’t…” God, she couldn’t even explain herself. This is not how she wanted to look in front of him, flustered and stupid. It was like her previous self had been taken captive and replaced with a bungling imposter, and she was trying so desperately to get it back with little luck. Her hand began stringing through her hair, which was crimping uncomfortably with sweat. All the while, Soo-Won watched her, thankfully without pity. “I hate you,” she grumbled finally, because it was the only thing that sort of made sense.

“I know.” Oh, hell, no, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t get that sad look on his face and think that it made it all okay. But it did. In Yona’s stupid, manic, mad mind, it made it okay. Defeated, she kicked the curtain rod aside and sank down on the cushioned seat that sat below the windowsill.

“I love you,” she simpered as she put her flushing face in her hands. She didn’t have to look at him to know he had that other look on his face, that soft, gentle smile that made her heart sing and wail simultaneously. That smile that carried a hint of sadness that never faded.

“I know that, too.” A period of silence settled between them. She peered through her fingers to see his own twitching, like he was trying to figure out how to comfort her but arriving at no conclusions. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t know what to do with herself, either. As she sat there, the moonlight cool on her back as it flood through the unshielded window behind her, Yona finally began to feel a sense of normalcy returning to her. She partitioned off the confusing kiss and focused instead on her situation and what she ought to do about it, and was beginning to feel that clear-headed determination return to her. I just have to keep fighting. That is all I can do. I will resist as long as I have to and find out what Soo-Won wants…

She felt the cushioning dip beside her and heard the slight ringing of the metal as it rolled over the wooden floor when Soo-Won seated himself beside her. “I wish things were simple.”

“You’re the one who made it complicated.” She kept her face buried in her hands because she didn’t know what would happen if she looked at him.

“I suppose that’s true.” His laugh was hollow and mirthless. “I wish I could explain it all to you. I really do. But if I did, I didn’t know if you would believe me.”

“Can’t fault you for that.” Another hollow, joyless laugh that rang through the quiet bedroom, followed by a slight sigh. “I’m not giving up, you know. Don’t think this changes things. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

“No, I expect you won’t.” She finally lifted her head to look up at him, finding him smiling as he looked at her out of his peripheral vision. “You wouldn’t be the girl I loved if that happened.”

Surprisingly, her body garnered no reaction from that bombshell of a statement. It felt more like she had known it all along and she was vindicated now. It made a funny taste tingle on her tongue, one she couldn’t quite place; possibly a mixture of things. He smiled more as he pushed himself up from the seat and began heading for the door. “I’ll send someone to fix that in the morning,” he said with a lazy gesture to the destroyed curtains. Yona watched him go with confliction and a heavy heart.

“Yeah. Sure.” Once the frame of the sliding door clacked against the threshold, she exhaled loudly and flopped onto her side; the cushion embraced her, sinking her down into its fluffy softness. With the adrenaline no longer pumping in her system, her muscles now felt the strain of torturing the curtains. Dully, she stared down at its wispy corpse spread out over the wood floor.

The Celestial Dragons. The usurper King Soo-Won. The displaced princess. The Thunder Beast. The unknown battle for the world as they knew it.

Maddening, it all was to Yona. Somehow, though, the one thing that should be the most maddening was no longer maddening at all. She smiled thinly to herself and rolled onto her back, the moonlight washing over her like enclosing her in a blanket.

You drive me mad, Soo-Won… But still, I love you so.

Enjoy this story? Here’s Part II! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents! 

[strechanadi]

Swan Lake - no longer a fairy tale

Right, so... Nobody asked me to, but something so marginal cannot stop me, clearly, so I went and translated the longest, the trickiest, the most profound review I have ever written. (And that includes POB Giselle, Swan Lake and Onegin! OK. Maybe not Onegin. But since I’ve done this one I can almost make myself believe I could give translating Onegin a go as well.) (She said and then promptly kill herself before she could made another clearly, completely and utterly deranged decision.)

Half of the things don’t make sense, I’m sure. And I can only hope they made sense in the original. (Which they probably didn’t, let’s be real, but since when this matters to me anyway?) (God, I literally cannot stop babbling, somebody strangle me or something. Or at least take the keyboard from my grabby and apparently very high fingers, that decided to simply vomit words after words for no real reason and with no brain to mouth/fingers filter whatsoever!)

It’s in times like this I truly wish to be able to write in an actual English language. Or for my mother language to be a world language, not some beautiful, hot mess, but a mess nonetheless, from the middle of nowhere. A mess I despite of everything love dearly and even live in this illusion of me being really pretty good in using (or more like playing with) it.

What is also clear - I, for a reason not known to humans, love to write absurdly, ridiculously long sentences. Be it just up to me, I’d write a whole review in one obscure linguistic construction I call a perfectly normal sentence. I was told however, that English doesn’t really do or like such things, so I tried to shorten them. Or some of them. Was really unbelievably succesfull doing so...

No reason to prolong this now, I guess?

So just, please be patient. Or benevolent. Or try to laugh in private at least! Look, I tried and I know it’s actually rather pathetic to be so spectacularly bad in English grammar, that I supposedly learnt from the age of 5 (but then spent more than 15 years actively hating the whole language, which... doesn’t make sense, I admit, but maybe explain some things), but... I mean, it would be better than google translate, if anything else. It HAS TO be!

As always - I appologize for anything and everything I did to the poor English language. It doesn’t deserve such a poor treatment.

Were there anybody who would feel personally attacked by my sheer ignorance of the basics of language of Shakespeare, Byron or Shelley and would want to make this thing better, let me know! (Even though I am afraid there are so many mistakes, your eyes will be bleeding around the end of 2nd paragraph...)

Last one - I have no idea how in/definite articles work!

(Good thing I don’t write fiction of any sort, ANs would be longer than the actual thing.)

Swan Lake, no longer a fairy tale

 Whenever the two words – Swan Lake – were mentioned, everybody had some universally shared idea of the final picture. Nothing has drastically changed with John Neumeier (1976, Illusionen – wie Schwanensee), who mixed the original fairy story with events from prince Ludwig II of Bavaria’s life, nor with Mats Ek (1987), whose prince was torn between imaginary princess Odette and real life Odile, nor with Jean-Christophe Maillot (2011, Le Lac) and new relations between his main characters, not even with Alexander Ekman (2014, A Swan Lake), who came back in time and took a look at the first premiere of said ballet in 1877 and tried to make a rather poetic story about what from certain point was started to be called a fiasco. As if the later Petipa/Ivanov version needs any more boost…

The unshakable certitude was irretrievably broken in 1995 by Matthew Bourne. His Swan Lake was new, daring, bold, with unexpected twists and one could not left theatre feeling indifferent after seeing it. Part of the ballet world turned its back to such profanity of beloved classic. The other part fell for its captivating charm, and since in 2018 Bourne’s Swan Lake came back to his New Adventure’s repertoire for umpteenth time, after hundreds of successful shows, many tours across the globe, adorned with every possible theatre and dance awards, it seems clear who were right then, 24 years ago.

  The most common characteristic of Bourne’s Swan Lake is „the male one“. Prince is in the centre of attention, black swan Odile is changed into unknown Stranger, and most obviously – all the swans became purely men’s business. Which opens completely new perspective for male dancers and saying that this ballet has a major influence to whole generations of artists is hardly an overstatement.

  Bourne follows the original structure and basic frame of Swan Lake. There are still four acts, act one follows the Prince, his character, the environment he’s living in, relations he has, act two is for the swans, act three still represents the ball, and in act four, where traditionally the Prince is coming back to the lake, here the swans appear in prince’s room. Many times even the formal structure is intact – the prince’s solo at the end of act one, pas de quatre of both little and big swans, or Bourne’s take on character dances in act three. Even the entrée of swans in second act follows the same space structure of the Ivanov’s original /aka swans are coming one after the other and crossing the stage from left to right (dancers‘ perspective)/.

  Oedipal Complex, repressed sexuality, low self-esteem

Bourne’s Prince, his personality, is more than ever influenced by his upbringing, by the estrangement of aristocratic background, his world constantly controlled, constricted by rules and rituals, with no spaces for affection, understanding, empathy, every emotion being replaced by duty. Bond between son and mother the Queen (ice cold, distant Katrina Lyndon for whom one cannot feel an ounce of sympathy, or more emotional, but still dismissive Nicole Cabera) is minute, almost non-existent, which has such a strong impact on the introverted, socially inept, insecure Prince, who is on top of all that haunted by strange dreams about swans. The feeling of lacking something gets even worse when he clearly sees his mother is more than capable of showing emotions, particularly towards another young men.

During yet another military parade or boat christening or exhibition opening, the heir to the throne is met with a bit silly, ill-mannered and completely unsuitable girl for his royal life (incomparable Carrie Willis, whose interpretation makes her character pretty sweet with candid, open-hearted warmth), who shortly after became his girlfriend and went with the family to the opera house to watch a ballet performance. Staging theatre scenes within the actual production /we call it theatre on theatre, which probably doesn’t make sense in any other language then ours, sorry/ is always very rewarding. Bourne is on top of that master of choreographic punchline and this scene (to pas de trois from Act I music) combines all clichés from romantic sylphs, awaken Floras, forest beasts to well-built male heroes one could think of and is a joy to watch for its grotesqueness as well as for the subtle details in gestures, ballet quirky manner or choreographic pattern for those, who know where to look for them.

The prince is trying to find his freedom in a night club, but to no avail. He’s met there unexpectedly with his frolicking girlfriend, then he got himself into a fight with one of her suitors (or maybe rather clients) and at the end his soul is beaten for good, when he has to watch the royal secretary paying some money to the one girl, whose affections he believed were genuine. (And it kind of doesn’t matter they most probably truly were.)

The only logical solution for the prince is a suicide. But before he’s able to throw himself into waters of a small park lake, majestic Swan appears and everything is changed at once. Traditional swans‘ corps de ballet danced by women is often associated with delicate elegance, crystalline beauty, dreamy atmosphere and aesthetics of homogeneously moving bodies. Swan is becoming a pure ideal almost as if from ancient Greece. Bourne’s swans are first and foremost animals, he’s not denying their grace, but is showing their slight awkwardness and ridiculousness in some movements at the same time. His swans are wild, independent, fetterless. Looking sinister when lining up to attack the prince, their physical, natural power strengthened by additional slapping arms, stamping feet, hissing and dangerously sharp, audible breathing. The Swan alone is very wary of the prince, uncompromisingly harsh, defensive, with sharp edges of aggressiveness that serves as self-defence of this imposing, powerful creature from anybody who would think of causing any harm. The almost imperceptible gestures calling the prince towards him are even more meaningful then, the moment when he nuzzles prince’s chest indescribably intimate.

Next evening there’s a ball at the palace. And even though it may seem the main reason of it is prince’s engagement thanks to all the ladies present, it’s the queen in her bright crimson dress amongst all black gowns who is in the spotlight. While her son doesn’t even know, what he should be doing with all said ladies. Break from routine comes with mysterious Stranger, whose raw, animalistic charisma draws every female’s attention to him, which he welcomes with great satisfaction. At the same time it also affects, quite unintentionally, the utterly unprepared prince, because Stranger’s arrogant dominance has something from Swan’s animalistic fierce. /Dear English language, you have many words. More than my mother language. But you have exactly nothing that would or could match prchlivost. Or at least I am unable to find it./ As Odile in original libretto, the Stranger dances his way through character dances (the Neapolitan one stands out with its light-hearted fun it makes of cliché Italian relationships) and finds his dancing peak in duet with the queen (music of so called Black Swan Pas de Deux). It is when prince’s psyche breaks and he, in his imagination, is thrown in arms of unknown to be faced with intimacy, sensuality, sexual tension and even the most basic physical contact, everything so strong even person of sound mind would probably find it difficult to cope. Therefore, when the Stranger kisses the queen, prince is there with gun in his hands and complete madness in his eyes. In chaotic situation gunshot is heard (although not by prince’s pistol), prince’s girlfriend falls dead and terrified young man is drawn away.

The tragedy is inevitable. To padded cell, where the prince is held, come doctor with the queen followed by group of nurses with queen’s face, whose hairstyle and white uniform may resemble the demonic nurse Ratched from the Miloš Forman’s film Flew over the cuckoo’s nest. After certain medical procedure (just shy from lobotomy) the prince is taken to his room, where the miserable, wounded Swan emerges from his bed. Shortly after he is followed by irritated flock of other swans, that throw themselves unbridled on the young man and then even on their supposed leader, doing so with brutality growing with every Swan’s desperate attempt to save his prince. The Swan dies at the end after their fatal, almost fanatical attack. And with him die prince’s illusions, dreams, hopes and then he himself. So when the Queen comes in the morning, all she finds is her son’s dead body, the sight of the Swan embracing his prince behind the bed the only, yet bittersweet comfort for the audience.

  As many other versions of this famous ballet, this too strengthens psychological aspect of the story and deepens characters‘ personalities. Here, more than ever, the contours of main characters are pretty blurry. The prince and the Swan are blending into one, they are reflected in the other, full of opposites they are complementing each other, one would say they are like two sides of the same coin. /Ha!/ Bourne on top of that let his characters to blend with different original ones. Where in traditional Swan Lakes it’s Odette weeping at the beginning of the last scene, here it’s the Prince, who is going through mental breakdown in striking resemblance to Giselle’s mad scene. The role of Rothbart, the sorcerer, is played by the royal secretary as well as prince’s own mother, who at the same time plays a part of original Siegfried during the act 3 ball, when being seduced by Stranger, who is Odile. What may seem as confusing chaos at first sight, makes perfect sense in the end and strengthens the unquestionably dark tones of Bourne’s choreographic vision.

  Artistic approaches or One man’s meat is another man’s poison…

As it always is with story ballets, individual artistic interpretation is something that has the power to change the final image of said piece. In case of Bourne’s Swan Lake and its current stars, the outcome may be completely different with each cast.

  Where Liam Mower was bored, annoyed, slightly defiant teenage Prince, Dominic North’s hero was more tired, depressed young man with no illusions, very well aware of all his flaws and inability to fulfil all expectations of his social role, while James Lovell, who seemed most out of touch with reality, emphasized prince’s childishly pure, honest naivety. If the suicide attempt of Mower’s prince was more than anything a dramatic gesture, North was simply resigned to its inevitability, and Lovell threw himself into the waters with absolute, desperate abandon, his mind not able to see any other solution. Each and every prince is then influenced by his Swan and Stranger (and every Swan and Stranger by his prince).

Matthew Ball, the newest principal of the Royal Ballet, can rely on his first-class technique as well as on his unquestionable elegant stage presence. His pliable body felt the music to its very last molecule, every movement full of regal charm and classical beauty, which in a way brought Ball closer to traditional, delicately soft, feminine portrayal of Odette. His Swan was untouchable in his impeccable perfection, icily confident, aware of every gesture he made, of every prince’s fascinated glance. Max Westwell, former soloist of English National Ballet, concentrated more on the raw temperament, natural animal distrust, physical power and ferocity combined with enigmatic magnificence. Dynamics of his movements escalated at all times, was full of unexpected turns and transitions from strong, energetic endings, to exhalation captured in casual, seemingly ordinary movement of hanging wrist.

As the Stranger Ball looked like smug dandy enjoying himself and all the attention, all too well aware of his own youth and beauty, that make everybody fall for him. Personally though I couldn’t help thinking he wasn’t as in charge as it might look at the first sight. He was mocking his prince, showing off ostentatiously. Weswell on the other hand was the embodiment of pure, uncompromising charisma. Interactions between him and Mower’s prince, who was impressed by Stranger’s unconventional, rough manners at first, was quickly becoming a tense fight for power, the prince trying to prove himself worthy of Stranger’s attention, to prove he’s his equal. With Lovell’s prince the seducing, open flirting, blatant sexuality was much more evident, which combined with this prince’s ingenuous innocence made the final picture unpleasantly sinister.

 Regardless of different casts, ending of the ballet became a real emotional roller-coaster. With Matthew Ball and Dominic North equal in their complete despair when being sure of the inevitable death of their partner. Ball’s total resignation the more palpable, the more he was stubbornly, despite his injuries trying to stay or at least look unaffected on the outside. Change of Westwell’s Swan, in act 2 so independent and powerful, was shocking. Now he was utterly, hopelessly, painfully broken. He was defending both his princes against furious swans with rabid determination, with no self-preservation whatsoever, with perfect, devoted abandon. Bond between him and James Lovell’s prince was then strengthened by certain feel of responsibility, by tenderness that felt almost motherly. He was not only trying to protect, but to sooth, to give some comfort to his prince as well with physical contact, with touches stronger, more frequent, more expressive, more meaningful. That was why prince’s positively hysterical, agonizing grief hurt almost physically then.

 Bourne managed something extraordinary. His Swan Lake with costumes by Lez Brotherson is as iconic, as legendary as the original ballet. His vision as strong as let’s say Ek’s Giselle. What’s more, Bourne’s ballet doesn’t age, it hasn’t lost any of its impact – thanks to slight costume, dramaturgic and choreographic changes, that only strengthen its drive. Prince’s hinted homosexuality won‘t shock anyone anymore as well as men swans won’t provoke such controversy, true. But thanks to these examples it is evident, that Bourne’s ballet is so much more than just a gay version of one famous story…

For everybody who actually reach the end of this madness - congratulations. And I am sorry.

[t-hotland]

Fright Night (T.H)

Frat!Tom x Reader

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Warnings: Fluff 

Summary: Frat!Tom convinces you to go to an old-school drive in horror movie festival with him and shows you a side to him you haven’t seen before.

Word Count: 2.3K  - I’m really sorry if the Read More doesn’t work 💕👑

Fright Night was the festival that everybody on campus looked forward to all year round. Where everyone gathered on the fields huddled in blankets with piping hot drinks in hand to keep themselves warm while they sat for countless hours; catching colds while watching various horror films all night long. It was something you’d never had an interest in participating in, until that night.

“You know it’s going to be fun,” Practically singing a tune to his own words Tom watched you from across the room. He’d been propped up on your doorframe for what felt like an eternity, daring you to go out with him on the scariest night of the year despite the fact that you had already told him countless times that you just wanted to stay inside.

“I don’t like horror movies, Holland,” You all but growled as you continued to stare at the laptop screen perched upon your lap.

But not taking the hint, Tom continued to smirk as he took steps into your dorm-room before taking a seat at the edge of your bed, “I’ll protect you if you get scared, darling,”

Trying to fight off a furious blush at the intensity of his gaze, you grew flustered and grabbed the first thing you saw before launching it in Tom’s direction though it did little to settle the giddy nervousness you felt when you caught him looking at you like that.

Of course, you knew that it didn’t mean anything - he looked at almost every girl in that way, teasing them with his eyes and words but never acting on them unless he really wanted to. It was a frustrating cycle you had been prey to too many times since meeting Tom Holland and had long since decided you were never going to take anything he said seriously again, sick of being disappointed when it became apparent that his words were meaningless.

Afterall, the two of you weren’t friends, not really. You shared one class with him and your dorm room was relatively close to his, meaning that whenever he didn’t understand a concept in your lectures he would almost always be at your door asking for help and of course, you almost always gave in to him. But besides the long nights you would spend trying to explain the complicated details of the things he didn’t understand, the only other time the two of you would really talk is on the short walks from the dorm rooms to the lecture halls, which was where he had first proposed the little outing to you.

“Would it kill you to wait for me every once in a while, Y/N?” He’d huffed at you, striding to keep up with you as you made your way to the lecture hall without him.

“You were being too slow,” You’d called behind you, not looking back as you saw your own breath mist in front of you, a tell-tale sign that it was too cold to wait around. It was only when Tom nudged his shoulder against yours and almost send you flying across the icy sidewalk that you’d bothered to look at him, whirling around to throw him an icy glare and immediately noticing the amused expression on his face as you tried to stop yourself from falling over. “Shut up,”

“You’re welcome by the way,” He’d stood smirking as he held the hot cup of coffee out to you as a peace offering. Mumbling your small thanks while staring at the ground, you’d quickly taken the cup from him before continuing on your walk to the lecture hall, still desperate to get out of the cold. Tom had easily fell into step with you and began talking about nothing in particular until the thoughtless small-talk which you had since grown accustomed to led onto the topic of the infamous Fright Night Festival.

“So you’re going to be my date, right?” You’d rolled your eyes and muttered one sarcastic agreement or another, before pushing through the large double doors of the lecture hall and flopping down in your seat, not for a moment thinking there might have been an ounce of seriousness in Tom’s words.  

“Come on, you know it won’t be any fun without you there,” Hugging the pillow you’d thrown at him to his chest, he tried to catch your eye as he shot you the look of an injured puppy, his deep brown eyes trying to burn into yours.

You could feel yourself melting under his intense gaze and as much as you tried not to, eventually you gave in. Sighing, you moved your laptop to the side and met his gaze head-on, determined to sound strong in firm in your words so you could have some kind of internal win while simultaneously being weak.

“Just one film,”

Immediately, a huge, victorious grin broke out across his face and he jumped from the bed, lending you a hand as you climbed out from the covers of your bed, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Already regretting your decision, you allowed Tom to lead you from the dorm rooms and across campus, passing countless numbers of people in costumes and even more people who weren’t, all the while he continued to hold your hand in his. It was only when you got onto the fields that your interest was finally peaked, spotting various cars parked left, right and centre all across the open space with the occupants all laughing and joking inside, not making a move to drive off and park somewhere else.

And while you tried to ask Tom what was going on, he only responded by tugging you faster in whatever direction he felt like moving in, telling you, “You’ll see,” and leaving you with more unanswered questions. It was only once Tom stopped and stood next to one car in particular that he finally decided to face you, a huge smile beaming on his face as he stood proudly next to the vehicle.

“It’s a drive-in theatre!”

Amazed by how excited he seemed by the idea, you found yourself laughing as Tom unlocked the car and held the passenger’s door open for you to climb into. Seconds later, he joined you, all but jumping in his seat as he shuffled around before covering your lap in a blanket and grabbing coffees from the backseat.

“How’d you know I’d say yes?” You couldn’t help but ask, taking a sip from your coffee and immediately noticing that it was exactly the way you liked it.

Tom said nothing and instead proceeded to fiddle about with the radio until it was on the right station for the movie’s audio to be blasted through when it finally began, ignoring your curious gaze as you watched him. Yet you couldn’t help but watch him; you’d never seen Tom act like this before. You’d seen him with his friends, forever the cocky playboy who toyed with girl’s feelings and did what he wanted, consequences be damned. Hell, even when you spent your nights tutoring with him he was always overly confident despite only having you as an audience to ‘show-off’ for.

But never had you seen Tom seem so excited over something like he was as he sat in the car beside you. With an overly excited grin spread across his face that he didn’t even try to hide and his eyes practically sparkling with joy like an anime character, you couldn’t help but stare at him and wonder why he didn’t show this side of him off as much.

“Tom?” You mumbled softly though he didn’t even look up from the radio at the mention of his name. Instead, he hummed distractedly as he continued tuning the radio until he was eventually satisfied that he had landed on the right station. “Why did you bring me here tonight?”  

When he looked at you this time, the eager, almost childlike innocence that had previously lit up his face was gone, now replaced by his all too familiar smirk while his eyes bore deep into yours, “You know you’re the only girl for me, Y/N,”

Rolling your eyes and feeling slightly disappointed by his words, you turned to look at the blank wall of the university where the movie was about to start playing, not seeing the way Tom’s face fell when he realised he’d obviously said the wrong thing.

“What film are we watching anyway?”

“Annabelle” As soon as the title left his lips you turned your head to look at him so quickly Tom feared you may have given yourself whip lash, though the panic-stricken look on your face quickly became the main priority. He could barely hear what you were saying as you began muttering under your breath before clawing at the door like a deranged, captive animal desperate to be back out in the wild but knew that none of it was good.  

Yet despite your best efforts to leave the car, you quickly found that it was a pointless endeavour as Tom had, at some point, turned the child-lock on all the doors and windows of the vehicle, already having anticipated that you would try to make a break for it at the last minute.

“Open the damn door, Holland!” You practically cried while you kept hold of the silver door handle. But Tom didn’t listen to your request, instead he wrapped his arms around your waist and dragged you away from the door, fighting against you the entire time until you were sat in his lap with his arms acting a straight jacket around yours so they couldn’t move or fight back against him.

“I told you I would protect you, didn’t I?” You didn’t dare to look at him, feeling as if you had never been this close or intimate with another person ever, let alone Tom. And yet despite not being able to see his face you could tell that his words weren’t laced with the smirk that you had come to hate so much, instead his voice was calm and reassuring as he held you against him without making a move to suggest that he was going to let you go anytime soon.

All you could do was nod your head, practically frozen in place with fear coursing through every fibre of your being, now more terrified that you’d make a move and embarrass yourself even further after your small breakdown than you were of the actual movie.

“If you really don’t like it I’ll take you back to your dorm room, deal?” This time you shifted slightly to look at Tom and saw the concern in his eyes as he looked up at you, genuinely concerned about your wellbeing. You offered him a small, uncertain smile and a nod of your head which he mirrored with his own before the speakers in the car came to life as the beginning soundtrack of the movie began to play.

Facing the big, previously blank wall where a projector now had the film on display for everybody to see, you instinctively tensed up, only really relaxing as Tom began absentmindedly brushing the pad of his thumb across your side in a soothing manner. Slowly, as the film played on, you found yourself relaxing into his chest, only moving as jump scares came up on the screen.

And each time they did, you would hide your face in his shoulder and his arms would wrap around you and hold you tightly against himself until he deemed it safe for you to turn around and watch again. This happened numerous times and it was only after the seventeenth time that you brought your face out from behind his shoulder that you realised that there was no awkwardness in your situation. Sitting this close to Tom and drawing comfort from his touch was something that you easily got used to and as that realisation dawned on you, it almost scared you more than the creepy doll flashing up on the screen.

Almost.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tom found himself whispering despite the fact that nobody but you could hear him after noticing you’d somehow managed to zone out during the film. Instantly, you were snapped back from your thoughts and turned to look at him, giving him an unconvincing smile as you looked from his eyes to his lips and lingered there for a moment.

Maybe it was because of the close proximity between the two of you, or the fact that you couldn’t escape Tom’s intoxicating scent from where you were sitting, but in that moment, you found yourself yearning to kiss him in a way that you had never wanted anyone before. Practically hypnotised his lips, you barely noticed as his hand sneaking up until it was cradling the side of your face and tilting it so that your mouth was mere inches away from his but not touching, not yet.

“God, you really are something, Y/N Y/L/N,”

And it was those words that pushed you to do it because they meant something. You could hear it in his voice as he spoke them that he meant every syllable, not like when he talked to you with that damn smirk on his face because they weren’t the kind of words that he’d tell just about any girl.

So, you made the final move and connected your lips to his, relishing in the feeling as he pulled you impossibly closer to him as if you were his lifeline.  And you clung to him just as firmly, not wanting that moment to end because it was so impossibly perfect.

“I think we should go back to the dorms now,”

My Tag Lists are Open. Please give me feedback 💕👑

Tags: @smexylemony @tomshufflepuff @gingertalksshit @embrace-themagic@positiveparker @gendryia @carlaimberlain @spideyyypeter @sleepybesson @micki-smiles @double-leo @xxxxdelenaxxxx@iluvmesomemarvelndc @nerdyboii711 @bellagrayson-wayne

[kiruuuuu]

Oneshot in which pure chaos happens. There’s some Blitz/Rook and a tiny bit of Doc/Jäger and Monty/Bandit but they’re certainly not the main focus of the story - which is, as I said, chaos. So, uh. Good luck. (Rating T, nothing but humour, ~2.5k words) - written for @magehir to cheer you up and cheer you on ❤ You’ve survived thus far, you can make it another year!

.

It’s odd, coming back to Hereford after an extended vacation. Over the years, Blitz has accepted several places as his home, among them his parents’ house, the apartments in which he lived, the GSG9 headquarters, the base of the CTU in India he helped build from the ground up (which he just visited) and now he apparently needs to add Hereford to that list – because even while just approaching the familiar structures, he can feel the corners of his mouth lifting in anticipation. He’s heard from Bandit that most operators are off-duty today following an unfortunate incident which was not further described to him mostly because Bandit was laughing too hard. Apparently it involved large amounts of food dye, flour and hair dryers and made a lot of people very upset.

On the upside, this means that Blitz has the chance to catch up with everyone and see how they’re faring – he’s been gone for three weeks now and actually missed his co-workers, as odd as it sounds. With how much time they spend together, he’s come to know all of them to a certain degree where he feels comfortable in their presence, happy to know they have his back no matter what. Therefore, when he steps through the door into the building, he’s not prepared to be confronted with Fuze in a dress first thing.

They make brief eye contact before Blitz stops in his tracks to take in the entire disaster, the pale orange sundress fluttering behind the Uzbek as he stomps through the hallway with purpose, matching shoes dangling from his fingers and hot pink lipstick smeared as he fixes the newly arrived German with a short death glare as if he personally was responsible for his outfit. As he stalks past, he mutters a quiet kill me before leaving. Blitz stares after him, aghast, until a different noise catches his attention and shifts it from what he’s pretty sure must’ve been a hallucination to the nearest corner.

Kapkan seems to be leading his countrymen after Fuze while babbling in animated yet quite noticeably slurred Russian though he freezes comically as soon as he spots Blitz, the other three almost crashing into him and also stilling as if Blitz’ vision was based on movement and them being glued to the spot somehow allowed them to escape the German’s anticipated wrath – that’s what they seem to expect of him, going by Kapkan’s quiet curse, followed by a stage whispered: “It’s the police!” The bright pink lip print on his cheek only furthers the deranged look of the small group’s leader.

Blitz is beginning to wonder whether the Spetsnaz stole some of Bandit’s special brownies. “What is -”

“Scatter!”, Finka yells out of the blue and just like that, the Russians attempt to run off into different directions which only Tachanka and Glaz manage – Kapkan and Finka collide forcefully and collapse to the ground in a violently cursing heap, quite clearly assigning the blame to each other.

Thoroughly concerned now, Blitz approaches them and asks: “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“No! He fucking won Miss Russia and he’s not even Russian!”, Kapkan spits back inexplicably, gets up and dusts himself off.

“You know he looked better in that bathing suit than you did, Maxim”, Finka addresses him with a saucy wink and then hurries after him when he merely huffs and, with a dramatic hair toss, struts away.

Blitz is dumbstruck. Maybe he’s in the twilight zone. Maybe that’s what’s going on. Shaking his head, he steps into the canteen to hopefully find some normalcy elsewhere. At first glance, it seems the few people scattered around the tables are having a relaxed though late lunch, yet when he looks a tad more closely, everyone’s eyes flit back and forth from their conversation partner to two women occupying the kitchen.

“Would you like some more coffee, dear sister?”, Ela chirps pleasantly.

“Oh, thank you so much for being this observant, I’d love to!”, Zofia replies just as politely.

Horrified, Blitz watches as the two fawn over each other in a sickly sweet tone of voice he usually hears Thatcher apply when a recruit is in Big Trouble – these two, however, seem intent on keeping up their charade at all costs. He thinks he can see Ela grit her teeth even at this distance. As there’s no explanation for this either, he turns on his heel and continues his search for something or someone who can restore or at least feign the status quo. At this point, he’d pick Bandit being his usual shithead self over everything he’s come across so far because his entire world view is crumbling and being insulted as well as kicked in the shins actually sounds quite appealing to him now.

Filled with despair, he seeks out Bandit’s usual spots but comes up empty until he finally spots him in the workshop. Even so, seeing him almost makes Blitz leave immediately because – because Bandit’s smiling. Not a smirk full of schadenfreude, no malicious grin or a chuckle full of pity, none of the sort, it’s a genuine, bright, beautiful smile. Blitz considers briefly whether he’s high but concludes that the amount necessary to lighten Bandit’s mood to a point where he’d consider smiling to be a sensible course of action would likely kill him first, so he approaches cautiously. “Hey”, he says.

Bandit and Montagne turn to him with matching expressions of authentic joy and Blitz is briefly reminded of any twins appearing in horror films he now regrets ever having watched. “Elias, it’s so good to see you!”, Montagne greets him and Bandit adds: “How are you? I hope you’re well!”

He blinks at what can only be a mirage and fights down the urge to reach out and test whether his fingers would just glide through the seemingly solid men. “I’m a little shaken”, he admits and finds no shame in hearing his voice waver, “and I’d appreciate it if either of you could pinch me.”

The two exchange a glance as if Blitz was the one behaving oddly. “Are you alright, friend?”, Bandit wants to know without any sarcasm or instantly jumping at the chance to cause him physical harm and no. Just no. This is – this is too odd.

As soon as he’s fled the workshop in a panic, he goes over the possibilities: they’ve all gone insane. Blitz has gone insane. Some unknown entity has infiltrated Rainbow and substituted all its operators with outwardly perfect copies yet failed to make them understand how their originals behaved. This seems to be the likeliest option from everything he’s seen and if he’s honest, he’s beginning to wish he was back in India where life was uncomplicated and not filled with obviously impossible scenarios.

For now, he decides to unpack his things in his room and possibly go to sleep at two in the afternoon, being able to blame it on jetlag and hoping everything is back to how it used to be when he’s awake again. Still vaguely dazed, he opens his door and comes face to face with – well, he’s not sure how to accurately describe it as Jäger and Doc are so wrapped around each other that it’s hard to tell who is inside whom and with which body part exactly and Jesus Christ. Slapping a hand over his eyes, he yells: “That’s my damn bed, Marius!!”

“Oh”, says Doc in soft astonishment. “You’re back today already.”

“Could you two maybe -” A throaty moan interrupts him momentarily. “At least stop while I’m talking to you!”

“We’re almost done”, Jäger responds pleasantly and the following noises are even audible after Blitz has slammed the door shut behind him.

Okay. So there’s no place that’s sacred and no one who’s unaffected, apparently, which means he should either try to find out whether their boss at least has escaped this – whatever it is, or run for the hills. Maybe the SAS would accept him into their ranks. Then a thought occurs to him. If everyone is behaving oddly, it means…

Rook seems normal, from what he can tell. He’s wearing his usual cheerful expression and doing that eager nod Blitz finds so endearing, and seeing him is a relief. He missed the young Frenchman but despite this wasn’t sure whether contacting him during his leave could be misconstrued in a way – he doesn’t want to seem needy or pushy, so he opted for deciding that their long talks short before he left indicated no more than friendship and is now looking forward to continuing them to possibly cement this friendship. Approaching him with a heart made lighter by his presence only, he’s about to address him when he belatedly realises to whom he’s talking. It’s Lion of all people. And the two are both making friendly conversation.

Dumbfounded, he hears himself say: “Can someone just fucking pinch me?”

The next thing he knows is a sharp pain in his cheek, right where Rook slapped him with enough force to knock his head aside and make him stumble, courtesy as much of the blow itself as its unexpected nature. He doesn’t even get a chance to react or begin processing the shock before Rook takes his head in both hands and murmurs: “Oh fuck oh shit oh no, are you alright? I’m – that wasn’t – I’m so sorry, please believe me, I have no idea where that came from, oh god, did I hurt you?”

Blitz blinks the tears away forming in his eyes from the dull, throbbing ache in his probably crimson cheek and, like a true liar, shakes his head. “No, I’m fine”, he replies quietly, stunned, “that was – I mean, at least now I know I’m not dreaming because that hurt like hell.”

“I really didn’t mean to, I’m very sorry”, Rook assures him, guilt clearly written on his face and bleeding through the gentle touches of him petting Blitz’ hair as if he was an upset dog.

“You really were ready for that slap though”, Lion comments and sounds entirely too amused.

“Look -”, Rook starts but Blitz shakes his head and talks over him: “I think I should see Seamus.”

Sledge, indubitably, is an immovable rock in Rainbow’s endless tides of madness: reliable, always professional and nothing but competent. Surely, he’ll know what’s going on and be able to shed some light on the various horrors Blitz has encountered, none of which he’s been able to process so far. Hopeful that this bastion of normalcy has withstood whatever devastated the rest of the base, Blitz knocks on the door to his office and enters after being called in.

Sledge is blue.

Wordlessly, Blitz turns around and is halfway out the door again when a deep sigh and a small wait hold him back. “I’m sure Dom told you of his hilarious prank.”

Oh. He remembers – extremely potent food dye. Hesitantly, he takes a seat opposite of someone who looks like an unfortunate extra in the world’s first live action smurf film. “I think I fell into an alternate dimension”, Blitz states matter-of-factly. When Sledge merely raises an eyebrow, Blitz recounts his experiences one by one and notes how the grin on the Scotsman’s lips widens progressively.

“There are perfectly reasonable explanations for most of this. Alex offered to provide lunch for his team today but didn’t have any cooking wine, so he used, uh, Adriano’s Absinthe. Which as you probably know has about 60% more alcohol content than wine.”

“That must’ve tasted revolting.”

“It did. They loved it. The result was a spontaneously staged Miss Russia contest in which Lera was the only judge, ironically. You got to see the aftermath, I’m afraid.”

Blitz puts his head into his hands.

“Ela and Zofia have a bet going with James about how long they can be nice to each other. And if you ask me, everyone’s hoping for him to win because that’d mean they can stop treading on eggshells around the two sisters as they’re bound to explode any minute and no one particularly wants to be around them when they do – but it’s better than the fight over the prize money should they actually win.”

“They did seem ready to rip each other’s heads off, yeah.”

“If you asked me, I’d say this only widens the rift between them. But no one asked me. And so I’m only going to make sure I’ll be far away when it eventually happens.”

“What about Dom? I’ve never seen him so -”

“He’s got the biggest crush I’ve ever seen on Gilles.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. He’s been all smiles and it’s freaking everyone out to the point where I feel I should intervene but I can hardly tell him to fall out of love. The other day Mark walked past him three times and not once did Dom try to trip him. It’s a miracle.”

Blitz doesn’t even know how to react to this because it’s utterly absurd.

“In any case, since Julien often hung around with Dom when you weren’t around and Olivier could be usually found in Gilles’ presence, they’ve both been robbed of their confidant and therefore have started talking to each other.”

“You say this as if it was nothing.”

“It is nothing. They’ve overcome their differences and found shared interests.”

“What about Doc and Marius then?”

Sledge purses his lips pensively. “I have no idea, to be honest. I thought they were just friends and I’m still convinced they’re no more than that. Why they would – do what you, uh, tried to describe them doing, is beyond me. Maybe they were both feeling horny. It’s not unheard of that two guys help each other now and then, right?” Helplessly, Blitz just shrugs and tries to parse all this new information. “Is that all?”

“Well, I don’t think it falls under ‘strange’, because it seemed like an accident, but Julien slapped me. I might’ve asked him to pinch me but he -”

“I’m not surprised. You did tell him you liked him too before you left and then proceeded to ignore him for three weeks. I think he has all reason to be miffed.”

Oh. Blitz’ eyes widen. Oh. Oh fuck oh shit oh no. He thought it was – it was meant in a friendly way, not – “I need to go”, he tells Sledge hurriedly but turns around once more before running out of the office: “Please never go on vacation. Please never leave me alone for this long.”

And Sledge just casually inspects his really quite blue hands and replies calmly: “Oh, I don’t know. A drawn-out holiday doesn’t sound too bad, actually.”