#that last this is also why i have to check over the chapters and fix them later

[rendoa-blog]

IM SUCH A GREAT AND COMPOSED AND ORGANIZED HUMAN BEING....

(context : that ao3 askblog fic? I uh... somehow missed an entire arc. And so I had to move... 3 chapters....... and I didn't notice it, Icarus did.... I FORMATTED IT AND EVERYTHING BUT... IT JUST... WASN'T THERE??? Because of this, I'm also gonna have to make the chapter summary for it and get all the chapter names and everything else correct and check it all to see if there wasn't any mistakes or anything and I'm...)

Me rn (no I don't know why it's like that but I laugh at it every time)

I'm adding more and more things to this post because I'm on the train and can't post it due to lack of data, how's your day going

[hungermakesmonsters]

The Red Ribbon

Chapter One

Plot Summary : By day you’re Billy Russo’s clumsy PA, but by night you’re a host at New York City’s most exclusive gentlemen's club. At The Red Ribbon everyone is anonymous and masks conceal the identities of patrons and hosts alike. But your two lives are about to collide and Billy Russo is about to see a whole new side of you without even realising it..

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with smutty themes and include mentions/suggestions of sex work/work at a gentlemen's club (don't like, don't read). Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 6k

A/N : This is a little something I've been toying with for a while. It's only going to be a short thing (3 parts) over the next few weeks. There's no upload schedule but it'll probably be posting on Fridays anyway 😅 Also I've been ill all week so that's my excuse for typos

Master List

Chapter One

“Remind me why I hired you?”

His voice was a cold snap that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment. Even on his birthday, your boss was an asshole.

Your hands trembled as you tried to restack the files that you’d clumsily manage to drop all over his office floor. The contents of the files had spilled out and you already knew that it was going to take you hours to make sure the correct paperwork ended up back where it was supposed to be.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he added a moment later. “Why did I hire you?”

“Because your other assistants keep quitting,” you muttered under your breath.

It was humiliating, scrabbling around on his office floor, the carpet scrapping your bare knees as you tried to pick everything up as quickly as possible.

“What was that?” He asked.

It was reasonable to guess that he hadn’t heard you - you were certain he would have been a lot angrier if he’d heard you. Still, you hated yourself for letting it slip out. As much as you hated the way your boss treated you, the pay was good. Too good to quit.

“I said I’m sorry Mr Russo,” you answered softly, managing to grab the last of the files and get back to your feet. “I’ll get these sorted and have them on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“I hope you’re planning on staying late.”

“What?” The word spilled from your lips before you had the chance to stop it.

“Do you have somewhere else to be? Something more important than fixing your fuck up and doing the job I pay you to do?” Mr Russo asked.

As a matter of fact, you did have somewhere else to be and something that was more important than fixing the potential Anvil candidate files that you’d managed to dump all over his office floor, but you couldn’t tell him that.  

There was only one person who knew how you spent your nights, and it certainly wasn’t your boss. No, if Billy Russo knew where you went after your days at Anvil, he’d see to it that he had your resignation in his hand by the end of the day. And you were sure the same could be said of your night job.

“No, Mr Russo,” you answered, dropping your gaze to the floor, “I don’t have anywhere more important to be.”

“Good answer,” he said as he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. He moved towards his office door, stepping past you as if you were just another piece of furniture, a spare chair in the way. “And don’t even think about leaving that unfinished. I’ll be in at 5am so you’re not going to have the opportunity to sneak in early tomorrow to finish up.”

He didn’t even wait for a half-hearted ‘yes, Mr Russo’ before leaving for the day.

You glanced at your watch, doing the maths in your head; you should have been finishing in ten minutes time, at five o’clock, which would have given you three hours to get home, eat, and then get across town to work your night job.

The Red Ribbon was New York's most exclusive gentlemen's club - though to call it a gentlemen’s club was somewhat outdated as, these days, it catered to the needs and desires of wealthy clientele regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation. But, it had been considered a gentlemen’s club since the 1950s, and the verbiage was surprisingly hard to shake. 

The club offered something that few similar establishments did; total anonymity for both guests and workers. There were no cameras in The Red Ribbon, no phones or recording devices were allowed. And everyone wore masks. The only way to tell the staff from the clientele were the red ribbons worn about their necks.

You’d been working at The Red Ribbon for the last six months. At the start you’d tended bar, not wanting to get too hands-on with the customers - not because you had any strong feelings or moral objections about those that did, but mostly because you didn’t think you’d be any good at it. You’d never been the sort to consider yourself graceful, much less sexy, but you could make a mean espresso martini and you were great with pointless smalltalk. 

The money was good, but it wasn’t good enough, not when you had debts and financial obligations. 

At The Red Ribbon, the hosts made the most money, each getting assigned to one of the private rooms and being tasked with taking care of the customers' needs for the whole night. It was ultimately up to the host what taking care of the customer entailed though boundaries were firmly established before the host set foot in the private room. Every host had their own limits, some were happy to touch and be touched, some took it further still, and others preferred a hands-off approach.

If there was one thing The Red Ribbon was known for beyond the total anonymity it offered, it was the level of security. Everyone who set foot through the doors knew better than to cause trouble or push the boundaries of any member of staff.

You’d made the switch from bartender to host slowly, filling in whenever someone was out sick or when you needed a little extra money. You were slow to warm to it but, to your surprise, you found that you actually enjoyed it. Though you stayed firmly in the no touching or being touched camp, the tips you made in one night were still more than you made over a whole week tending bar.

But, when that money still wasn’t enough to cover your debts, you took a day job.

And that was how you’d ended up spending an evening hunched over a desk at Anvil, trying desperately to match paperwork with the correct file for a boss who’d made it pretty clear that he didn't like you and thought you were too inept for your job.

By the time you were done, you barely had the chance to make it home and shower and, instead of eating a proper meal, you ate a Snickers bar on the subway.

The Red Ribbon had a special entrance for staff that used old prohibition tunnels and a hidden elevator to get you into the building and up to the top floor. 

New York was stunning from fifty floors up and, some nights, you’d find yourself in the locker room just staring out at the skyline as you changed into your uniform. But tonight you didn’t have the luxury of time.

You stood in front of the schedule, checking which room you were in and which mask you’d be wearing. While bar staff and servers all wore the same elegant black and red masks  to obscure their faces, hosts wore individual masks that corresponded with the room they’d be working. Tonight you were in the rabbit room, so you plucked the ornate rabbit mask from its hook on the wall.

Of all the masks, the rabbit had always been your favourite because of the detailing on the ears and the way it just sat right on your face.

You always got such a rush from pulling a mask on and heading out into the club. Under any other circumstance the thought of walking around in a revealing black bodysuit would have been embarrassing, but once you had your mask on, you felt almost powerful, like a superhero with a secret identity. With the mask, you weren’t you, you were whatever part you were playing and tonight you were Bunny, and Bunny could be whoever you wanted her to be.

The last part of your uniform was the red ribbon that you tied around your neck, the very thing that distinguished staff from customers, and gave the club its name.

You gave yourself one last look in the floor to ceiling mirror, making sure that you looked ready to handle whatever the night had to throw at you, before finally stepping out into the main area of the club.

Once you passed the threshold, everything about you changed; you held your head high and walked through the club like you owned the place. Here you weren’t the quiet little PA who had to keep her mouth shut in case her boss decided to fire her. Here you called the shots.

The spring in your step became even more noticeable as you climbed the stairs and headed onto the walkway that led to the private rooms, each situated above the dancefloor with views of the whole club. 

“Hey, lil Bunny,” an all too familiar face said.

You grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Rocky, one of the club's security guards, a man, who in any other circumstances would terrify you.  He was a huge behemoth of a man, truly deserving of the title Built Like a Brick Shit-House. To the patrons, he was the one they didn’t want to get on the bad side of, but to you and the rest of the staff, he was safety incarnate.

“Hey, Rocky,” you said, bumping fists with him as you came to a stop in front of him.

He’d taken something of a shine to you on your first night at The Red Ribbon - he later told you it was because you reminded him of his sister who’d died only a few years before. Since then he’d always kept a close eye on you.

After bumping fists, you kept your arm outstretched so he could fit your security bracelet for the night; a very ornate looking panic button that you could use discreetly if you needed Rocky to deal with a problem customer. 

“You let me know if you need anything,” he said softly but seriously.

And, with that, you were on your way again, slipping into the rabbit room with a few minutes to spare before your guest arrived. You did a quick sweep of the room, making sure everything was tidy before turning on the music and checking the bar and, finally, you lowered the lights.

Less than five minutes later, a group of men were shown into the room, each wearing plain black masks that covered the top half of their faces, and each dressed to the club's high standards. Though, just from looking at them you could tell that some were more comfortable in suits than others.

“Welcome to The Red Ribbon, I’m Bunny and I’ll be your host for the evening and I’ll be running the bar for you, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get you your first round,” you announced and, with a flourish of your hand, you waved them towards the sofas.

You took drink orders and made a point of saying a little personal hello to each of them, knowing that it’d help win you tips by the end of the night.

As far as groups went, they seemed decent enough, not exactly what you’d call reserved by any stretch, but they seemed to be happy to talk amongst themselves while you tended bar, not expecting anything more of you.

After about half an hour, one of them broke away from the group and headed towards the bar. You couldn’t help but watch him, taking in the perfect way that his suit fit his tall, slender frame. 

He took a seat on one of the stools at the bar and flashed you the sort of smile that you were sure had panties dropping all across the five boroughs on a regular basis.

“What can I get you?” You asked.

“Another scotch would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

You were acutely aware of the way his eyes followed your every movement as you  grabbed a bottle and fresh glass with ice. Your skin felt like it was tingling under his gaze - he wasn’t leering, it felt more like he was appreciating. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

For a second you wondered if it was a line - it certainly sounded like a line - but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you think he was actually being serious.

“What makes you say that?” You asked in your playful voice, deciding to indulge him.

“I’d remember seeing you.”

He wasn’t shy about drinking in the sight of you. At any other time you might have felt disgusted, but it was part of the job and you probably would have been more offended if he  wasn’t checking you out.

“Hmm, and what exactly is it you think you’d remember?” You retorted playfully.

He grinned at that, a laugh rumbling in his chest. And his eyes - fuck, his dark eyes almost seemed to twinkle.

“I’m not sure it’d be considered polite if I was to get... anatomical,” he joked.

“It’s my ass, isn’t it?” You offered offhandedly, breaking any tension or sense of shame.

His grin grew wider, though there was a hint of surprise on his face too, like he hadn’t quite expected you to be so forward.

“Now that you mention it, you do have a very nice ass,” he agreed, “in fact that whole thigh-ass area is perfection.”

You could feel warmth spreading across your cheeks and down your neck, and you were glad of the low lights and the mask on your face. While you were used to comments on your body and what men wanted to do with you while working, there was something different about this. This felt like flirting. Honest to god flirting. And it had been a long time since anyone had tried to flirt with you.

Out in the real world, his comment would have turned you into a shy mess, but behind the bunny mask... well, let’s just say that Bunny wanted to play.

“Oh, a thigh man as well?” 

“I’m a man of refined tastes,” he shrugged.

His grin had you wishing you could see the rest of his face. You were already trying to picture what he might look like behind the mask but you were certain that your imagination was not doing it justice.

“And what else does that taste extend to?” You asked, leaning across the bar a little more as you slid his drink towards him.

His fingers briefly covered yours - rougher than you’d expected - before you slowly pulled your hand away. For a split second, you felt your breath catch, and there was a flicker of something on his face that made you think he’d felt it too, that moment of electricity when you’d touched.

“Are we still talking anatomically? Because I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about your tits for the last five minutes.”

Again, it wasn’t the sort of comment you’d put up with in any other situation but, then and there, in a place where you held all the power, you liked hearing it. The fact that he’d been allowed into The Red Ribbon meant that he was someone, that he was rich and powerful, so for poor, boring you to be the object of his desires gave a thrill like no other.

You let slip another laugh, propping yourself against the bar with a hand beneath your chin, eyes fixed on Mr Tall, Dark and Playful.

“Only the last five minutes?” You said, almost sounding distraught.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Bunny,” he remarked, leaning towards you as he lifted his drink and took a slow sip.

“I get the feeling that you like trouble.”

“You have no idea...”

It would have been a lie to say that the temptation to carry on the flirtatious conversation wasn’t increasing with every passing second; it was fun, you were actually enjoying it rather than just being subjected to it. But he wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted your attention and you had a job to do. 

“Looks like your friends want some attention too,” you said, nodding your head towards the group of men still sitting at the table. One of them was waving you over, obviously in desperate need of another drink.

“Animals, the lot of them,” he said, almost fondly. “I should have known they had selfish reasons for bringing me here on my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” You asked and received a nod in response, before shaking your head and muttering; “another Sagittarius...”

“Another?” 

You looked at him, almost embarrassed that you’d let it slip out and that you’d blurred the line between your real life and Bunny.

“Just a guy I know,” you shrugged.

“He break your heart or something? Need me and the guys to pay him a visit?” He offered playfully.

Another laugh escaped you and you couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be able to genuinely laugh with one of the customers. After months of perfecting your customer service laugh, you’d never expected to find yourself actually laughing at some off-handed comment. Especially when the comment was about a stranger going to beat the shit out of your boss for being mean to you.

“No, it’s okay. I can handle myself.”

“I’ll bet you can, Bunny.”

“Well,” you said, definitively, changing the subject and taking your thoughts away from your terrible day-boss, “happy birthday. I think you deserve something fancy to drink.”

He grinned as you turned away to fish a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge and grab enough glasses for him and his friends.

“This place is really somethin’ else,” a second voice said. “I know you said the girls were pretty but... holy shit.”

Tall, Dark and Playful gave a laugh.

“Prettiest girls in New York are all right here,” he said, clapping his friend on the back.

“Careful boys, my ears are burning,” you joked as you turned back to them.

“It's a beautiful woman's fate to be the subject of conversation wherever she goes,” he said.

“Didn't expect to hear anyone quoting Dorian Gray tonight,” you answered back, amused.

He looked almost surprised by the comment, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve read Dorian Gray?” He asked. “You like to read?”

“Does that surprise you?” You asked, your mask hiding the way your eyebrow rose. “Do you not think girls like me can read the classics?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -” he glanced at his friend beside him, then to the group sitting at the table. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but from some of the hand gestures being made, you could guess that it was something filthy, “- it’s just that I'm not used to being around people who can actually read.”

He got a rough punch in the arm from the guy beside him for that, and you started to laugh again. 

They continued to talk while you popped the champagne and started to fill glasses for the whole party. You placed one in front of the birthday boy, and one in front of his friend, before loading up a tray and taking the rest to the party at the table.

“Champagne to toast the birthday boy,” you said with a cheeky smile, earning a round of cheers from the men.

When you returned to the bar, Tall and Dark’s friend passed you, heading back to the group, leaving the birthday boy all alone.

“Not gonna drink with your friends?” You asked.

It was hard not to feel curious - it was part of the job, the masks, the hidden identities, there were always so many unanswered questions.

“I’ve never been one for birthdays,” he answered with a shrug, but still shot you a smile before lifting his champagne flute to his lips.

“Hmm so the mysterious, handsome stranger has a tragic backstory,” you said playfully.

“I don’t know if I’d call it tragic,” he said, his shoulder ticking upwards uncomfortably.

“Should I ask?”

Probably not, you thought. But some part of you wanted to know, wanted to prod and poke until you had him all figured out.

“My mother abandoned me a few hours after I was born,” he stated flatly.

Oh.

Shit.

You didn’t expect him to laugh when he looked at you again, his head shaking. “Don’t look so shocked, it was a long time ago and I’ve come a long way since then.”

“I just -” the confidence of Bunny slipped for a moment, leaving only you; the clumsy girl with a heart that often felt far too big, “- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve joked...”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve had plenty of time to get over it. Besides, the way I figure it, she did me a favour. You want soft kids, coddle them and treat them well.”

“Wouldn't know anything about that,” you said with a wry smile. “My parents definitely didn't coddle us.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“That all I'm getting?” He asked, smiling that playful smile again.

“Getting personal defeats the point of the masks, don't you think?” You retorted, leaning to top up his drink.

“I suppose,” he answered, pausing for a beat before continuing, “I guess you could tell me anything and I'd have to take your word for it.”

“You don't strike me as the sort of man who's trusting enough to do something like that.”

It was something you could see in his eyes, the way they took you in and watched every little flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

“Then why don't we play a game?” He offered. “We each get to ask a question, and you get to call the other out if you think they’re lying. And if I catch you in a lie, you have to tell me something true.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, trying to get a measure of him. Normally you were reasonably good at reading people - though maybe a lot of that came from working various PA and secretarial positions, needing to be able to anticipate your boss’ shitty moods.

“Okay, you’re on,” you agreed, “but a few ground rules; you’re not allowed to ask about who I am or anything that might identify me.”

“Sounds fair.” He lifted his champagne and took a slow drink but his eyes never left you. “What are you most afraid of?”

That caught you off guard. It was more serious than you’d anticipated.

“You could ask me almost anything, but that’s what you want to know?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person by what they’re scared of,” he said, shrugging.

You took a second to consider your answer.

“Jellyfish.”

“Really, Bunny, you’re gonna lie right outta the gate?” 

“Okay, fine,” you said with a huff, hating that he’d caught you out already. “I guess I’m most scared of dying alone, but jellyfish are a close second.”

“You think you’re gonna die alone?” He asked.

There was something in his voice that seemed to suggest he didn’t get it, or maybe it was that he thought it would never happen. Little did he know that you - the real you - didn’t exactly have the best luck with men.

“That’s two questions. Don’t I get a turn?” You asked, deciding to dodge his question.

Tall and Dark relented and gave a wave of his hand.

“What do you hate most about New York?” 

“Hate?” He repeated.

“Everyone always loves the same things about the city, but most people hate something different,” you explained.

You watched him closely as he considered his answer, looking for anything that might tell you if he was about to lie to you.

“The subway. It stinks of piss and there’s always too many people.”

You had to give him that one for obvious reasons, though he didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who used the subway all that often.

“When was the last time you used the subway?”

“That’s two questions, Bunny,” he chided playfully.

“Fine. Your turn.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“What? You think that this wasn’t my career goal?” You said, barely holding back a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t know, I went through a lot of phases; I wanted to be a vet until I lost my first hamster, wanted to be a doctor until my brother broke his arm, and I wanted to be a lawyer but I have a conscience...”

The birthday boy laughed with you, smiling at you, obviously happy enough with your answer because he didn’t call you out, making it your turn again.

“What’s your favourite place in New York?” You asked.

“Right here,” he said. “Right now. With you.”

“Yikes, what a line,” you said, smirking at him despite the heat in your cheeks. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“Normally I don’t need lines.”

“No?”

“People - women - usually make their minds up about me pretty quickly, and it’s rarely because of anything I have to say,” he explained.

You watched as he lifted his glass and drained his drink. Without needing to be asked, you refilled his glass. There was a pang of sadness in you, for him, for what he obviously had to go through.

“You must be pretty rich then,” you said, managing to keep the playful tone.

“Oh filthy rich,” he confirmed.

“Emphasis on the filthy part.”

He smirked at that.

The longer the conversation went on, the stranger it felt; it didn’t feel like work anymore, and you almost wished that it wasn’t. But moments like this didn’t happen to you out in the real world. He probably wouldn’t even look at you twice if he saw you in the light of day.

“Anyway, I call bullshit. There must be somewhere you like better than here, even if you are enjoying my company,” you said.

“Alright,” he conceded with an almost rueful smile, “there’s a baseball field in Brooklyn. I used to go there when I was a kid to watch other kids play...”

There was more to it, even you could tell that much, but it seemed personal - far more personal than you were prepared to get with him.

“You like baseball?”

“Liked,” he said, correcting you and adding another layer of uncertainty. “And that’s two questions.”

“Sorry, I’m not used to playing games when I’m tending bar,” you said, topping up his glass again before glancing towards his friends. “And, on that note...”

Again, you felt his eyes on you as you moved around the bar and headed to his friends, checking that everyone was having a good time and taking orders for fresh drinks.

“Think you’ve made the birthday boy’s night,” one of them said.

“Yeah, normally he slips out of his birthday parties after the first hour,” another commented, and they all laughed.

And, as you made your way back towards the bar (towards him), you couldn’t help but wonder what his birthdays were usually like.

“Hope they weren’t giving you any trouble,” he said as you slipped behind the bar and put the empty glasses you’d gathered to the side so you could start getting fresh drinks.

“No, you’ve all been perfect gentlemen,” you said, smiling at him, your face obviously showing some degree of relief because he quickly commented on it.

“Are there times when guys aren’t gentlemen?” He asked.

There was something in his tone, a hint of - what? - protectiveness, or anger maybe. 

“Sometimes, but that’s what Rocky is for,” you said, nodding your head towards the door.

“The big guy?” He asked and you nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t fancy my chances with him.”

Filling a tray with the fresh drinks, you went back to the table and passed them around before heading back to him again, taking up the spot on the opposite side of the bar from him, leaning your elbow on the bartop.

“So,” you said, almost decidedly, “want to tell me why you’re spending your birthday night out talking to me and not with your friends?”

He seemed to hesitate, but only for a split second.

“I thought it was my turn.”

“It is,” you conceded, “if you want to keep playing, but I think you might enjoy your birthday more if you spent it with friends.”

“We could be friends.”

“Friends don’t check out each other's asses, handsome.”

“Oh, so you’ve been checking out my ass?” He said as a grin tugged at his lips.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Something about men in well tailored pants drives me wild.”

The birthday boy let out another laugh, and it was such a happy sound that he drew glances from his friends, all of them wondering just what it was you’d said to manage to get a response like that from him.

He grabbed his glass and got to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Bunny,” he said before heading towards his friends.

Over the rest of the night, you found yourself watching him, always coming up with a teasing or playful remark whenever you went across to get them fresh drinks (oh, you wanted a drink, I just thought you wanted to stare at my ass again and I know how much you enjoy watching me walk away).

And he watched you, too.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps under his attention and you quickly came to love the sensation. Never in all your time working at The Red Ribbon had you felt such a connection with a guest, and you probably never would again.

So, when they all finally stood to leave, you felt a pang of regret - you shouldn’t have sent him back to his friends, you should have kept him with you so you could talk more.

Each of the guys said their thanks, each dropping bills into the tip jar by the door on their way out.

One of them stopped and looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “Thanks. I dunno what you said to him but I ain’t seen him like this in a long time.”

Your heart stuttered, not sure what it was you could have done to inspire such a change in a man you didn’t even know.

You noticed him linger as the door swung shut behind the last of his friends and, at any other time, that would be cause for concern but something told you that you weren’t in danger. Not from him. 

“Something else I can help you with?” You asked, as playful as ever.

“Plenty,” he said, his smile dropping a little. “But everything I want would break the rules, and the last thing I want is to get banned when there’s a chance I might see you again.”

It was sweet how oddly accepting he was of how things were, how they had to be. It made it harder to watch him walk away knowing that you might not see him again. You’d never felt such an instant connection with a stranger before, especially not a stranger who’d seen this side of you, a stranger who knew what you did for a living and didn’t judge you for it.

Against your better judgement, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly. You lingered close, watching the way the corner of his lip ticked upwards and heard the slightest catch of his breath.

“Well, here’s hoping you can tell who I am the next time you see me,” you offered in little more than a whisper.

Slowly, cautiously, his hand lifted to your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was the barest of touches, so light that he might not have even touched you at all, but you felt a warmth spread across your skin nonetheless.

“I’ll know, Bunny,” he said with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna find you again.”

“Promises, promises,” you joked, wanting to keep the mood light, knowing that the odds of seeing him again were small. And, with that thought, you found yourself leaning forward again, this time pressing your lips to his for the briefest of seconds. “Something to remember me by.”

Then you stepped back, creating space between your body and his, a silent signifier that the night was over.

“I will find you,” he said again. “I always get what I want, Bunny, one way or another.”

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you said, avoiding answering his comment.

He gave you one last look, drinking in the sight of you from head to toe, and you felt your whole body warm in response. Then he left, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the promise that you’d see him again. 

It should have worried you; the way he’d spoken to you, the way he’d been looking, and the fact that he wanted to find you again. But it didn’t. Instead of worry, all you felt was want, even if you knew that the man behind the mask might be someone completely different. Even if you knew the man behind the mask probably wouldn’t be interested in who you were when you weren’t playing Bunny.

Later that night as you laid in bed, your vibrator between your thighs and his dark eyes in your mind, you wondered what he was doing. Your eyes closed tight, picturing him standing over you, watching as you fucked yourself. He’d smile that playful smile down at you and slowly grip his cock - and, fuck, his cock was probably as perfect as the rest of him.

You longed to know what he looked like beneath the mask and beneath the expensive clothes.

You wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by him, for him to kiss you and hold you. For him to fuck you.

No matter what you imagined as you slid the vibrator in and out your body, your thoughts continued to return to one thing; his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, wanted to make him laugh and see them sparkle. You wanted to see them darken with need as he fucked you and took what he wanted from you.

I always get what I want, he’d told you. And he wanted you.

A loud moan tore from your lips as you came, your whole body shivering with pleasure at the thought of this strange and alluring man getting what he wanted from you.

Then, with a heavy sigh, you sank back on your bed and curled up, the usual feelings of insecurity quickly filling you again.

He’d probably forget all about you; everything he’d said had probably just been to try and get something more than you’d been prepared to give. He’d probably already forgotten you...

Little did you know that, across town, Billy Russo was fisting his cock to thoughts of you without knowing it was you he was thinking of, his hand stroking up and down his length as he stood in the shower. He jerked off to thoughts of your body, your laugh, your smile. He pictured all the ways that he wanted you, his Bunny, all the things he wanted to do.

Your plump and pretty lips would look good wrapped around his cock, and your plush thighs would no doubt feel amazing wrapped around his head as he feasted on your cunt. 

He licked his lips for what must have been the hundredth time since you kissed him and was, yet again, disappointed that there was no lingering taste of you.

As he came, he knew that he had to have you. He would find you again, and he would make you his if it was the last thing he did.

A/N : I feel weird when I don't post on a Friday, so here's a new thing 😅 like I said at the start, this will just be a short, sweet thing (3 parts and done), but hopefully it'll be a lot of fun and a little bit more playful/light-hearted compared to Love, Sick Love. (And I promise no cliffhanger ending to this one 😅) If you've played TellTale's The Wolf Among Us, that's where I got the ribbon idea from (well that and that old ghost story... but no ones head is going to fall off in this, I promise).

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged. I'm not going to full commit to posting every Friday for this because I work in retail and, as you can imagine, it's hectic at the moment, but I want to try and post at least once a week since this is only going to be a short story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Also I can't remember if anyone else asked to be tagged in all future Billy stories, if I've missed you please shout at me.

Tag List : @lincerad @xxxsweetcarolinexxx

[grinsgrimmy]

I would like to request something! Of only if you are comfortable with it. I was thinking to request for the manhwa ‘My in-laws are obsessed with me’ with the male lead but since you replied to me saying that you weren’t really ready, I decided to request for ‘ How to reject my obsessive ex-husband’ with the male lead and crown prince crushing on the same lady. But with the same role the reader had last chapter you made of this manhwa. I would love for it to be a drabble ofc! Oxox thanks for reading this !

Ｍ Ｉ Ｎ Ｅ .

ㅤᯓᡣ𐭩 𝖢𝖨𝖤𝖫 𝗑 𝖠𝖥𝖠𝖡!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝖩𝖠𝖢𝖤

HOW TO REJECT MY OBSESSIVE EX-HUSBAND

๋࣭⭑ֶֶֶָָָ֢֢֢𖹭 drabble . (1030 words)

sum. jace had summoned you to the imperial palace to receive your guiding. unfortunately, ciel had tagged along.

ㅤㅤ like ciel? check out ciel oneshot .

note : thank you for your request, anonie! i was certainly surprised to see jace. though there was no further context on prompt/plot, i assume anonie wanted conflict. where is the fluff? i dont know either. its hard to keep it fluff when there are two crazy men. ill let it slide just this once. i had to also increase the drabble maximum words to 1000 because of this...

ㅤ⪩⪨ m.list

you tried your best to ignore the blatant scowling and glowering coming from the man across from you.

ciel's dark eyes burned with a mixture of possessiveness and jealousy, an incredibly stark contrast to the soft, almost reverent gaze from jace.

ever since the crown prince had accidentally figured out you were a guide, he had been bending over backwards to have you by his side. he tried summoning you any moment possible.

and who were you to deny the orders of a royalty?

you relunctantly needed to give jace your guiding, which was originally why you were summoned to the palace in the first place.

ever since the saintess disappeared, you had to step up as the sole guide to assist the espers of the kingdom.

ciel hated every second of it. the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface compelled him to follow you like a loyal guard dog, never willing to let you out of his sight whenever you were around other espers. 

hence, his determination led him to follow you to the palace. jace, initially dissatisfied by his intrusion, did not cast ciel out of the palace, yet jace found himself caught between loyalty and frustration.

ciel is his closest friend, after all. however, ever since you moved into the picture, their dynamic clearly shifted, each moment charged with unspoken rivalry and frustration.

and ciel hated every single second of it. due to it, he opted to follow you around like a guard dog. which led to him following you to the palace, which jace was displeased at first, but he could not throw out his closest friend.

jace eagerly awaited, meekly glancing at you as you intertwined your fingers with his. jace did not know how it happened, but he came to love you. truly. even if it was love at first sight.

though his heart was formerly with the priestess, he came to prefer you as you were everything better than him. stronger, lovable, and confident.

jace wishes to crown you and make you empress, revering you as his one and only. you being a mere noble gave him better opportunities to have your hand as his empress.

if it were not for ciel being there, that is.

you could feel the tension radiating from ciel, who remained rigid. his arms were crossed, watching over you as if to be physically ready if jace decided to do anything hasty.

you tried your best to ignore the seething jealousy that radiated from ciel as you focused on jace. the crown prince's eagerness was palpable, his bright yet shy eyes fixed on you as if you were the only thing that kept him anchored to the ground. 

you let out a breath you had unknowingly held in, glancing at jace and gave him a comforting, reassuring smile. jace responded with a smile of his own, gentle and meek. 

you slowly closed your eyes, feeling the anticipation humming in the air as you allowed yourself to give guiding to jace. you heard jace immediately gasp with relief, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he felt the soothing flow of your guiding.

addicting. that was what your guiding was to him. far more addictive than the priestess's. you were like a drug to him.

jace's face was flushed red, his eyes wide open with pleasure as you continued to give him your guiding. slowly, the crown prince's eyes travelled to your closed eyes, to your lips, a thought running through his mind.

the true ability of guiding emerges when the connection between the guide and the esper becomes intimate, deepening the bond.

jace leaned to down to your face-

ciel quickly stood up, his frustration bubbling over when he saw jace's expression shift from relief to something more intimate. the sight of the crown prince enraptured by your guiding ignited a fierce possessiveness within him. 

without a second thought, he stepped forward, pulling you away from the crown prince. "enough," he ordered, glaring at his friend. before you could react to the sudden broken connection, ciel held you within his arms and desperately shoved his lips to yours.

you were his. you were bonded to him. you were his only guide. 

he had you first. 

yet time and again, the espers of this damned kingdom dared to flock towards you when ciel was the one who first claimed you as his own.

but he could not do anything drastic since jace was a royalty. he could only protest by being bold.

if ciel could commit treason, he would do so.

but he would be repeating the fate the novel him ended up with in that silly book that was deemed a prophecy by the head priest.

ciel groaned against your lips as you gave him your guiding due to the intimate contact you were brought upon. you melted within the kiss when he grasped your hips.

the moment ciel was caught up on quickly shattered when jace stood up, frustration etched across his features. "ciel!" he barked. ciel relunctantly broke away the guiding and the kiss, his eyes narrowing at his friend. 

the tension in the air shifted. you felt the weight of their rivalry pressing in on you. but unlike ciel, he was never physically confrontational, jace could only do so little. 

jace inched closer to the both of you, pressing his chest against your back while ciel's body was against your front as they both began bickering between themselves, ignoring your awkward plight in between them.

ciel grasped your wrist, pulling you closer against him, but jace protested and grabbed your waist, although his grip was a lot gentler than ciel's. you could feel the heat radiating from both of them.

suddenly they glanced at you, ciel's angered expression morphed into a pouty, hurt one, "come with me, wife?" he begged in a desperate tone, kissing the palm of your hand.

jace took your chin, raising your head to let you meet his soft eyes, "i'll give you the kingdom and more," he vowed, taking your other hand to plant a kiss on the back of your hand.

you could feel a vessel of annoyance pop within you.

so you replaced the saintess in the novel, huh?

how fun.

request drabble .

・❥・want a hc / oneshot? please consider commissioning in ko-fi !

[rafesbabyg1rl]

The Watcher ~ Part Two

Part One, Part Three

Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Your parents work late on Friday nights, which you spend alone. Except you haven't been alone in a long time, not that you know of at least. Rafe has watched for years, he's very good at it. His idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when you catch him in your bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living. After you find the surprise he had left for you, you choose to believe that his threats were empty and try to turn him in. But, your plans are interrupted and you take an unexpected visit to Tannyhill.

Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the plot. Strong & descriptive language, suggestive themes, death threat(?), manipulation, kidnapping (?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Part Two is here!! I know this chapter is shorter than the previous, but I figured it's better to get what I had out. Also...I'm not sure if I like where this is going, so please share your thoughts about this part and ideas for future parts. Thank you all for the support on the first part of this story. Especially with this being my first work I've published on tumblr, I am very pleasantly surprised with how everyone has reacted to it. So, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!!

CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!

The blinding morning light shines into your room through your curtains. You sit up and rub your eyes. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand which currently reads: 10:34 am. Those sleeping pills really worked, you think. Your parents are already at the restaurant, probably just getting over with the morning rush. 

Your eyes begin to focus, your brows furrow as your eyes land on one of the posts of your footboard. You lean forward to grab the pair of panties you had just worn yesterday which are hanging from your bedpost. You’re pretty sure you had put these in your hamper last night and wait, why are they sticky…? You wonder, you examine them and come to the realization of what it is. Immediately you toss them away, that was not from you. It was your stalker, it had to be. Of course, the first night you spend alone since four weeks ago and he already breaks in. And he does this? You think about his words, “tell anyone and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you”, shivers roll down your spine. 

You hadn’t even had time to realize how horny you had been when you had woken up; and now that you have you feel so wrong. But your dream…oh god your dream. You can still remember it vividly, even more so the longer you think about it; you can see the face of the man who fucked you stupid in your dream. You know who it was, who your subconscious mind let you fuck while you slept. It was your stalker. 

Without another thought, you’re in the shower scrubbing the shame and disgust from your skin—or at least attempting to. When you feel somewhat satisfied, which also happens to be when the water begins to run cold, you finally get out. Wrapping a plush towel around your freshly clean body, you lean over the bathroom sink and wipe the condensation from the mirror leaving just enough space to see yourself. Before the glass fogs back up you’re able to see a small part of what appears to be a bruise poking out from underneath the towel wrapped around your chest. You lean in closer using one hand to re-wipe the mirror and using the other to pull your towel down past your boobs. Looking back at the bruised area on your chest, you can see that the closer you look at it, the more it looks like a hickey. You just about stumble backwards at the realization. 

You’ve had enough. After you quickly toss on some clothes, you grab your keys off your dresser with a shaky hand. You rush out towards your car and get inside, pulling out of your driveway carelessly and speeding off. When you arrive at your destination, you take a few moments to rethink this plan. You have to do this. You can’t keep living with some creep sneaking in your bedroom and touching you as you sleep. You twist the keys in the ignition and pull them out, you confidently strut towards the entrance of the building. When you feel the vibration of your phone in your pocket you pause, sighing as you reach back to take it out. When you read the random number, with the same Outer Banks area code as you, your brows furrow. Typically you wouldn’t answer a call from an unknown number, but something in you is telling you to answer. As you press the green button and bring your phone to your ear, you glance up at the building you were about to enter which reads, ‘Kildare County Sheriff’s Office’. 

“Hello?” You ask warily.

After a few long seconds, the person on the other side of the line answers you. “Stop.” The man’s voice sends familiar chills down your spine. 

“Excuse me?” You respond, your voice audibly shaky. “Who…who is this?”

“C’mon pup, you already forgot what I sound like? It’s already been that long?” Your eyes widen at the realization of who this voice belongs to. You’ve heard it one other time, well one time that you remember.

As your head darts around the parking lot looking for your stalker, your voice comes out in a tone that easily betrays you, revealing your fear, “No…no…what the hell do you want?”

Rafe smirks from his truck as he watches you from afar. “I want you to turn around and get back in your car, m’kay princess? And I highly suggest you do what I want.” 

“Or what? What’s stopping me from walking in? Or from yelling for help?” You take a step closer to the building’s entrance.

“Stubborn, stubborn girl…” the man chuckles, “If you don’t get back into your fucking car right now, you’re gonna really fuckin’ wish you had just listened to me. I’m gonna get what I want no matter what, baby. You’re mine.” And with that, Rafe hangs up the phone, still watching you from a distance. 

As much as you want to just run into the building and beg for help, you know that unfortunately since you’re a pogue, the cops aren’t going to believe a single word that comes from your mouth. In their minds, all pogues are liars and thieves. And since you don’t have the slightest clue on who the man you saw in your bedroom is, you figure there’s not much they’d be able to do even if they did believe you. So you reluctantly turn back to your car and get inside. The moment your door shuts you inside, your phone buzzes yet again with another call. It’s coming from the same number, but this time you don’t answer. This was your second mistake. 

Rafe’s already pissed off. You went against his rules, you didn’t listen to him, none of this will work if you don’t listen. He thought he had been threatening enough that you’d behave, but clearly you need another scare. You need to be taught that disobeying him does nothing but hurt you more. When you don’t answer the phone when you definitely know it’s him calling, this is just the cherry on top; the icing on the cake. Rafe is fuming. 

You drive out of the parking lot, breath heavy as you stay on high alert–searching for him. A truck suddenly pulls behind you, tailing right on your ass. You can’t see through the truck's front windshield due to the dark tint. You being paranoid, step on the gas and speed up a bit, well exceeding the speed limit. A few quick seconds pass by and you jump at the sound of sirens. It doesn’t take long for you to check your rearview mirror and realize that the sirens are coming from the truck behind you, which is flashing its red and blue lights. You let out a breath of relief. You’re being pulled over yet you’re relieved because it means you aren’t being trailed by your stalker. The feeling is short lived as you flick your signal on and pull off to the side of the road. You roll your window down and shut off the engine.

The officer approaches you and goes through the typical routine and you try to calm your nerves. All sound is drowned out as you get lost in your thoughts. 

“Ma’am?”, the officer repeats. “Do you know why I’ve pulled you over today?”

The sharp and unintentionally threatening voice of the deputy snaps you out of wherever the hell it was that your mind had taken you to. “Yes, sorry sir, I…I was going over the speed limit.” You submit, wanting to get this over with. You can’t help but worry what your stalker would think if he saw this, he’d probably think you’re turning him in. But, you’re not. Really this whole thing was a misunderstanding, but you can’t explain that to the cop. 

“And why is that?” He questions you ever further, his gaze staring at you intensely. You get nervous and want to look away, but you worry that might make you look guilty of something. You’ve been pulled over before, it’s not usually a big deal for you. However you’re just so goddamn nervous and need this moment to be over. You feel like you’ve done something wrong; like you’re hiding something. But you aren’t.

“I–I thought…I just got distracted sir, wasn't thinking about speed. I apologize for the inconvenience.” You catch yourself, technically you aren’t lying; you just aren’t explaining why you were distracted. The threatening words of your stalker still echo around your head. The deputy gives a small lecture as he writes up a ticket for you. Once he gets back into his truck and drives off, you rest your head back against the seat and let out the breath you’ve been holding. When you start your car back up and finally open your eyes, you look straight out across the road. You can see a tall man leaning against a truck parked across the road, staring right at you. The familiar grin on his face has you sick to your stomach. 

After making direct eye contact with him, you pull off the side of the road and do an illegal U-turn so that you’re heading in the opposite direction, leaving the man behind. You know that he’s following you, so you drive around aimlessly until you get another call from the same unknown number. You want to decline, but you’re too afraid to face the consequences that might follow. 

“What do you want?” You ask, voice full of faux confidence. The only thing you hear on the other side of the line is a heavy breath that causes your skin to become full of goosebumps. 

After you’ve had a few moments to panic, he finally speaks, “Keep driving”. His words are not said lightly. This is undoubtedly a command, not an option. 

“Keep driving to where?” You stammer with nervousness. 

“Tannyhill.” He replies strictly. 

“Tannyhill?” You question before being able to stop yourself. You can’t help the attitude that slips into your voice. When a few more moments of silence pass, you get more and more anxious for his response. “Hello…?” You ask quietly, wondering if you lost connection. Still nothing. “Hello?” You ask again with more volume. After another minute or two, you hear the phone beep; the call disconnects. 

Why the hell does he want you to go to Tannyhill? It doesn’t make any sense. But you don’t exactly have a choice. He’s following you either way and it’s not like he doesn’t know where you live…and just about everything about your life. So, it’s probably best to just play along and obey his commands. 

When you get close to the general destination, your phone rings with yet another call. You answer, already knowing who it's from. This time you don’t speak first, you wait to hear what he has to say. It takes a few moments, almost like he’s trying to wait long enough that you’ll talk. The silence starts to get unbearably awkward, but your mind is set on waiting for him to speak and Rafe doesn’t have the time to wait; having to give you directions and all. When he finally talks he doesn’t greet you. His voice breaking the silence startles you as he instructs you with the directions to get wherever it was he was forcing you to go. 

“Wait…turn left h-here?” You ask, confused at his directions. You had missed the beginning of what he said since you had to collect yourself after being frightened. 

He sighs in impatience, “No dammit, the next one. Were you not listening?” 

“I…no I-I was listening–” you stumble over your words as you turn onto the street he wanted you to. 

“Bullshit. You need to learn how to fucking listen to me, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, trying to focus on remembering the directions he gave you, it only serves to piss him off even further. “Huh?! Don’t you?!” He shouts into the phone as he follows behind you.

You whine in fear, “No..I can listen. I promise I can listen to you.” You practically beg. “J-just tell me where to go?”

Rafe directs you to his house, which you of course recognize as the Cameron’s mansion. You’ve heard about the Cameron’s, but you wouldn’t be able to point them out in a crowd or anything. Besides from the father, Ward Cameron, whom you’ve seen on the news several times. Is he a Cameron? As you park in the large driveway, you rack your brain trying to recall the name of the Cameron son. 

His truck parks behind you, blocking your car in. He quickly kills the engine and exits his vehicle. You don’t notice him walking up to you until he’s yanking your car door open and pulling you out by the arm.

“R-rafe?” You mumble insecurely. He pauses to look at you, chuckling at your words. He mutters a quick ‘smart girl’ before retightening his grip on your arm and continuing to pull you into the large mansion. You start to cry, getting overwhelmed as you imagine the many possible scenarios that may occur. “P-please,” you manage to choke out. “What do you want?”

Unlike the last time you cried to him, this time he doesn’t stop. He drags you up one level of the large, spiral staircase; pulling you into his bedroom. As soon as you see the bed, you’re already feeling it beneath your back when he shoves you down just a few seconds later. As if you hadn’t already embarrassed yourself enough, you can’t help the tears that begin to stream down your flushed cheeks at a flooding rate. 

“Wait…no, please, please!” The way you keep shouting and choking back sobs causes you to gag from how worked up you’ve gotten yourself. All the Cameron son does in response is lean back to get a full view of you as a smug grin spreads across his face. “Please, I—oh god, I’m gonna be sick…” You mumble, which is quickly followed by another gag that interrupts your constant sobs. 

Rafe snakes his hand up from your arm to your hair, wrapping his first tightly around a large section of it. He tugs on your hair to force your head to look up at him, causing a small whine to escape your lips. “Shhh…baby, shhh…” He mumbles, his ‘worried’ tone working to oppose his previous amused expression. “Calm down, alright? Calm down. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want, m’kay pretty girl?” The way he says that last part…you’ve never heard his voice sound like that before. You didn’t even think he was capable of talking in that tone. He sounds like he might actually truly care about you. You’re relieved; maybe even a bit…comforted by the fact that he might be telling the truth about not doing anything you don’t want. Well, besides having you basically held captive in his home. 

“What…what are you gonna do?” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to catch your breath so you can calm down.

“I just wanna talk to you baby. Alright?” Rafe mumbles your name into your ear, allowing you to feel his hot breath against the side of your face. Immediately you’re taken back to the first time you had met him, in your bedroom a few weeks back. You try to push that aside and bring yourself back to the present; the memory only brings back the feelings of complete and utter fear you experienced at that time. Not that the present was any better, hell, it was worse. 

Hesitantly, you nod. He waits a few minutes to speak; waiting for you to catch your breath. Once you’re calmer, at least on the outside, he finally starts to talk. “I wanted to talk about my proposition…” He looks down at you, bringing his hand up to cautiously run through your hair. “Last time I got cut short…remember that?”

You nod. “I…I tried to warn you my parents would come home. I-I swear I didn’t tell them anything.” You say frantically, trying to prove your innocence.

“Hey, shh…it’s okay babe. I know. I know.” Rafe speaks slowly, his eyes never leaving your lips. He pauses to momentarily dart his tongue out to wet his parted lips. “I know. You haven’t told…you’ve been a good girl and listened to me, hm? Haven’t you baby? Haven't you been a good girl?” 

You nod frantically. “I…I’d never turn you in…” The false seductiveness in your voice turns him off, if that’s even possible. 

He pulls back from you and sighs, “Shut up.” He runs a rough hand over his buzzed head and begins to quickly pace across his bedroom. 

“B-but you wanted to talk…” You remind him. The way his attitude was constantly shifting in great amounts had you furrowing your brows as you tried to figure him out. 

“Yeah, I do. But not to a goddamn filthy, lying whore.” He retorts, a large grin appearing on his face while he watches your beautiful features move on your face, displaying your thoughts  as you take in his words. “Just be yourself alright? I can always tell when you’re not you.” He says almost sincerely. “I want…I need you to want this. Don’t try to pull that fake crap on me ever again, yeah?” 

Immediately you nod. “I…yes-”, you stammer, instantly regretting even trying to talk in the first place. Rafe chuckles, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He stops pacing and lets out a long sigh, turning to face you again. His steps pause when he’s standing just before you. 

He leans down to whisper in your ear. “I really need this to work, okay…? This is good, this can be good for the both of us. I can help you; we can help each other, baby.” A silent tear rolls down your cheek from the fear of what’s to come. “I know…I know I messed up, alright? I know. But, you don’t have to be scared, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Please…I just wanna go home, let me go home!” Your cries are ugly, and very, very real. The fear in your voice only worries him. Worries him that you may never get past this. But you have to. You don’t have another option. And he really, really doesn’t want to have to hurt you. That was never his intention. 

“But you are home, baby. You are home.” He mutters as his fingers brush over your cheeks, smearing your tears. Your breath hitches at his words and your eyes slowly move up to meet his. This cannot be happening. Why is this happening? You think.

“No…please I…just let me go home. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t. I’ll…I’ll never tell anyone about any of this okay, I’ll never say anything about you.”

“I can’t do that, baby…you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I swear, I’ll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone.” You say enticingly.

Rafe sits down besides you, causing the mattress to dip and make you lean towards him. He puts an arm around you and his hand lands on the back of your head, pulling it into his chest.

He leans down to speak into your ear while his hand pets over your hair as you cry into his chest. “Because I need you baby, I need you. And I need you to let me take care of you, yeah? I know…I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Just trust me okay…we’re gonna be so good together baby.” He tugs at your hair, gently guiding your face to look up at him. “Just listen to me and nothing will happen, I don’t wanna have to…do anything. I just need to know that you’ll listen to what I say.” Immediately you nod, going along with what he says. He tugs on your hair harder, eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips. “Ah ah, I know you can talk. You’re a big girl, now fucking act like it.” He says forcefully.

“I-I’m gonna listen, I’ll listen to you, just please, please don’t hurt me.”

He smiles softly as his eyes dart across your face, unable to pick a feature to focus on, everything about you is just too damn perfect. “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you, not as long as you listen.” His grip loosens on your hair again. “But you’ll be begging for it soon enough.” Rafe’s whispers are enough to make your sobs start again; in which he pulls your head back into his chest. Your tears soak into his shirt as you have no choice but to cry into him.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable. This part took quite a bit for me to finish, since life has been a bit busy and I haven't had much time to plan or write. I apologize for the short chapter, I'll try my best to make up for it with the next part! I never really feel done with anything and as I said before I'm not sure if I'm a fan of this part or not. So, if you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them in future parts. And there's not much I won't write!

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [6].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. almost drowning, a nauseating amount of stupidity, swearing, sex jokes, bribery, the boys are shirtless for most of the chapter. WORD COUNT. 5.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly @satsuri3su @gyugyubin @junhuicosmo @skzenhalove @luvkpopp @yansbolobao @emer-syn @eggomi @drunkinjake @soobiverse @deobitifull @haechanspudu @yawnzzn27 @7myoi @toothfa-1-ry @imsiriuslyreal @maimoirs @whippedforbeomgyu

NOTE. this is my favorite chapter so far i think i peaked here. the ppt scene was inspired by anthpo, my professors' tendency to use the socratic method to instill trauma in their students, and hoshi from seventeen's tiger agenda. also, most of this was written before i found out odi has passed 😔 fly high little guy.

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CHAPTER 6 — the obligatory pool episode.

THERE’S A HEATWAVE IN TOWN. When you wake up, it feels like you got transported into Satan’s rectum. It’s sweaty and disgusting under your covers, and kicking them off does nothing to appease the hellish humidity inside your room. But when you roll over to grab the remote for the air conditioning, blindly press on the button, nothing happens.

You try again.

It’s not working.

You jolt up from your bed, hair a mess, and armpits too sweaty for comfort. A power outage. Of course, there’d be no power on the hottest day of the year.

“Fucking shit, I’m so hot,” you announce as you make your arrival downstairs. It’s only Sunghoon and Jay in the living room. They turn away from their game of jenga upon your arrival.

“Yeah, you’re super hot,” says Jay. “I mean, damn global warming sure sucks, huh?”

The wooden tower collapses. You stifle out a grunt of agreement. “Apparently some feeders in the neighborhood broke down,” Sunghoon informs you. “They’re still fixing it. The generator also wasn’t working when Heeseung hyung went down the basement to turn it on. I think we need to get that fixed too.”

Well, shit. That’s not good news. You give Sunghoon a pat on the head for speaking thirty-six words to you today before walking over to the kitchen. Last time you checked, there was a stash of popsicles in there. You’re pretty sure they haven’t been completely water-fied by the blackout yet.

For some reason, upon nearing the kitchen island, the fridge door is hanging open. You understand why when you step on something— er, someone— on the way towards your frozen delight. “Ow!” Beomgyu hisses from the floor. There’s remnants of cold wind filtering out from the refrigerator. Beomgyu has claimed it as his territory, and he’s glaring up at you from his spot. “Watch where you’re going.”

“‘Scuse me.”

You walk over him, hiking one leg across his torso before infringing upon his fridge monopoly to grab a half-melted melon bar. This isn’t exactly how Beomgyu imagined how it’d be like to be in between your legs. “I’m not sure if you’re dense or if you just don’t give a fuck,” he says, propping himself up by the elbows as you dig through a plastic bag.

“I really just don’t don’t give a fuck.” You snap a bite out of the pale green popsicle. “Want one?”

“Give.”

“Go get one yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’d love to.” You close the fridge door shut and make sure to kick his side with your foot when you cross over him again. He lets out a cry of pain. You turn back, satisfied with your cold exploits, but there is no wall separating the living room and the kitchen, so Sunghoon and Jay were witnesses to that entire conversation. “Do you also want a bite?” you ask. Their ears burn a couple degrees brighter before declining.

Was that an intentional insinuation? Yes. Do you enjoy destroying their composure on purpose? Also yes. It’s a new hobby you picked up since staying here, and it’s definitely one you’ll miss once your dorms get fixed and you’d have to move out. Jay and Jake are both particularly difficult to get through, but sometimes you can manage to fluster the former, just like now. Jake has been impossible so far. You’ll get him one day. He can’t be left unscathed.

This may seem terrible, and sometimes you do get a teensy bit conscientious when one of them starts crying or becomes temporarily incapacitated— until you remember they have this whole secret bet going on that definitely involves you, so you should be allowed to fuck around this much, right?

“Hey! Why don’t we have a pool party?”

The genius idea comes from Jake. You immediately run up back to your room upon hearing the suggestion to change into a bathing suit, pausing right before your door because you don’t want anyone waving the PD&J at your face for indecent attire again. So you throw on a beach kimono for the safety of your wallet. They emptied the jar out yesterday to buy some meat for a barbecue party that’s supposed to be scheduled this weekend, but looks like you’re gonna be having that sweet, sweet pork belly tonight right by the chlorine scent of the pool. 

You hurry downstairs, so fucking ready to be submerged in cool, refreshing water. But when you get to the courtyard— all the boys already loitering in and around the pool— you realize something. 

Something a little dangerous.

“You’re finally here!”

Oh no. They’re hot.

“We’re playing chicken fight, come jo—”

A rather scantily clad Sunghoon pushes an equally scantily clad Jake off Soobin’s unclothed shoulders and into the splash of the water. They are all bare-skinned, glistening wet, and although it’s not a bad sight to behold at all, it’s a discovery that you wish had remained undiscovered until you finally leave this damned house.

Listen. It’s not like you’ve never seen any of them shirtless or almost naked before. Jay was literally in his highlighter underwear when you first met him. But you were never put in a situation where you’re able to look at them closely because all those times have been meshed with something stupid.

It’s very easy to overlook their general attractiveness when they all act like third-graders, bitchless losers, scandalized Victorian men, or all of the above at the same time, in the same sequence. It’s really easy to forget that.

But Heeseung has his soaked tank top sticking to his skin and Beomgyu is pushing his wet hair back with a wide grin. Your housemates might actually be a tad bit more attractive than your prolonged, initial impression of them. This can cause a little internal trouble.

“Why aren’t you getting in the water?”

Soobin is the one that’s asking, having already left the water fight in the middle and is now looking up at you, chest deep near the pool’s edge. You look down. You’re not sure if he’s looking directly at you because you’re a little focused on his toned arms resting above the ledge, but if he is, then good on him for keeping up with his eye-contact practice hours.

“Hey,” you call out, crouching down and hugging your knees. “Do you work out?”

Silence. Pink scatters across Soobin’s cheeks. He coughs out an unintelligible response and disappears back under the water, quietly swimming away. Yes. This is how it should be.

Feeling a lot more at ease after confirming you still have the upper hand, you finally dip your legs into the pool and stretch out your back with a satisfied groan. Fuck, this is perfect. You’re honestly unsure how you’re supposed to transition back into life at the dorms when this house has a perfectly refreshing pool at your disposal. You don’t remember what life was like before this. You’d live here for the rest of your life if you could. But you have enough pride in your system to prevent you from extending your verbal contract with Jake. Two months. It’s a few days past the halfway point now. All you could do is enjoy this life of comfort as much as you can.

Until it gets ripped away from you in the form of Jake yanking your ankle and dragging you under the water with a horrifying splash. 

Before you know it, you’re gasping for air and grabbing the nearest thing your arms could reach out for so you don’t fucking drown— but when you finally manage to rise back to the surface, a loud inhale of air into your lungs, the person you managed to hold onto just happens to be Heeseung.

Heeseung, who’s looking down at you with wide, alarmed eyes while you’re wrapped around his waist. Heeseung, who shoves you back into the water out of panic and shock and whatever the fuck his problem is.

Jake rushes to pull you back up. Heeseung is dead to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He failed to kill you so he’s now down on his knees, timid palms on his lap, and head lowered in guilt.

“I am very sorry,” Heeseung repeats. “I am deeply reflecting on my actions.”

You’re sitting on the half log shaped chairs on the courtyard, still wet, arms and legs both crossed in petulance as Sunghoon quietly dries your hair with a towel from behind (no, you didn’t scare him into doing this). 

“Stand up.” He flinches at the tone of your voice. “Go get yourself dried up so we can finally start the barbecue.”

He’s awfully obedient. You watch as his slumped figure trudges back into the house. “Was that too much?” The back of your head hits Sunghoon’s bare stomach when you try to look at him. He’s holding your head in his hands with the damp towel in between.

“You’re always a little much,” he mumbles.

“Is that a bad or good thing?”

Sunghoon ponders for a moment, staring at your upside down face. “More is always better than less?”

You smile, snatching the towel from his hands and jumping off from your seat. “Good answer.” Two gentle pats of praise on his cheek set his skin on fire. Speaking of fire, you can already smell the scent of smoke and deliciously cooking meat wafting in the air, so you run over to Jay who’s on grilling duty, hoping to get an early bite.

“Can you pass me a plate?” he asks, flipping the cut up pieces of meat on the barbecue grill. “Thanks.”

“Gimme one.” You open your mouth, chasing after the slice of pork belly on his tongs until he brings it closer to your mouth for you to bite. “Holy shit,” you muffle out, hot air escaping from your lips.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good.” You swallow the piece. “One more?”

He lets you snack on a bunch of well-done beef before they could reach the plate and at some point he mentions, as you’re tearing open a few packs of ramyeon to cook, that you look a lot like the curled up pieces of shrimp he’s currently grilling. You narrow your eyes at him, hand dangerously hovering above boiling water with a square of raw noodles. “Are you trying to say I look charred and have a terrible posture?”

“No.” Jay raises a piece of shrimp in the air, showing it off to you. “Doesn’t it look cute?”

Now that you’re looking at it a little closer, it does look kind of cute. Huh. “Would you eat me if I was a grilled shrimp?”

Jay thinks about it. He keeps thinking until you start smelling something burning. “I’d keep you safe in my pantry,” he finally answers. 

“So you’ll just let me spoil over and die?”

His expression drops. “Fuck.” The shrimp is unsalvageable. “I guess I’d have to eat you.”

The rest of dinner goes on as you expect. Jay and Beomgyu take turns over the grill until Jake thought he’d be naturally gifted over the fire and ended up making charcoal with the last pack of galbi (“It’s fine!” he said. “I’ll take care of it!”) and today’s heatwave suddenly becomes a whole lot hotter with the rising flame on the fucking grill right when Soobin brings out the marshmallows for dessert. It gets quickly defused by a fire-hydrant bearing Heeseung. Now your charcoal galbi has toxic frosting on them. This is the sign to move on to the next part of the program.

The set of log-themed chairs on the courtyard has a bonfire set-up at the center. Of course this unreasonably nice house has that. It’s already getting dark, ink seeping into the orange tintent sky. Jake decides to redeem himself after watching Heeseung fail to set up the chunks of wood for the nth time. “You don’t know how to start a fire? Dude, that’s so lame.” 

“You burnt all our remaining meat with those fire starting skills of yours,” Heeseung huffs, stepping aside for the self-proclaimed camping expert.

“You still ate them.” You’re pretty sure that isn’t healthy.

“Because you would’ve felt sad if I didn’t.”

“You’re both equally lame,” Beomgyu chides, plopping down beside you with a bag of chips that you unceremoniously dig your hand into. “You two haven’t even had your solo chapters yet.”

A flame erupts on the bonfire. Both of them turn to look at Beomgyu. “What?”

“What are we arguing about?” Jay joins in, looking a little too excited for the squabble.

“About the fact that I’m cooler than both Heeseung and Jake.”

Heeseung’s expression falls flat. “You dropped out to become a streamer.”

“Leave of absence! I took a leave of absence and I’m coming back next year!”

Sunghoon and Soobin are both just ignoring the mess, roasting their skewered marshmallows on the bonfire and you aspire to be that level of unbothered. “Let’s consult a professional’s opinion,” Jay suggests, and all their eyes immediately fall on you. “Who do you think is the coolest?” Apparently that professional is you.

“This is like asking which dwarf is the tallest midget,” you wrinkle your nose. “But alright. Why don’t we settle this like real men?”

“Arm wrestling?” Sunghoon jumps in.

“Cooking contest?” Heeseung pitches.

“Do you want us to beat the shit out of each other right now?” Jake’s eyes fly wide open, alarmed. “I don’t think that’s a healthy way of settling arguments.”

“The fuck? No,” you spit out. “Thirty minutes. Prepare a powerpoint presentation explaining why you’re the coolest loser. Convince me. Ten slides max. Good luck.”

Something about almost naked men scattered around your home premises, aggressively typing on their keyboards with so much concentration and determination is so funny. You’re enjoying the raw bag of marshmallows by yourself beside the fire, watching as Heeseung starts panicking when you yell out “Five minutes left!” and starts typing even more aggressively. It’s pretty entertaining. Why haven’t you done this before?

At some point Jake brings out a projector and a projector screen to the courtyard. Seems like the power is back on, and your classroom of death has been set in place.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?”

You’ve produced a clipboard while they were working very hard on the PPTs earlier, legs crossed, fire crackling in front of you, and you click the butt of your pen in intermittent seconds as you scroll your eyes from left to right across the six boys standing in front of you. Heeseung looks confident. Jay and Beomgyu, too. There’s sweat dripping down Sunghoon’s forehead and Jake is furiously flipping through his notepad like he’s cramming for a final exam. But the poor, unfortunate soul that just had to look away from your gaze is none other than—

“Choi Soobin.” He flinches, nearly letting go of the laptop he has clutched against his chest. “Give it a go. The rest of you sit down.”

He looks rattled. “I’m not— I’m not really good at presentations,” Soobin chokes out, and the rest disappear from his side.

You let your chin rest on your knuckles, leaning forward. “Are you forfeiting? Is this a forfeit I’m hearing?” He doesn’t respond. You sigh. “Choi Soobin, are you settling with a D? A tiny, miniscule, measly D?” Beomgyu lets out a snort. You shoot him a sharp stare. “The other Choi, please shut the fuck up unless you want me docking points from you. Choi number one, please start your presentation.

Beomgyu straightens in his seat and Soobin hesitantly clears his throat, turning towards the blank, white projector screen as he holds the clicker with a visibly shaky hand. “Good— good evening,” he starts. “My name is Choi Soobin, and today I was tasked to explain why I am the coolest housemate out of the six. The answer is I am not. I’m not very cool. But—”

When he clicks to the next slide, your clipboard clatters on the ground.

“But I do have a hedgehog, and that’s kinda cool?”

“Holy shit,” you exhale a breathy squeak, the picture of the rodent’s cute little snout occupying half of the large screen. Soobin cycles through a bunch of photos of his hedgehog and the various screams of delight you’re eliciting after each photo makes him smile a little bit more. “Look at that little guy! Oh my god. What’s his name? Where is he? Can I meet him? Please let me meet him, Soobin I am begging you, I will get on my knees for you.”

“His name is Odi and he’s currently living at my parents’ house,” he explains. “I’ll invite you sometime.”

“That’s cheating! This isn’t part of the guidelines!” Jake interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at the photo of Soobin holding Odi in his hands. Your coos are unceasing.

Heeseung nods along. “Professor, I believe this is completely unrelated to our topic at hand.”

Soobin looks visibly offended. You straighten your expression and click your tongue. “Ahem,” you start. “As much as I believe that Odi is the darn cutest little shit to ever exist and I will die for him given the chance, Heeseung is right. Mr. Choi, I’m afraid I’d have to give you a C.”

He presses the clicker. The slide is back to the video of Odi running down a slide.

“Okay. B minus.”

Now it’s the one where he’s laying stomach-up on the floor.

“Fuck. God dammit. B plus and that’s it. Soobin, sit down. Heeseung, you’re up next.”

Soobin seems satisfied with the grade, dimples popping out with a smile as he takes Heeseung’s seat in the audience when the latter readies himself for his turn. He stifles out a cough-laugh, one corner of his mouth crookedly twitching upward, confidently sauntering up to the front with his iPad, and it’s mildly unsettling because he’s usually Nervous Boy #2. But it’s almost cheating how pretty his teeth are when he’s smiling. 

And apparently he’s aware of that fact. Because after projecting his title slide (LEE HEESEUNG 101: the anatomy of a Cool Guy™), the next thing that appears is actually a photo of his very charming smile, coupled with Chip Skylark’s “My Shiny Teeth and Me” as the background music for his scientifically-grounded explanation. The next slide is a zoom in of his eyes next to a photo of Bambi. He has a venn diagram. This is actually pretty compelling.

Heeseung is a good speaker. He’s really good. The rest of his presentation goes smoothly, finishing it up with a list of references in APA format. Jake and Jay give him a round of applause.  “If you have any questions, I’ll be more than happy to answer them,” he smiles.

“That was a fantastic presentation, Mr. Lee. I particularly liked the part when you demonstrated your ability to make very impressive, but also very alarming sounds with your fingers.” You flip through your very blank clipboard, nodding and throwing out hums at the times you deem appropriate. “I’d give you an A plus, but...I have one question for you.”

He nods. “Yes?”

“Heeseung, can you hug me?”

It evidently catches him off-guard, just as you predicted— persona of confidence crashing down like a waterfall as he stutters out, “Wh—what?”

You clear your throat. “Only cool people are able to hug me. I need to confirm that you’re cool.”

“I can hug you!” Jake declares right next to you.

You blindly reach out your arm to give him a head pat. “See. Jake says he can hug me so he must be pretty cool. Heeseung, you can do the same, can’t you?

There it is. He’s back to being nervous and you feel like your job here is done. “O–of course,” he stifles out, following it with a strained laugh of weak incredulity. “Why wouldn’t I be able to hug you?”

“Then prove it.” You stretch out your arms, ready to squeeze and be squeezed. “Give me a big ‘ol squeeze, pretty boy.”

You stay like that for ten seconds as Heeseung remains glued to his spot in front, eyes shaking and nipping at the dead skin on his lips. You let your arms fall back to your sides. “Okay. C minus. Next.” His expression quickly transforms into offense.

“I feel like this grading system is a scam.”

“No hug, no opinion. Sit your ass down,” you click your tongue, smacking him with the clipboard when he weakly trudges back and squeezes next to Beomgyu on the crowded seat to your left with the box of snacks occupying most of the fake log, even though there’s clearly enough space next to you because Jay already started walking to the front even without your instruction.

Jay does not give an introduction, only a rough clear of his throat and he opens his presentation with just a slide occupied with his face. Slide two is another picture of his face, only slightly zoomed out. The next one has the hashtag JWU. Then there’s a full body mirror selfie.

The rest of the presentation proceeds in the same manner— a wordless slideshow of what is possibly his Instagram feed and before you know it, it’s already over. “Okay,” you exhale, pressing your palms together in front of your lips. “I understand that you are indeed a very handsome individual, Mr. Park, but what does that have to do with the assigned topic?”

“The question is why I am the coolest one here,” he says. “I’m cool because I’m Jay Park.”

It falls quiet.

You finally break the silence.

“Shit, that’s a pretty compelling argument.”

“This is bullshit!” Sunghoon argues. “He didn’t even say anything! There was no discussion! He should be disqualified.”

Jay remains unfazed. He defends with irrefutable wisdom, “Sometimes pictures speak louder than words.”

“Damn.” You let your clipboard fall to your lap. “I’m giving you an A.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Your decision elicits outrage from some of your students. “How is he getting a higher grade than me?!” one of them raises.

“He’s getting a higher grade because he doesn’t think I have cooties, Heeseung.” 

Heeseung throws his arms in the air in defeated frustration as Jay takes his snug seat right next to you again, a victorious smile gracing his face. You run your eyes through your scratch paper once more, pen tapping at the edge of the board. “Beomgyu, do you want to go next?” you ask, which is a mistake on your part because he starts acting just as obnoxious as Heeseung, which— if anything— just triggers your desire to make him crumble to his knees.

He even pulls out a lecture stick, testing it out by snapping it at full length on his palm. Is the fucker trying to go after your role as professor? Where the fuck did his glasses suddenly come from?

“Alright,” Beomgyu begins, the first slide displaying the words Why Choi Beomgyu is the coolest Housemate. “First thing’s first, does anyone in the audience know what my name is?”

“Oh, me!” Jake raises his hand. “Choi Beomgyu!”

“Correct!” The next slide appears when he hits the screen with the stick, revealing his name in a large, bold font with large spaces in between each syllable. “Choi. Beom. Gyu. Choi Beomgyu. Now, I’d like to direct your attention to this specific syllable right here—” he draws a circle around ‘Beom,’ “—what does Beom mean?”

“Offense,” Sunghoon answers. Beomgyu’s face scrunches up.

“What? Fuck, no. Another meaning— oh! Yes, Soobin hyung?”

“Tiger?”

His eyes brighten. “Exactly!” 

The next slide is a photo of a tiger on a field of green grass, grooming its fur as Beomgyu passionately rattles on with fun facts about the animal. You have no idea where this is going. “Tigers are some of the most amazing creatures on the planet, they are the largest members of the cat family and are renowned for their power and strength. As the largest member of the cat family, Tigers are strong, powerful and one of nature's most feared predators—”

“Did you get that from a website?” Jay interrupts.

Beomgyu dismisses him. “Yes, I did, but that’s not the point. The point is—”

Next slide. A hit from his lecture stick. It’s more text. Beom = Tiger. Beom = Choi Beomgyu’s cute nickname. Tiger = Beomgyu. 

“We have discussed that tigers are the coolest animals in the world. My name has tiger in it. Therefore I am the coolest person here. End of presentation. Thank you.”

He drops the stick to the ground and is about to walk away with Jake’s applause, but your penetrating stare stops him right before he reaches the crackling bonfire. You scribble on the clipboard before letting it settle face-down on your lap. You look up at him. “Beomgyu, are you a furry?”

Beomgyu freezes. He lets your question settle in his system before voicing out a very loud, very crunchy, “What the fuck?”

“Is this your way of telling us that you’re a furry?” 

“No! What are you talking about?” he hisses. “I’m just saying that since tigers are cool, that means I’m also cool and—”

“So, you’re identifying with a tiger?” you cut him off.

He presses his lips together, cautious. “Yes…”

“Because you have the word tiger in your name?”

“Yes.”

“And because they’re cool?”

“Yes. We’ve established that alr—”

“Okay, so you’re a furry?”

“Ye— no!” he yells out. “I’m not a fucking furry!”

“Understood. You’re a furry in denial.” You write something down on the clipboard. Beomgyu’s shoulders slacken in defeat. “I’m giving you a B plus. Take a seat, Tigerboy.” Though he grumbles in distaste, he listens to you anyway, trudging deflatedly back to his seat next to the equally grumbly Heeseung.

There are two people left to be victimized. Jake looks excited, so you don’t want to indulge his positive emotions. “Sunghoon,” you call out with a pleasant smile. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something under his breath before forcing himself up the log without you having to tell him. “Good boy. Go set up your thing.”

Unlike the rest, Sunghoon doesn’t have a laptop or phone or flash drive with him when he awkwardly takes the presenter spot in front. He’s standing on the balls of his feet, arms tucked behind his back and lips tightly pressed together nervously. “Mr Park,” you pull down your clipboard. “You’re free to project your slides.”

“Well,” he coughs out. “The thing is.”

“Yes?”

He exhales loudly. “I don’t have any slides.” You raise a brow. “I don’t know how to use powerpoint.”

You look at him. “I see.”

“I don’t know how to use this projector, either.”

You pause.

“Okay. I understand.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Alright, next present—”

“Wait!” Sunghoon stops you. “I can still give my presentation, I don’t need any dumb slides! I’m just as cool, if not cooler than the rest of them, so you can’t just skip over me.”

“Mr. Park,” you start. “Unfortunately, one of the criteria for this presentation is the quality and organization of your slides. I do not see any slides being presented, Mr. Park. You may present next time once you’re fully prepared.”

“What about Jay?” he tries to reason. “He just showed you a preview of his camera roll!”

The man in question has his mouth hanging open, pausing in the middle of stuffing a nicely toasted marshmallow into his mouth. You let out a sigh. “He had philosophy, Mr. Park. Philosophy,” you explain. “Do you have philosophy? Are you confident that you can convince me with your words alone? Without the help of cute animals and pictures of your pretty face?”

At the mention of his face, his knitted brows of frustration quickly melt into faint pink hues dusting his cheeks. You sniffle a little, rubbing a finger under your nose as you flip through the next page of the clipboard that’s resting on your lap. “Meet me in my office after class,” you tell him. Sunghoon grunts and stomps back to his seat in defeat.

“This sucks balls.”

“You have quite a few options to pick and choose from here,” you hum. “Jake, you’re the last one up. Please tell me you have a presentation prepared.”

“I do, and it’s gonna blow your mind,” he grins.

“Looking forward to it.” You watch blankly as Jake runs up to the front to connect his laptop to the projector, an excited bounce in his every movement and you start wondering how you can shatter this one’s hopes and dreams.

He asks if he can start. You give him a nod. At the click of a button, something boomerangs into the blank screen with 2007 Windows graphics and animation. The atrocious mismatch of fonts say Jake Sim is the coolest one here and here’s why.

“Reason number one—” Jake starts his presentation, turning over to the next slide and your vision is attacked with more outdated graphics, more jarring transitions and animations. “—I’m super funny. Allow me to demonstrate.” He begins by clearing his throat. “What did the Italian chef get sent to jail for?”

“What?” you go along.

“Too much assault.”

An assault is also a very proper descriptor for his PPT aesthetic. An assault to your eyes. It’s like watching a car crash that you can’t look away from even if you try. Reason number two is that he has a great smile (he does). Reason number three is because he has a dog (he also does). Reason number four doesn’t exist because he miscounted and skipped over to Reason number five.

“And lastly, Reason number ten—”

He takes something out of his pockets. It’s a couple dozen bills being thrown into the air.

“I have a lot of money.”

The rest of the boys are quiet. Jake grows quiet too, chest rising and falling after that very enthusiastic presentation and his wide grin slowly melts into that muddled with nervousness and unease because you aren’t saying anything yet— just looking at him with stern eyes and a sharp gaze. “W-well?” he rasps. “How did I do…?”

“How much?” you ask. He cocks his head in confusion. “How much money do you have?”

“Oh.” Jake blinks, now understanding. “I don’t know but it’s a lot.”

Your eyes sparkle, posture straightening. “Will you give me some of that money?” The unease has left Jake and has now transferred to the other five boys around you. Oh boy. Oh no, their eyes all seem to be saying.

“Sure, why not.”

You clap your hands together. “Jake wins. Class dismissed. Good night.”

It doesn’t take long for chaos to break out.

Heeseung and Jay are demanding for a recount (there is nothing to count except the sweet, sweet cash you’ll be receiving) and Beomgyu accuses you of being a slave to capitalism (that should’ve been evident from how you tried to scam money out of them with nudity and a jar on your first week here). Soobin starts clearing up the projector set-up and Sunghoon is on his knees begging for another chance to do his presentation as you watch the digits on your phone screen bump up in real-time when Jake wires you a decent chunk from his bank account.

Another successful day at the residence. This heatwave is better than you thought.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[ghostofwriting]

Kildare Split Part Two: Place In Me

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Chapter 2: Place In Me

Note: Me: I don't know when I'll post chapter 2 maybe on the weekend but who knows. Also me: posts 3 hours after saying that. Once again I wanted to thank everyone for reading and interacting! I appreciate all of you so much. Not edited so be warned. I confused everyone with part 21 and this doesn't provide any answers! Just more context for other parts of the smau. Enjoy!

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean, y/n being mean

Word Count: 3,371

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favourite band.

She thought that she made herself clear and that they understood where she was coming from after her speech in the green room.

She’s not expecting Barry to be sitting on the couch of the tour bus she had chosen to sleep in, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead from her run, slightly out of breath. 

When she opens the door and sees him sitting there, she jumps.

“Fuck, Barry what the hell?” Barry had a very specific regime for show days. He should’ve been napping on the other bus.

“We can’t go on hiatus. You’re being selfish.” She feels her ears start burning, she scoffs at him. 

“Selfish? You better be kidding me. The audacity of you to come in here and accuse me of being selfish?”

“Y-” She doesn’t let him continue.

“I have put up with this bullshit for two years, Barry! Just because I’m tired and need a break doesn’t make me selfish.”

“If you would just talk to him.”

“No. Fuck you. No.”

“If you talk to him, and he explains himself, you’ll understand and this can all go back to normal.”

“No. I will not fix this. I don’t need to fix this.”

“What happened to be there for each other?”

“Barry. You and Topper were supposed to be there for me!” She snaps, her voice rising.

“You were the only people who knew exactly what I was going through not only with Rafe but with the fame and the drugs and the people wanting things from me. You were going through it too, I know you were. But you abandoned me the second Rafe decided to what? Get in a relationship? You threw me away, I was so alone!” 

Tears are threatening to spill over now. She hates how she can’t get angry without crying. 

“I went through everything by myself and the people I thought were my best friends abandoned me. I get it okay. You chose your boy. But I thought I meant something to you. I thought I was your friend. He broke my heart and my spirit.” She stops to catch her breath, “I was a shell of a person and you still didn’t even ask me if I was okay. In two years you haven't checked in.”

“y/n..”

“He told me he didn’t want to live without me and the next day I found out he was seeing Sofia. And suddenly I wasn’t his friend or his bandmate or even a person. I was just someone he fucked. And I don’t care why he said that. I don’t care if he meant it or not or if he was lost and scared. He still said it. I’m done. I’m done with him, I’m done with this Los Angeles, I’m done. I don’t owe him anything. I don’t need to talk to him.” She finishes her chest heaving. Barry is staring at her, eyes wide.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay in the band. But it’s work. That’s all. We aren’t friends.” 

Barry’s silent. Still sitting on the bus couch. 

“Get out. Please.” 

+++

The early days of getting over Rafe were hard. She wanted to go back to who she was before him. The version of herself before she got involved with him. Journaling and writing song lyrics and poems could only do so much. Everyone told her that she needed someone else. She understood that but she didn’t feel like it. She wasn’t ready to get her heartbroken all over again. 

Not when she constantly got her heart broken on tour, not only when she saw Rafe making out with Sofia backstage but when Barry walked right by her without acknowledging her existence, or when Topper pretended not to hear her. Her heart cracked every time for the little girl who trusted these boys with her entire being and let them in only for them to stomp all over her. 

She spent endless nights on tour, alone in her hotel room crying at the top of her lungs and on the tour bus muffling the sound of her sobs with her pillow. So when people suggested she needed to meet someone to get over him, well, it didn’t sound like a good idea to just let someone else in to break her even more when they eventually left. 

It got better little by little, the heartache over her friends hating her. The heartbreak over Rafe choosing someone who wasn’t her, someone who was worth it. The loneliness never did. It was crippling how alone she felt. There were times when she wanted to go back to the drugs, drinking, and partying. She would feel so much better if she just couldn’t feel anymore. She didn’t go back on the promise that she made to herself. She would never be that afraid high out of her mind 17-year-old girl again. 

She isn’t sure if she gets over Rafe or if she learned to live with the pain. Sometimes she thinks she’s so angry at him and that’s the reason she doesn’t want him. She misses him all the time, she thinks she’ll miss him forever. At least who they were before they had sex and fucked it all up. 

She lets everyone know that when the time comes she’ll make them all aware. Cleo tells her that she better be the first one who finds out she’s seeing someone. She tells her that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The day she met him was one of the most ordinary days she had lived in her entire life. She had woken up in her Los Angeles apartment, made herself breakfast, gone for a swim and gotten ready for the day. She didn’t have anything planned for the day, maybe tidy up a little, call Sarah, and run some errands. The craving to make brownies hits her out of nowhere, she doesn’t have any of the ingredients at her house though, the life of a touring artist. 

She’s leaving the grocery store with her reusable bags filled to the brim with all her cravings. She’s digging in her tiny pink purse that can’t hold anything for her keys when she drops two of her bags. 

She doesn’t want to get angry when she sees everything fall, she stares at it for a second, takes a deep breath and moves to pick it up. Once she gets everything together and packed up in her car, she decides that she needs a little treat for putting up with her groceries falling.

Her favorite pastry spot in LA is right by a hotel where all the celebrities who don’t live in the city full time. It’s usually a curse because everyone is hanging out or camping outside the hotel for a small glimpse of someone famous.

She thanks Caroline, the bakery owner and steps out of the store without looking at where she’s going. She feels herself collide into something strong and hard. Someone. Her pastries shake in the box. Of course, this would happen too. Why can’t she just keep herself from dropping her food today?

“I am so sorry.” She says to the man standing in front of her. He’s pretty, she thinks. Dark brown hair, almost black, brown eyes that look very familiar, and strong, and his arms are bulging where his black shirt sleeve ends. He’s hot. 

“Don’t worry, you’re fine.” She hears his friend behind say something in a different language and the man in front of her shakes his head and smiles at her. 

“Are they making fun of me for being a klutz?” He laughs. 

“No, they think it’s funny that I would run into my celebrity crush. Literally.” Any other time, if someone confessed that she was their celebrity crush, she would run so far so fast. Something keeps her there, smiling like an idiot, at a loss for words. She says the first thing that pops into her head.

“Have we met? You look familiar.” She feels like she’s seen him somewhere but she can’t place him. 

“Mira que te ha visto a través de la ventana.” one of his friends says, he shushes him not even turning to look. 

“I’m an actor?” He says it like a question, his cheeks flush, and he’s embarrassed. It’s endearing. 

“Yeah? Have I seen anything you’ve been in?” 

“I doubt it.” 

“So as your celebrity crush, it seems that I have a responsibility to watch whatever you’ve been in, don't you think?”

“No way.” He smiles at his friends doing a quiet chant of something behind him.

“No? Not even if you join me and walk me through it?” She knows she’s giving him eyes now, looking at him through her eyelashes, fluttering her eyelids a little too much. Her resolve is gone, she doesn’t know where her confidence is coming from and she’s going to use it until it’s gone. 

“We could arrange that,” he pauses, “Julio.” He extends his hand out for her to shake. 

“Y/N.” and maybe when she takes his hand she feels a shock run up her arm. 

Maybe she’s being dramatic and jumping the gun but what if everything she’s been through led her to this moment? Right here with him. 

+++

When Rafe finds out Y/N is seeing someone he tries not to lose it. He knows he has no right. His palms start sweating. He feels his breath shorten, he’s honestly a mess though he doesn’t show it. 

At least not until Topper pushes him on the subject when they’re left alone. 

“She’s seeing someone.” The room is eerily quiet, they’re in the studio recording their second album. Y/N had gone off to probably call her boyfriend and Barry was off doing who knows who.

“Yeah.” He’s short with his answer, scrolling on his phone to distract himself from the ever-intrusive thoughts of her her her. 

“You good?” No. No, of course he’s not good.

“I have Sofia.” Topper clears his throat and continues his torture on him. 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” 

“Yeah.” He looks over at Topper, his eyebrows lifting in acknowledgement.

They stay quiet for a few more minutes, the questions and thoughts and everything eating at him.

“Who’s the guy?” The question forces its way out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to know anything about the man that holds her heart.

“Some actor,” Topper responds nonchalantly, looking at him like he’s going to blow up if he moves anymore.

“Cool.” He wants to claw his heart out. What the fuck is happening to him right now.

“Rafe.” Topper isn’t convinced that it’s cool at all. Because Rafe can lie to everyone in his life but not Topper.

“No yeah, that’s cool. It’s great, yeah, good for her.” He knows he still doesn’t sound convincing.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Let her be happy.” He’s going to be mature about this. He asked Sofia to marry him last year for god sake. If he gets to be happy, she does too. Is he happy?

“Rafe.” Fucking Topper and his questions.

“I’ve fucked her life up enough. She deserves this. Deserves someone.” It spills out of him again, his eyes meeting with Topper’s, begging him to stop. 

“Do you ever miss her?” Topper’s not showing him any mercy today, wanting to know everything he’s kept inside for the past two years.

“More than anything.”

“You fucked up” understatement of his life. He ruined her and in turn, ruined himself. He was stupid and selfish and he deserved the worst.

“Yeah.”

+++

“You have to apologize to her.” Rafe’s once again fiddling with his guitar. The arena is empty except for the techs playing with lightingThe stage had been set up the night before. Y/N was with Sarah exploring the city before she had to be back for soundcheck. Barry was taking a nap and Topper was being a pain in his ass. He tweeted some bullshit at him and Rafe had called him back to talk.

“I don’t have to do anything, she’s leaving.”

“Yeah because of you. Because of what you did to her.”

“I seem to remember that you were included in isolating her.”

“That only happened because she was so hurt she pushed everyone away and I thought I would make it worse by forcing her to talk. Anyway, that’s between y/n and I. You need to take responsibility, Rafe.”

“For what? It wasn’t my fault I didn’t love her.”

“Oh fuck off Rafe. You loved her. You were just scared.”

“Of course I was scared! It could’ve ruined everything. The band, our careers.”

“You shouldn’t have ever gotten involved.”

“I couldn’t help it!” He closes his eyes, doing the breathing exercises they taught him in rehab, in therapy. 

“Please, just talk to her.” 

“She doesn’t want to hear it.”

“You have to try!’

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Because I’m engaged. I’m with Sofia and I’m happy and if,” he breathes “if y/n were to even give me the slightest greenlight I would burn my whole relationship to the ground. Her whole relationship.” He says the last part under his breath, hoping Topper doesn’t hear it.

“What the fuck, Rafe?”

“I know.”

“Why now?”

“I did and said some shit back then to not fuck up the band. It was wrong, stupid and childish. It’s not a question of ‘why now,’ I never stopped.”

“You still love her.” Rafe doesn’t confirm or deny it. Topper shakes his head. 

“You need to apologize.” Topper leaves Rafe to strum his guitar in thought. 

+++

Everything changes when he comes into her life. It’s like she was living in this deep black hole of anger, sadness, and endless turmoil. He’s her calm. He grounds her and she feels like she can finally breathe. She hasn’t felt wanted in such a long time and even though they are long distance most of the time between his film schedule and her tours, she has never felt alone since meeting him. 

She has a video from him every time she wakes up in the morning. Sometimes it’s just him telling her something that happened to him during the day, or a funny story, and sometimes he sings. She wishes she could drop an album just to feature him on it. She wants the entire world to know that he’s hers and she’s his and she is so incredibly in love. 

It’s scary going from such a low to such a high. The extreme contrast is intimidating at times but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She learned what she wanted in a relationship from an extremely difficult situation and somehow it was all worth it as long as she got to have him in her life. 

They’re together for a year before it gets out. They chose to be private about their relationship, it’s easy when he’s halfway across the world most of the time. That doesn’t stop her from spending every single moment that she isn’t on tour or in the studio next to him in Spain, Italy, France. She loves him. She would do anything for him. She knew that he was the one three weeks into their relationship and when she told him and he told her he felt the same, it confirmed it.

It’s her fault it gets out, he said it was about time and he wasn’t mad about it at all. 

Sometimes she still finds that deep-seated anger she holds for Rafe bubbling over. It’s all-consuming and she can’t stop the venom that leaves her body.

When Rafe’s engagement gets out, she and Julio step out on a date night. Cleo calls the paparazzi for her. It’s a great plan until everyone is freaking out because they’re convinced she and Rafe were dating this entire time.

She loves her fans but sometimes the theories and threads get a little too much. Mostly because they’re correct most of the time. 

At first, she was scared of Julio seeing all those things and seeing how everyone wanted her and Rafe to get married. She was scared he was going to run away. It never seemed to faze him. He never not once doubted her. He understands how people get and believes her when she tells him she chooses him for the rest of forever.

+++

Topper’s words haunt him. He wants to apologize to her and give her and himself some form of closure. He doesn’t know how to approach it. They haven’t talked in years, not really. How does he talk to the person that he hurt so much?

He catches her after soundcheck one day, his wringing his hands together, riddled with anxiety. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He calls out after her as she passes him.

She slowly turns around and crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows at him in surprise. 

“What can I do for you?”

He gulps as she looks at him expectantly.

“I was wondering if you had listened to the album?” What? Why the hell did he open with that?

“Why would I listen to the album?” She asks incredulously 

“Well, because I mean it’s about,” he stumbles over his words, “I just wish you would listen to it and maybe hear me out.”

“You want me to listen to your album so that I can hear you?” She nods her head and puckers her lips. 

 “It’s so stupid that after all these years you can’t apologize to my face so you what? Make an album? Is your apology hidden in there somewhere?” 

“Yes-No, I just think that if you gave it a chance, we could talk about it.”

“You want me to pretend to give a shit about your album when you can’t tell me how you feel right now in person?” She’s laughing a little now. Shocked at his suggestion. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“Please, can you just listen?” 

“No Rafe. I am so done with this. I have been done with this. I don’t care about your album, I don't care about you.” Her words hit him like knives in his heart.

“Why do you care about my opinion about your album? Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know that your album is about me? You called it Angel, Rafe! The fucking nickname that you gave me when we were 12 years old! I’m not some dumb girl who you can just manipulate and get whatever you want out of her. Not anymore. I am not that person for you.” She stops, her hands coming down from where she was waving them. He wants to say something but his mouth is dry and he has a ball the size of a grapefruit stuck in his throat.

“You made it incredibly clear to me that you don’t think of me as a person. Like- what did you say to me? That I’m just a fuck?” He grimaces when she throws his words from three years ago back at him. 

“Yeah, you said I’m just some girl you fuck, ‘you’re just some girl I fuck I don’t care about you.’ Sound about right?” He can’t move. He’s frozen.

“You could have worded it a million different ways and still gotten your message across. You could have been so much nicer. Let me down easy. Let me know in a better way that you found someone that you wanted to get to know. I would’ve put everything aside and just been your friend but no, you decided that I meant nothing to you, that everything we had been through, everything we had built, Our friendship was not important to you.”

 “Because I’m just someone you fucked. So, Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about my opinion because you’re just someone I fucked too and someone that I no longer care about. You are just my bandmate. You are just a coworker, I don’t think of you. I’m done with you. Keep your album. Good luck.”

He was so fucked. It would be a miracle if he ever got her to forgive him.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value���looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 2 🍒

“Coffee & Garth Brooks”

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 1,247

Summary: Joel visits you at work and during some innocent flirting, you reveal something that you probably should have just kept quiet about.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, however this chapter is pretty tame, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader is tomboyish but otherwise no race mentioned and will not be throughout the series, until specified this story takes place in the summer of 2003 and is AU with no outbreak, flirting, reader has mild fantasies about Joel, no use of y/n

Series Masterlist

Mondays at the cafe are hectic. So as eager as you are to see if Joel will show up, you're also swamped with orders. It's not until the crowd begins to clear that you see him. He's smiling at you and you can't ignore the way your heart does a little backflip.

"Hey!" You greet him with a smile.

He approaches the counter. Today he's wearing a heather-gray t shirt and jeans. His hair is tousled, beard neatly trimmed, and you catch a whiff of clean-scented shower gel coming off him. "I remember you," he says, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

"I remember you too. . and I remember I owe you a coffee for helping me yesterday."

"Hang on there. Where's that ring I labored so arduously to free from your kitchen drain?"

You smile at his wordiness. "Why, it's right here." You extend your left hand to show off the ring, a lot cleaner and shinier than the last time he saw it.

He surprises you by taking your hand with a delicate touch. "It would've been a shame to lose somethin' so pretty." His eyes move up to yours, as if to gauge your reaction. "That offer still on the table?"

This small yet meaningful gesture mesmerizes you. "The… offer?" you mumble. "Oh! The coffee." Crimson, you fix his coffee, giving him a bigger size than you're supposed to. "Are you on your way to a site?" You ask as you hand him his drink.

"Thank you. Yeah, I've gotta check in on a site before noon." He sips his coffee, leaning against the counter. You try not to stare but you give a quick glance - his body, even when at rest, seems powerful.

"What's it like, being a contractor? Do you like it?" Before the words come out of your mouth you realize how immature you sound. Of course he likes it. He wouldn't be in that business if he didn't.

You feel a little relief when he smiles. "It depends on the day. You get plenty of sun, and you have to deal with a lot of bullshit, deadlines.. but it pays. So I don't mind it all that much. What about you? You enjoy bein' a barista?" Joel smirks and you wonder if he's enjoying your exchange as much as you are.

"It's thrilling," you say in a deadpan voice. "Wanna trade places for a day?"

"I'll pass," he laughs. "Sounds like you're tryin' to get out of work right now," he teases you, leaning over the counter. He places his elbows down and rests his chin on his clasped palms.

"Can you blame me? At least you get your choice of music in your truck, not whatever this is," you roll your eyes at the indie jazz playing over the speakers.

"I'm in charge of the radio in my truck. Just the way I like it."

"What do you listen to?" You also lean against the counter, subconsciously angling yourself towards him. You're only vaguely aware of the cafe, of your surroundings. As you talk with him it just feels good.

"I'll listen to almost anything: rock, oldies, anything really. I guess I don't like anything too artsy and pretentious-soundin'," he answers.

"You strike me as a country music lover," you give him a little bit of teasing.

He tilts his head to the side. "You got a read on me already, huh? Well I won't lie, I listen to some country, but only the old stuff. Not this new, pop-py, overproduced stuff."

"Do you like Garth Brooks? George Strait? They're the greats. You have to like them."

"Girl, you're too young to tell me who the greats are," he grins. "George is the king of country music. Garth's a given. He's kinda cheesy sometimes, but his songwriting is great, no denyin' that."

"When I was a kid I used to go around singing his songs to anyone who would listen. I would put on a show, sing at the top of my lungs.. I was a pretty rambunctious kid," you laugh at the memory.

"Bet you're just as rambunctious as an adult too," he says playfully.

You smirk. Joel's flirting with you, there's nothing more obvious. "I'm a college girl. I'm supposed to be rambunctious."

He gives a low chuckle and an intrusive thought slides into your brain: you want to know what that low rumble in his chest sounds like, with your ear pressed against him… When you come back to your senses you catch his eyes scanning your face. "Fair enough. I'm sure you've got all the boys chasin' ya, huh?"

There it is: the question you thought was only ever asked in books, in movies, and Joel is the one to ask it about you. "Oh.. not really.."

"I find that hard to believe."

You look away a moment, wiping an invisible spot on the counter with a cloth. "Truth is, I kind of have someone.. back home in Houston." You dare a peek at him only to see something like relief cross his face.

"That's great," he says, maintaining a smile.

You regret saying something like that. Trevor isn't someone worth bringing up to Joel, yet you have used him almost as a shield, and you don't know why. "It's, uh.. kind of uh.. ambiguous," you add. "He's going to university there. I guess we're still figuring things out."

Joel nodded slowly. "So.. it's complicated, is what you're sayin'?"

"A little.. I don't really, you know, want to talk about it." You smile and shrug as if it's a minor thing.

"Of course." He puts his hands up, then he looks like he wants to say something but he stays quiet. Looking at his watch he says, "I gotta get to the site."

"Yeah.. I should also get back to work." You turn your back for a moment then turn again to say something else to him but he's already outside going to his truck.

The rest of your shift goes by smoothly and you pocket your tips and start home. Once you're comfortable in the house you allow yourself to think about your interaction with Joel. Of course the first friend you make in Austin would be the ruggedly handsome, middle-aged man next door. A man with a daughter only a few years younger than yourself.

You've never really been in this position before. You don't really recognize your own feelings. You've had crushes on older guys before: teachers, coaches.. so why is this time different? And why are you struggling with it?

Joel, meanwhile, feels himself in almost the same predicament. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but he really likes you. The age difference is too much for him to even consider, but your presence.. it's getting to him. He likes talking to you, wants to be close to you.. but he can't. He doesn't want to mess up his life, and it will only cause problems if he doesn't keep his distance. He worries he won't be able to fully shake you off his mind.

A few days later he spots a paper on his truck windshield. It's a handwritten note from you:

pool party at our place this Saturday @ 2 pm

and your name signed underneath. Joel smiles and gets a pen from inside his truck to write a reply.

We'll be there, he writes beneath your message and he leaves the paper on your car windshield.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[jensengirl83]

You'll Accompany Me Chp 18

Warnings- Some angst, fluff, mild descriptions of childbirth

Word Count- 3530

A/N- Sorry this has taken so long, but the series is finally finished! I'll be posting a chapter a week until the last one. I hope you all enjoy it!

It had been a month since Jensen had proposed to Y/N, and things were going well. She was still working on getting ready for the arrival of their baby. She was due to go to her next appointment to check on her condition later that afternoon, and Jensen had been trying to get her to reconsider not finding out the gender. 

“Seriously, honey, you don’t want to know what it is?” he asked, his tone almost begging. 

“No, Jay. I want it to be a surprise. Everything hasn’t gone so well since I found out I was pregnant, and I just want this one thing to be something to look forward to,” she chuckled. 

“How many times do I have to apologize for what I did, huh? I’ve tried to make it up to you in every way I know how. You know I’ll never forgive myself for it, so why did you have to bring it up?” he responded, his voice cracking with emotion at the end. 

“Jay…” she sighed, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away. 

She knew that she’d struck a nerve, but she also needed him to let her explain how she was feeling, and she couldn’t do that if he wouldn’t even look at her. She reached for him one more time just for him to pull away again, not even looking in her direction. Not giving him the chance to withdraw from her, she cupped his face in her hands and turned his face to look at her. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay? Yes, what happened was hard, but that wasn’t what I was referring to. The fact that I was ordered on bed rest because of a serious health condition that could hurt me and the baby was a lot to deal with. Me being so stubborn and taking so long to forgive you and cut what time we could’ve been enjoying this pregnancy together is something else I have to live with. And I kick myself in the ass for that every day, but I have forgiven you, Jay. I really have. So, please, stop beating yourself up over it, and thinking that every time I bring up what a hard time I’ve had, that it means I’m talking about that, okay?” 

She could see his eyes begin to tear up, and she felt horrible. This isn’t where she wanted the conversation to go, but now she had to try and fix it. With a sigh of regret, she pulled him to her, kissing him softly, and wrapping him in a hug. She could feel the tension all over him, so she slowly ran her hand through his hair, whispering apologies and how much she loved him over and over until she could feel him start to relax. He eventually pulled away to look at her, and it compounded her guilt. He looked heartbroken. 

“Jay, I’m so sorry. Please believe me when I tell you that I forgave you a long time ago, and nothing I said was about that,” she whispered, hugging him around his waist and resting her head on his chest.

“It’s okay, baby. I believe you. I just…” he paused, looking down at her, her eyes letting him know she was listening and wanted to hear what he had to say, “I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you like that, and I think that stress is what may have caused your preeclampsia in the first place. And that makes me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.”

“Please, Jay, forgive yourself. I did a long time ago. I was just too stubborn to admit it, and I’m sorry. But, baby, that had nothing to do with what happened to me. It happens to a lot of pregnant women, and you had absolutely nothing to do with it. I love you, Jensen, and if knowing the gender will make you feel better, then that’s what we’ll do,” she smiled, squeezing his middle in a tight hug. 

“We don’t have to find out if you really don’t want to. That wouldn’t be fair,” he sighed in contentment, kissing the top of her head. He loved her hugs. 

“No, it’s okay. Maybe it would be helpful in the end. That way we could buy exactly what we need without getting everything gender neutral,” she giggled as he tickled her ribs. 

“You have any idea how much I fucking love you?” 

“Probably not as much as I love you,” she sassed back, laughing when he sighed in faux annoyance. 

“Always busting my balls, Y/L/N.” he deadpanned, trying to hide his smile. 

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“No. No I wouldn’t, darlin’,” he replied, pulling her into his lap. She’d never know how grateful he was to have her there. To have her, period. 

Y/N’s knee was bouncing with nerves as they sat in the doctor’s office later that afternoon. She was hoping for a good report and that she could lift some of her restrictions and be more active. Not being able to do much other than cook, light cleaning, and lying around was starting to drive her a little insane. But, something was eating at her that everything wasn’t going to be okay, and she couldn’t shake that feeling. She’d been having small Braxton Hicks contractions, but other than that, everything was progressing as it should. But something just wouldn’t let her feel like everything was fine. 

She jumped slightly as the nurse called her name to lead her back to the exam room. She didn’t think Jensen had noticed how nervous she was, but he had. As she stood, he took her hand, kissing it lightly and giving it a little squeeze to tell her without words that he was there and it would be okay. If only she could believe it. She hadn’t been in the small room long before Dr. Williams walked in with her million-watt smile she always had. It had always put Y/N at ease, but not today. 

“Good afternoon, mom and dad. How are we feeling today?” Dr. Williams asked, sitting down on the small stool and getting everything prepared for the exam. 

“I’m not going to lie. Other than the normal Braxton Hicks, nothing is going on, but I just feel like something is going to go wrong with the exam today,” Y/N answered honestly, Jensen looking over at her, one eyebrow raised in confusion and concern. She hadn’t mentioned feeling that way to him. 

“It’s fine, Y/N. A lot of mothers have that feeling at this stage of pregnancy, and especially if they have complications. Do we still not want to know the gender?” 

“No. Y/N agreed to find out this time,” Jensen replied quickly, his big smile letting Y/N know she’d made the right decision. If this made him feel just a little better about the pregnancy, then he deserved that. 

“Okay, then. How about we get the exam over first to ease mom’s worries, and then we’ll do the ultrasound. That sound good to you two?” 

“Sounds good,” Y/N and Jensen answered simultaneously, making all three of them chuckle. 

Y/N took a deep breath as the doctor started her exam. Having her cervix checked was never a fun time, and she hated it, but it had to happen. Luckily, it was usually over quickly. But she noticed that Dr. Williams was taking longer than normal this time, and her breathing started to pick up and her heart began to race. It didn’t help when she looked up and saw a concerned look on the woman’s face. Jensen had noticed, too, and before Y/N could say anything, Jensen was speaking. 

“What’s wrong, doc? Is everything okay? Is there something wrong with Y/N or the baby?” he rapidly fired the questions at the doctor, his palms beginning to sweat with nervousness. He didn’t know what he would do if something was wrong. 

“Just calm down, everyone. There’s nothing major going on,” Dr. Williams began before taking a breath to tell them what she had found, “But, Y/N is completely effaced and dilated to 5 centimeters.” 

“What the hell does that mean? She’s only thirty-five weeks along. There’s no way she can be dilated!” Jensen shouted, his fear beginning to take over and panic setting in. 

“What?! I can’t be. It’s too early! I can’t have the baby now,” Y/N cried, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.Something was wrong and she knew it, knew something was wrong with her baby. 

“Everyone calm down. This isn’t unheard of with women that have preeclampsia. Yes, it’s a little early, but the baby will probably be just fine.” 

“Probably?! I’m not fine with a probably,” Jensen was yelling now. 

“Mr. Ackles, many women have babies at this stage and most are just fine. Of course, I can’t give you an absolute guarantee, because there isn’t any when it comes to these things. But, I can tell you that I think mom and baby are going to be just fine. Now, I have to go get her a room ready for labor and delivery. A nurse will be down soon to get her moved to that floor. I know this isn’t easy, but I need you both to try and be as calm as you can. That’s what’s going to help mom and baby get through this happy and healthy,” Dr. Williams smiled, patting Jensen on the shoulder as she left the couple alone to try and come to terms with their impending situation. 

“Jay…” Y/N’s trembling voice brought Jensen out of his panic. He was by her side in an instant, running his hand over her head, and kissing her face. 

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered while soothing her, hoping that he would eventually believe his own words. 

“But what if it’s not? What if the baby is too small and…” she began to cry when he interrupted her. 

“No, uh uh. You’re both going to be fine, baby. This is a great hospital, and babies are born more prematurely than ours all the time and are just fine. All you need to worry about is taking care of yourself and bringing our little peanut out to meet us. Okay? I’ve got everything else,” he reassured her, even though he felt as if he would crumble at any moment. 

She nodded her head and cried. She knew that she had a rough journey ahead of her, and she would need all the strength she had to deliver the baby. But she couldn’t stop worrying about whether he or she would be okay. And she knew she had to have Jensen make her a promise before all the craziness got started. 

“Jay, no matter what happens in there, you stay with the baby. No matter what,” she begged, knowing she couldn’t do this without that promise. 

“Y/N…” 

“No, Jay. You have to promise me. Please, I'm begging you. Take care of our baby if anything goes wrong. Please promise me Jay,” she wailed, the tears and fear of what could happen overtaking her. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I promise, honey. I'll stay with the baby no matter what. But you have to make me a promise. You gotta promise me that you’ll do everything you can to be okay. We’re both going to bring this precious baby home together. You hear me?” he pleaded, his tears finally breaking free and dropping down to her forehead where he had rested his against it. 

“I promise,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face and kiss him softly, just as the door opened and the nurse came in. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, we’re here to take you upstairs.” 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Jensen kissed her one last time as the nurse walked over to wheel her up to delivery in her bed.

“See you soon, handsome,” she smiled, squeezing his hand as they began to wheel her out of the room. 

Jensen was pacing the floor waiting for the nurse to come tell him he could be with Y/N. Once they had gotten her upstairs, they told him he needed to wait outside in the hall while they got her settled in and hooked to all the monitors, and an IV inserted. He had already made all the phone calls he needed to make. Jared and Gen were on their way, his parents were heading out as soon as they could, and Dee and the kids knew that she would be delivering soon, and wanted to wait until she was in recovery before they came to visit. All he was waiting on now was the okay to be with his future wife. It felt like an eternity before the nurse came out and took him in to see Y/N. Dr. Williams was there when he walked in. 

“Hello, Mr. Ackles. I’ll get you up to speed on what’s happening. Sorry, it took so long to bring you in, but her water broke when we moved her to her new bed. So, that means that there’s an increased risk of infection if her labor doesn’t progress in a timely manner. Which means that I put her on a Pitocin drip through her IV. Unfortunately, that means her contractions will be more intense than usual, but that also means that little Ackles will make their debut sooner.” 

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” he asked, completely at a loss about what he should be doing. 

“Same thing you did with your other three children when your wife was in labor,” the doctor said, a look of confusion on her face. 

“Well, see, that’s the problem. All three of my other kids were scheduled c-sections. I never had to go through the labor part of it,” he answered sheepishly, feeling stupid for not knowing what to expect. 

“Oh! Well, then that makes sense,” the doctor giggled, “No need to be embarrassed. Just do whatever you can to help her be comfortable, and be her support when she needs encouragement. Other than that, buckle up and enjoy the ride. This will be a completely different but amazing experience for you.” 

“O-Okay,” he stuttered, a little overwhelmed with everything going on around him.

“Jay, it’s okay. Just come sit beside me, please,” Y’N’s voice broke him out of his stupor, her tired smile and outstretched hand making his legs finally work to have a seat by her side. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asked, running his hand over her head. 

“Remember that scene from Alien?” she chuckled dryly. 

“The chest burster?!” he gasped at the visual image in his head. 

“Yeah, that one. Kinda like that,” she frowned as a strong contraction hit. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe. It’s going to be okay,” he huffed, her hand feeling like it was going to crush his  fingers as she squeezed. 

Jensen kept repeating to her that everything was fine and that she was doing amazing, and that it would all be over soon as each contraction had her gritting her teeth and crying in pain. He hated seeing her in so much pain, and he would do it for her if he could. But since he couldn’t, he stayed by her side with words of encouragement, little kisses on her face and head, and wiping the sweat away with a cool cloth. And after what felt like an eternity, the doctor told them that it was finally time for her to push. 

The flurry of activity in the room as the doctor and nurses prepared to help bring their baby into the world had his head spinning, but he tried to keep his focus on Y/N, and do everything he could to make it as easy as he could for her. Once the doctor told him to hold Y/N’s leg up, he knew the show was starting, and he didn’t know if he wanted to jump for joy, throw up, or pass out. 

“Jay. I can’t do this,” she cried after twenty minutes of pushing, her body feeling as if it would give out at any moment. 

“Yes you can, baby. You’re doing so good. They’re almost here, and we’ll know soon whether we have a son or daughter,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her temple, “I’m so fucking proud of you, honey. You’ve got this.” 

‘Come on, Y/N. I can see the head now. Just a few more pushes,” the doctor yelled out, making Jensen look down. 

“Don’t you dare look at that! It’ll scar you forever,” Y/N screamed, groaning through another contraction. 

“Baby, nothing could ever make me think any differently of you,” he said sweetly, looking back down to where the doctor was, “Oh my God! Honey, I can see the head! It has so much hair!” 

Jensen was elated. He couldn’t have imagined that this experience would’ve been so profound. Of course, seeing his other children being brought into the world through c-section was absolutely amazing, too. But this was a completely different ballgame. 

“Okay, Y/N. One more big push and you’ll meet your baby,” the nurse beside her said, holding her leg up higher to give her more leverage to push. Jensen followed suit, and leaned back to Y/N. 

“Come on, baby. You can do it. One more and we get to see our baby,” he cooed, kissing her forehead as she gave one last push. 

The sound of a loud cry pierced the room, and Y/N and Jensen both let out cries of their own at the wonderful sound. She’d done it. She’d endured the worst pain of her life, and now, her son or daughter was there, screaming for the whole delivery floor to hear. She’d never heard such a beautiful sound in her life. She continued to cry tears of joy as Jensen kissed all over her face, his tears mixing with hers, him showering her with praise for what a great job she had done.

“Mr. Ackles, would you like to cut the cord?” Dr. Williams asked, a bright smile on her face, “You have a very healthy baby over here.” 

Y/N and Jensen began to sniffle at her words. Their baby was perfectly healthy. All the worry of them being premature and having complications melting away. Jensen walked over to cut the cord. His breath caught in his throat when he looked down, the doctor smiling at him. 

“How about you cut this cord, and then you can go tell mama what the gender is, huh?” 

Jensen just nodded. He was speechless. This experience had been one of the most nerve-wracking but beautiful he’d ever had, and he couldn’t wait to tell Y/N what the gender was. Once the cord was cut, and the baby cleaned and wrapped up, Jensen slowly walked back to his fiancee, a face-splitting smile on his face. 

“Honey, would you like to hold our son?” he asked, a tear slipping down his cheek at the way Y/N’s face lit up with his words. 

“It’s a boy?” she whispered, her voice breaking with all the emotion she was feeling. 

“It’s a healthy little boy,” he beamed with pride, gently placing their son in his mama’s arms. 

“Oh my God, Jay. He’s beautiful, and just perfect,” she said with awe, kissing the little boy’s nose, forehead, and cheeks. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he hiccuped with emotion, placing kisses all over her face between every word of thanks. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Jay.” 

“Yes, I do, baby. I have to thank you for being my friend all those years, for giving me the chance to be your boyfriend, for forgiving me when I fucked up so royally, for agreeing to be my wife, and especially for giving me what I didn’t even know I needed, another baby to love. So, yes, darlin’, I’ll owe you thanks every day for the rest of my life,” he whispered, afraid all the emotions he was feeling would take his voice if he tried to speak any louder. 

“I love you so much, Jay,” she smiled through tears, reaching up to cup his face. 

“I love you more than I’ll ever be able to tell you, baby,” he leaned down to capture her lips in a soft, quick kiss. 

Jensen leaned back to look down at Y/N and their son. The love in her eyes as she looked at their son took his breath away. How could he have been so selfish to have even thought to deny her this? She was going to be a great mother, and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, raising their kids, and just loving her. He knew at that moment just what a lucky son of a bitch he was, and he was going to do his damnedest to never take that for granted again.

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[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Mad Love Chapter 25 His POV

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

“Snow White”.

In a story that was beautiful yet unsavory for the Cursed, I’ve always wondered…why Snow White chose the prince instead of the hunter who saved her life. 

--

Kate: …And we were once again misinformed when we were told “a Cursed One’s been found.”

After our mission, Kate and I went to check if the information that suddenly came to us was true. As we expected, it wasn’t. 

Roger: …You feeling heartbroken?

Kate looked like she was going over her own thoughts before she smiled gently.

Kate: I want the Cursed to be able to choose how they live, and that thought will never change. And if I want that to happen, I can’t let things like this discourage me.

As she said that with a smile, I was hooked.

Kate: Roger?

Roger: It’s nothing. Was just thinking about how you’ve become a fine woman.

The Kate who had cried about being weak and wanting to “be strong” was far in the past.

Kate: Don’t tell me I’ve become a fine woman for something like this. I plan to grow more! So keep your eyes on me. Closely.

(...Naturally)

Roger: Don’t have to tell me twice.

My desire for Kate aroused the hunter within.

I raised my rifle and took aim at my lover.

Roger: Kate.

I called her name and then took her lips.

Kate: Ngh, nnnn…

I tongue explored her mouth, the wet noises resounding in the room—

Kate: Haaa…wait…please.

Roger: Do I have to?

Kate: Y-yes! Because…I’m scared.

Roger: After we’ve done this so many times?

When I teased her, Kate’s teary eyes wavered even more and her cheeks paled.

Kate: That’s not it…

Roger: Sorry, I cut you off. …You’re talking about something else.

(You’re “scared” of something else, aren’t you?)

Kate: Tell me, I’ll listen to everything. What’re you scared of?

People don’t change that easily, and the weakness still in Kate—it’s adorable.

Everything that has and hasn’t changed are still all a part of Kate.

I look at Kate as if accepting all her weaknesses and she starts talking.

Kate: I chose to throw everything away and live with you. My hands were empty that day, like a newborn baby’s.

(...Yeah, I remember)

(You threw everything away before I asked you to)

Kate: But…suddenly, my hands were filled with you.

Kate’s words touched me.

Kate: I chose you so that I could be me. I don’t regret that at all. Despite that, sometimes I get scared…that I can’t live without you.

Roger: And what’s wrong with that?

Kate: Because…

Emotions shaken by Kate’s words rippled out and filled my heart. 

If I had to put a name to the emotion that filled my heart, it would be “joy”.

Roger: Hey, that’s just called being in love. I think it’s too cute how you love me so much it scares you.

Kate: Maybe it is being in love, but I’m seriously worried about it, you know?

(Sorry, Kate. No matter how much you worry or pout, it’s just more material to please me)

Roger: I already told you that I’m not letting you go. No matter what happens. Besides, I’m like you.

Kate: Eh?

Roger: “What you call romantic love’s just a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire.” I had that theory set in stone. But then, Kate. You overturned it. You—changed me.

(You changed me)

(I’m sure it’s because “you’re you”)

It was like reversing a fairytale with a fixed ending.

Kate: …I…changed you?

Roger: Who else? The other day, Victor told me “You’ve fallen for your fated love.”

Kate: …So, what was your response to that?

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Yeah, you're right. My first and last fated love.

~~ End flashback ~~

(...That’s too out of character for me to tell Kate)

Roger: I think I said something along the lines of romantic expressions aren’t for me.

Kate: Hehe, I agree.

I purposely glared at Kate and she just giggled.

It’s moments like these where I realize that I’ve fallen for her and feel extraordinarily happy.

But at the same time.

Roger: I’m also scared…of someone like that taking a spot in my heart. Me of all people. Scared of being in love…it’s so not like me, it’s funny.

When I reached out and touched Kate’s hair,  the soft sensation reached deep in my heart.

Roger: But worries like that are trivial. They’re nothing compared to the despair of not living with you. Nothing compared to the despair of not being able to love you as much as I want to.

Kate: …

(Since meeting you, I became aware of a new kind of despair)

(Life…really is a war against despair)

Despair is always close by.

However, if we let ourselves be scared of it, something important will slip through our fingers.

(That’s why you give despair the finger and live how you want)

(Kate. I want to love you. I want to…)

I cupped Kate’s cheek.

It was such a gentle gesture that you wouldn’t think it was from the “double-crossing hunter”.

Kate: …Roger, please touch me.

Roger: Is that okay?

Kate: Don’t need to be scared of anything, give me all your love.

(......)

Our sweet smiles at each other was our cue and our lips locked together.

Kate: Nnn…nnnn

Roger: Haaa…

I removed my glasses and kissed me deeper than before— 

I pinned Kate down on the bed and grasped her hands in mine.

(...I might end up being the man that makes you despair one day)

(I’m not a prince, but a “double-crossing huntsman” after all.)

When the heart deep within my chest breaks, I wonder how Kate will look.

It’ll be far from a happy ending and might even cause her to despair.

But before that happens, my “tragic end” might strike.

However—I still want and love.

Pull in that faint hope and pursue uncertain happiness.

Heart beating. 

Living hopelessly.

Passionate, mad, Kate and I together in this world painted with despair.

Roger: Kate. I’ll take you, satisfy you, love you. So…

(Please)

Roger: Love me too.

Kate smiled.

No matter when, even when in the depths of despair, Kate smiled—

Kate: Yes, Roger. I’ll love you…with all that I have.

I will protect your smile.

--

“Snow White”.

In a story that was beautiful yet unsavory for the Cursed, I’ve always wondered…why Snow White chose the prince instead of the hunter who saved her life. 

Was she afraid of what others would think if she took a traitor’s filthy hand?

Or was it because a happy ending was already promised?

(...The reasons don’t matter anymore)

(My very own Snow White’s currently breathing in my arms)

Next

[daflangstlairde-art]

lightning in our fingertips today

Work 1 of DFL's Whumptober 2024

Summary:

Donnie and Leo get hit with a wayward body swap spell. You could say it gives Donnie a new perspective on the matters of his dear twin. When was Leo going to tell them that his Ninpō hurts him?

—

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Draxum rubbed the bridge of his snout, sighing, already tired of their crap. 

“And you're sure you don't know anything else about the spell that you are being affected by, the caster, or their method of casting?” he repeated. 

“Nope,” Leo repeated, popping the p sound. 

“So then how do you expect me to, and I quote, fix this?” Draxum raised his eyebrows. 

Donnie shrugged. “You're the mystic guy, right? Isn't that kind of your job?” 

“I–” Draxum sighed again, dragging a hand down his face. Donnie couldn't help but feel greatly amused by it. Judging by Leo’s expression, the sentiment was doubled. “Can you at least discern whether the spell affects only your bodies or your minds as well?” 

...Donnie and Leo shared a look. 

“...Uh, what?” Leo asked the question for them both, thankfully, looking at Draxum. 

Draxum sighed yet again. He should check his lungs. 

“Swapping spells and curses can function in a variety of ways,” he began explaining. “They can only switch your bodies—the way you experience being in that body remains the same as you’d experience the world in your own body. Or they can, ah... let’s put it like this—they can swap out your self but put you in the experience of the other person,”

“Ah, they can swap our essence through mystic-magic-whatever but they don't swap our brains,” Donnie echoed, “Ergo all those neural pathways and malfunctions and whatnot remain the same,”

“Hey! Don't call it malfunctions,” Mikey chastised. Him and Raph were mostly here for the Exposition™. 

“I... suppose you can put it that way,” Draxum blinked. “Though don't take it so... literally. As I've mentioned before, spells, curses, any sort of mystic–”

“–involvement can be highly metaphorical and swayed by our mere perception of things, yes, I remember,” Donnie said like he was in pain. Eugh. These are some of the parts of magic that he wasn't strongly affectionate towards. He didn't like their loosey goosey rules. 

“Well?” 

Oh right, Draxum had asked them a question. 

“I mean, I dunno,” Leo scratched his head, “I guess I kinda think more... uh... like Donnie? Sometimes?” 

Donnie frowned. “...Huh, that would explain your sudden willingness to view your own mystic powers through a more scientific lens,” he realized. 

Leo cleared his throat, “Right, yeah, that's what I was talking about,” 

Donnie sent him a look, but didn't have time to question it. 

“And you?” Draxum turned the question to him. 

Hmmm. 

Had he noticed any odd behaviors in himself? Anything that wasn't very like himself?

...Hard to say. 

Him and Leo overlapped in many a manner, and where they didn't, they differed greatly. 

...Donnie remembered the craving, the need for a second person’s presence from last night. Which also made him realize his inability to sleep wasn't born from obsession over a project, which was the reason why he usually couldn't sleep; he kind of just... wasn't able to, which... did sound more like Leo. They were aware of his insomniac struggles. 

Huh. Donnie hadn't thought about it. This line of thought was making him view the last two days in yet another new way, comparing his behavior to Leo. 

It wasn't much like Leo to freeze up in the middle of a fight—that one was admittedly more of a Donnie thing. However, it was supposed to be a thing of the past—a thing that happened when he was overly reliant on his tech, when it would suddenly be unavailable to him for whatever reason. Ever since he got on the same page with his Ninpō, obstacles like a piece of fried equipment or drained battery weren't so monumental. 

...He suppose it was logical he’d return to that state of mind due to the sudden inability to use his trusty mystic powers. Which sounded a bit too uncomfortably familiar.

The meltdown it induced was more Donnie’s thing as well. 

...Except... except... 

...The way his thoughts sounded. 

They... they didn't sound like Donnie. Whereas so far his mental voice still sounded the way it always did. 

No no, they sounded... like Leo. 

The realization made liquid nitrogen pool in his stomach. 

He– he would have to reflect more on it later, because the others expected an answer from him. Donnie cleared his throat.

“Uh, yes,” he said, coughing awkwardly. “Yes, I have also noticed... the same. As what Leo answered,” smooth. 

“...Ssssoooo,” Leo, thankfully, turned the conversation back to Draxum. “Can you do something about it?” 

“Yes,” which made Leo grin, “I will do research,” Draxum stated, and Leo’s expression turned to a groan. 

“Duuuudeee!” 

Personally? Donnie wasn't all that mad about the fake-out. 

Quite frankly, he had some research of his own to do.

“...Pluuss it would be too risky to initiate any spells involving your bodies and minds currently, considering one of you is concussed.” Draxum deadpanned.

Raph reached over and flicked the side of Leo’s head, making him loudly complain. Donnie snorted and Mikey giggled.

—

Night come, Donnie had two options.

A. Try to sleep on his own. Observe the effects it had on him. 

B. Immediately head to somebody else’s room to spend the night with them. 

He was a scientist, so of course he went with option A. 

This yielded the expected results, though still, Donnie was unable to figure out the exact cause of his sleeplessness. Due to his usual modus operandi, he just wasn’t that used to pointedly analyzing his feelings, much less differentiating them from someone else’s. It was a bit frustrating, which did not aid the sleep matter!

Sooo here he was, once again rooming with Leo for the night. He’d kicked Leon to the outer side of the bed this time, so Donnie could lay on his left side, because his right shoulder was still hurting for no particular reason. And his shell, Leo’s shell, was aching. And once again, he felt nauseated after dinner, and he was starting to feel like that really wasn't just because of his personal sensitivities. 

It was dark in the room, though not completely. There was a night lamp on. And the light of Leo’s phone. He wasn't sleeping either, just scrolling aimlessly. Donnie didn't pay much mind to it. He was here for research. 

Aaand also to sleep, but, you know. Research. 

...Though with Leo here, he was admittedly growing sleepy. It was just the two of them. Leo’s room didn't smell like much, but it still smelled like home. Donnie was laying on his side just passively observing the side of his twin’s face. His own face, that is, maskless in the night.

Just the two of them and their slow breathing. The subtle sounds of tapping whenever Leo would scroll down. He didn't even have the volume turned up. Some video popped up on his feed, and Donnie watched Leo watch it soundlessly for barely three seconds, with no indication of interest, before he scrolled to the next post.

Donnie idly played with the edge of the blanket over him (of course they had two separate ones because otherwise it will be WAR at DAWN). It was... a nice texture. He wondered if it would be a nice texture were he back in his body. He wondered if it felt nice only because he was sensing it through Leo’s. 

He wondered how much this whole body swap thing was really affecting him. Draxum’s words made him realize there was a lot he hadn't noticed, likely because, well. He was operating like Leo now, and Leo acting like Leo wouldn't be odd to Leo’s perception. However, Donnie’s perception also still remained, and it was odd to him. But was it odd when compared to his normal or to Leo’s normal?

Gah. It was all so... so...! He wished this stupid spell had clearer lines! 

But, alas, dramatic sigh. It does not, which meant Donnie had to map out the lines himself. 

Was Leo not sleeping right now because of his usual insomnia? Or did he feel preoccupied with the desire to Do Something, which is what usually kept Donnie up? 

...Was there a distance?

...It occured to Donnie that he wasn't entirely sure how Leo perceived his own Slumber Struggles. Donnie– hm. This situation was making him realize a lot of things like that, and it hasn't even been that long. He wondered just how much they didn't really know about Leo. How much they didn't think to learn, because it just... it just... it was just never brought to focus. Donnie wondered if that was just him, if Raph and Mikey did know. He wondered whether it was intentional. 

Leo wasn't commenting on his staring. Donnie appreciated it. 

“...You know you're supposed to rest with a concussion, right?” Donnie muttered.He frowned. “And– aren't screens also bad?” 

Leo’s thumb (or, well, Donnie’s thumb, technically) paused. Donnie wasn't sure whether it was due to the comment or just because he was reading a post online.

“Yep, I know,” Leo said simply. Resumed scrolling. 

“Theennn... why aren't you still up?” 

Quiet. 

The distant sounds of papá’s running shows. Some electrical hum. Soft breathing. 

At last, Leo shrugged. “Can't sleep, you know how it is,” he glanced at Donnie just for a moment to throw him a grin, before returning to his task.

All in Donnie’s voice and with Donnie’s face. It made the action less smooth than it would be on Leo’s. Donnie wondered why, exactly, it felt that way. 

“...I don't, actually,” he voiced his earlier thought. It came out flatter than he wanted, maybe because he was tired. “You've never really told us how it is,” 

Leo paused again. Or maybe he was just idly reading another post, none of it really sinking into his brain. He shrugged. 

He exhaled, and shut off his phone, slapping it somewhere on the bed to be immediately lost to the caverns of blankets and pillows. Donnie scheduled a morning expedition to dig out the lost treasure of Phone. 

Leo shuffled a bit, getting more comfortable and laying down, blanket over him. Donnie could only see the larger shapes of his face in dim blue light from the night light. 

“Happy?” Leo asked, and Donnie was pretty sure it was meant to be teasing, but it fell flatter than what was probably intended. 

“Most definitely,” Donnie replied smugly, grinning, and shuffled to also get comfortable for some actual sleep. 

Now it was just the darkness and the two of them. He felt relieved said darkness wasn't absolute, and when he caught that feeling and tried to examine it, he wasn't sure why he felt it. 

The room was pleasantly chilly, so they felt just the right amount of cozy under their respective blankets. The air was well ventilated. 

Donnie breathed in, and out, closing his eyes. He yawned. Leo yawned two seconds afterwards, and then mumbled an unintelligible complaint at Donnie for making him yawn. Donnie exhaled through his nose in mirth. 

Why was his shoulder hurting? The shoulder Donnie remembered watching Casey Junior and Raph set after the Invasion? Why was there a persistent crick in this one specific spot in his shell? A spot that Donnie distinctly remembered having a crack post-Invasion? Mm, he forgot to ask Leo about it. Whatever. He’ll ask Leo tomorrow, or, something. 

Donnie’s thoughts floated around, and he once again circled back to their fight with Baxter and his big robot. 

In all fairness, Leo had been trying to get him involved in the tussle. He’d gotten quite skilled at coordinating them, actually. But he himself didn't want Donnie to use the portals if they hurt (hypocrite), and without them, there just wasn't much to do against a huge metal machine. 

The plan was just to open it so Donnie could deactivate it. It went awry due to Mikey needing to step aside and Stockboy’s miscalculations. However, Donnie wondered if the whole thing would've gone smoother if he’d just sucked it up and used the portals. Their efficiency vastly overshadowed some mystic zippy zaps at his fingers. 

...But it just– it just– it felt uncomfortable. There was an element to the faux shocks that felt... wrong. He couldn't quite describe it, but it made him feel... discomfort. Unease. Like sitting on the edge of a chair, a hard and lumpy chair. Like code that is ever so slightly buggy, even though he’s already spent hours making it as efficient as possible. Like that time his brothers (cough, Leo, cough) reprogrammed Shelldon. Something that just... isn't supposed to be Like That. 

But for the life of him, he couldn't identify what exactly that meant. 

Why did Leo fly directly into a collapsing building? Why did Leo keep a concussion away from their attention? 

...Why did Donnie freeze up during the fight like that? Why was he hit with a meltdown like that?

...It just... it felt... 

He tried to double down on everything he’d felt in that moment, like pressing down with your thumbs to locate a bruise. 

There was just something about... something about... 

It just overwhelmed him. 

Watching debris and glass rain down in pieces, a curtain of destruction. Listening to the cacophony of car alarms, of people yelling in concern, sirens approaching. 

His Ninpō was bust, his brothers were missing, his brothers were in danger. Two of his brothers were down for the count, and they were going to die and there was only one thing to do. 

And it was terrifying and it was all his fault. It was the scariest moment of his life. 

So Raph was off to save them, and he pushed himself to his feet. Even though his body was so sore, it all hurt from all the fighting, but he didn't have a choice. 

Even as his knees betrayed him, he forced himself upwards. This was all his fault and it was choking him. He had to fix this, for his family. 

A hulking figure in the distance. Metal and sharp and hateful. A red light, like a sign screaming GET AWAY. 

But he couldn't. This was his last chance to just make. Things. Right. 

It was a desperation that made him want to cry, so he set his expression and readied his stance. 

The wind blew past him, as he shot forwards into the fight. And he lunged through a portal and he hurled his sword, and the Krang grabbed him and hurled his sword away and– 

“YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” 

–and–

“YOU WRETCHED–

–LITTLE–

–PEST!” 

Each vitriol-packed punch from the Krang leader, massive and hulking and sharp and metal, rammed into his body with the force of an entire failed genocide.

Each hit was an admirable competitor to be his last. With each hit, the harm tripled—shell and bones shattering and collapsing, blood desperately trying to escape. 

The only thing he had in his personal hell was a reminder of why and how he earned his place here in the first place. 

Life swam in and out of his vision, everything blurred by pain until the pain blurred too. He dedicated the last flashes of color to that reminder, the most important thing in the world:

A small photograph showcasing his family’s smiling faces. 

Tears rolled down his face, and he loved them so much it hurt. Everything hurt, and he was dying, and yet, and yet, and yet. 

It’s okay. 

They would live, this time around. 

He hoped they would forget him, because selfishly, he didn't want to drag them down even in death, not more than he already has. He hoped they would thrive.

He couldn't help but feel... happy to be dying, haha. Because they would live, because they won, because it was over. Because he deserved it the most. It was right. 

He couldn't help but smile. 

“WIPE THAT GRIN OFF YOUR FACE, GAH–!” 

–Donnie awoke with a desperate gasp for breath as his entire chest and lungs and heart collapsed under the–

–the...

...the nothing. 

It was just him in Leo’s bedroom, trying to inhale in big wet gasps. Shaking in Leo’s body, washed in cold sweat, blanket half kicked off. 

That... that was not a nightmare. There is no way that was just a nightmare. It was too, too... clear, detailed, too potent, too real. 

Donnie would know, because after the Invasion, he had nightmares. It was like... leftover data from the avalanche that came with his connection to The Technodrome. Data, horrible data, that just needed an outlet, and his subconscious was the perfect ground.

“Leo–” Donnie let out, strangled, feeling around for– for–

Leo wasn't there. 

Donnie shot up, but no, the half of the bed Leo had taken up was empty. In fact, Donnie had imposed upon it in his sleep. 

The sight sent a fresh new wave of terror through his body, doing the exact opposite of helping him in this highly stressful situation!

Donnie stumbled to his feet, frantic, looking for his arm brace to track Leo down– no, wait, not the blue dot, he had to look for the purple dot– 

—

“YOU!” Donnie leveled the shape of his twin with an index finger immediately upon stumbling out of the portal and onto the rooftop. Teeth gritted through the sharp sparkling between the layers of his hands' skin and flesh. “You gave me a HEART ATTACK!” 

“Sorry,” Leo sheepishly shrugged, dissipating the purple constructs. 

Donnie halted his terrified-infuriated momentum, gaping. 

Wait. 

Was Leo... training with his Ninpō?! 

Did Leo. Get up in the middle of the night. And fly with Donnie’s hover shell to a random rooftop. To train with Donnie’s Ninpō?

The Ninpō that SUPPOSEDLY HURT HIM?! 

Donnie was just beyond himself with this brother of his! His heart was in too fragile of a state to take this! He made strangling motions in the air, and Leo just looked amused. 

“Are you– are– are you training with my Ninpō?!” Donnie exclaimed, incredulous.

Leo just shrugged, idly spinning his bō and turning around. 

“No– no! You aren't– slithering out of this one!” Donnie seethed, following after the casual walk of his twin much less casually. 

Leo just went to the edge of the rooftop and for a moment Donnie’s stomach swooped and his heart stopped–

(The portal collapsing on itself, an explosion, colors–) 

–but Leo just... sat down. Legs dangling, but otherwise, considerably safe. Looking over the night life of NYC. 

Donnie slowly exhaled, heartbeat erratic. He observed the figure of his brother, even if he was technically in Donnie’s body. 

Dark, in the night. Though still visible, what with New York’s light pollution. 

His back was to Donnie. He was looking out at the buildings. The bustle far down below. 

He was... so... subdued. Smaller, even with one of Donnie’s shells on; smaller in presence, somehow. Like instead of spilling outwards and filling up a whole cathedral, his presence was kept neatly to himself. No more, no less. 

Donnie rushed to be beside Leo, arms crossed. 

“I had a nightmare,” he stated, and that got Leo’s attention. He winced, turning sympathetic eyes to Donnie. 

“...Yikes, Dee, I’m sor–” he began, all soft and gentle and ready to turn the concern towards Donnie, but Donnie was not having it. 

“I had YOUR nightmare,” he clarified through teeth. 

Leo cringed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Augh, I’m really sorry about–” 

“THAT'S NOT WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY!” Donnie yelled, throwing his hands. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Leo said, calm and gentle as ever, “I’m listening to you bro,” he affirmed, smiling. 

Donnie clenched, unclenched, and re-clenched his jaw. 

“You,” he whispered, “never told us you had nightmares.” he emphasized each part. 

And Leo, Leo had the audacity to shrug. 

“I mean, who doesn't, am I right?” he joked. 

Donnie dragged a hand down his face, and sat down on the edge, next to him. At last, he tried to get his breathing under control. Tried to get his heart to stabilize. Tried to get the sheer horror thrumming through him to chillax. 

That nightmare hit something sensitive. And not just to Leo’s brain. 

Through all their altercations with all the different types of foes, there were few tragedies Donnie and his family experienced. Few real tragedies. 

Because sure, it wasn't fun when, say, Draxum snatched them up to use them as bait for dad. It wasn't nice when Raph got Got during Big Mama’s Battle Nexus: New York. 

But they handled it! Because they were still together! At the end of the day, they were together. And they could do anything together. 

Shredder was one of those real tragedies. 

Karai’s death, even though they didn't get to really know her– well. That is a tragedy in and of itself. They didn't know her well, but she was family and then suddenly she was no longer with them.

All of the Invasion still haunted them, in little and big ways. 

But...

...That moment. That chain of moments. 

(“Casey, listen to me. When I get to the other side, you close that door.”

“This is the only way.”

“Hero moves–”

“I’m proud–” 

“–Casey, PLEASE!”)

Staring up at an objectively marvelous explosion as the portal closed around The Technodrome for good. Colors of light expanding, crystalline through his tears, it was the ugliest, most horrible thing Donnie had born witness to. 

It was the scariest, worst moment of his life. 

Donnie brought his feet up, propped his elbows on his knees to hold the sides of his head. Squeezed his eyes shut, tears prickling just at the memory of it. 

He would go through the entire Invasion twice over, if it meant he would be sure to never go through that one moment ever again. 

“You–” his voice cracked, and he swallowed. “You almost died, Leo,” 

We almost lost you. I almost lost my other half, my mirror, the outline of my own existence. 

How could you feel that was ever “right”? 

“But... I’m alive,” Leo smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. Well. Donnie’s hand on Leo’s shoulder, technically. “Soo it's all good!” 

Yes, Leo was alive, and that was all well and good. Except it wasn't, because Leo wasn't well and good. 

And, to make matters substantially worse, none of them noticed. 

His physical injuries recovered, and he bounced right back up. Better than ever. Less pestering, more serious, more dedicated. More sincere, or so they thought.

It was a beautiful act, crafted oh so carefully, and it was by design that none of them noticed. It was the second ugliest thing Donnie had ever seen. 

“Hey,” Leo caught his attention, gentle and soft and caring. Because he was still directing this Donnie’s way, he was still trying to take care of Donnie. 

Donnie glared at him. It wasn't as effective with the built-up tears. 

Leo was unaffected by it, and even though he wore Donnie’s face, Donnie recognized the smile he was giving. 

Leo opened an arm. 

Donnie’s lip wobbled, and he readily sunk into the embrace. Immediately clutching onto his twin like he was going to perish right here and right now. 

It was a little awkward, with the way they sat side by side on the edge of a rooftop. But it was good. Cars and people moved far below them, lights humming against the blue of the night sky. It was starting to smell like autumn chill. But being held by Leo, his twin, Donnie felt a little warmer. 

He swallowed the distress, to say–

–Oh. 

He winced as the sharpness of a concussion headache sunk in very suddenly. 

Oh. 

O– okay then. Huh. Hm. Well. This is... fine. 

“Ack, wait, hold on–” Leo tried pulling away from his hug, because it was Donnie who was holding him now. Donnie didn't allow it, just squeezed him tighter to indicate he was not letting go under any circumstances!

Leo was going to be hugged and loved, whether he wanted it or not!!! 

...Well, no, of course Donnie would let go if he was genuinely uncomfortable. But he wasn't going to let Leo deny himself some affection. 

This was about him. 

“My head hurts,” Donnie muttered a complaint, just to taste his voice that was his own yet again. Leo had the audacity to chuckle. 

“Sorry,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” 

But... thinking about it... really, beside the head injury... 

Donnie rubbed his fingertips together. There was no leftover static to it. No soreness, no displeasure, nothing. Even though Leo had supposedly been training for a bit now. 

Donnie had been looking for something definitive, this entire time. But if there were any definitive signs, they would have noticed something was wrong much sooner. They didn't. 

Something that would spell out, in no unclear terms, Leo is struggling. Leo has been struggling. Leo needs help. You aren't just overthinking this. 

The nightmare-flashback, yes, but.

“...Using my Ninpō didn't hurt you, did it?” Donnie whispered. 

Silence. Their breathing. Their heartbeats. 

Minutely, Leo shook his head, now his head. 

Why did you lie? Donnie didn't ask. How long has this been going on? he didn't ask.

“...Why does the magic born from the power of family, love and togetherness hurt you, Leo?” Donnie dared to ask, quiet. Like otherwise it would scare away the poor skittish animal that was vulnerability. 

“I think,” Leo started, now in his own voice. In a tone that was trying to make it a lighthearted matter even as Donnie’s heart was audibly being ripped apart. “that if you're asking it like that, you... kinda already know why,” Leo answered in mirth, teasing.

But he was wrong. Donnie really, really didn't. He didn't know why. He didn't understand. He didn't understand why Leo would hide from them, why he would feel this way.

And all his well-informed theories hurt. They hurt. He supposed he knew why the feeling of Leo’s Ninpō was so... wrong. 

Something like that wasn't supposed to hurt him.

Was that... really... how Leo felt about it? About their, their– 

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut again. Might as well make them match, both tearing up due to his emotions.

“My head hurts,” Donnie said, just a bit choked up but you have no proof. 

“Sorry,”

“You already said that,”

“Sorry 2.0 then,” 

Donnie snorted. Damn Leon. 

“We are going to bed,” 

“Whaaattt! Dude–”

“Do not argue with me, Leonardo, or I sweear– you are going to sleep,” Donnie emphasized, squeezing Leo tighter. 

Leo complained, but didn't resist being dragged to bed. 

They still had to work on fixing his Ninpō. Donnie had questions to ask, including the matter of Leo’s shoulder and shell and his persistent nausea and on and on the list went. 

But for tonight, this was enough.

[artisticxlly]

My thoughts while rereading chapter 351 (an unhinged post)

Spoilers and also ig dark themes?, nothing out of the ordinary though compared to the panels I'm discussing here.

I thought: You know what, since I'm growing increasingly attached to Sachirou and Kourai, might as well read the most bittersweet chapter again for shits and giggles. And I have some THOUGHTS for you all.

I'll come back to this later but just putting this here to acknowledge that Sachirou watched Kourai play for a little bit

this little guy is so important actually. Why is he so round. What is wrong with him. /aff

Moot also pointed this out but he's always alone in these panels??? Just him and volleyball against the world lol, which isn't all that different to Sachirou's behaviour now that I think about it.

Coming back to my first point. Both of them acknowledge each other, and both do it veeeery briefly. Like these two baaaarely know each other as far as we know, and yet this next scene is so crazy when you think about it from a vulnerability standpoint. What do you mean you stopped him from hurting himself and you immediately had a deep conversation about it??? Oh you two make me so ILL.

YOU MAKE ME SICKKK. SICK I TELL YOU. NO MOMENT OF HESITATION??? NONE??? I actually despise the addition of the other teens his age just casually walking home from school while he does that. Like this is, in his eyes, just a normal thing. This just made sense to him??? "I hate my hands, they're the reason I mess up" to "I'll just destroy them on the nearest wall". Fuck it, sure.

This is the most bittersweet thing ever. Gahhh...

Have we stopped to think about what this implies though. Because I am. The panel of just Sachirou is zoomed in but you can't see Kourai anywhere on it. And I'm just sitting here thinking "So he had to sprint there, right?" and ughhhh, Kourai you give so many fucks??? (/hj) I have this suspicion (or hc I guess?) that he watched Sachirou out of the corner of his eye a looot, just getting this feeling like there's something wrong/going on with him.

Throughout the chapter you just see Sachirou being constantly dissatisfied with his achievements and pouring himself into his training to try and fix it, make less and less mistakes. For over half the chapter his eyes are just this blacked out void. Why do I have a feeling that Kourai picked up on that and was just this teensy bit worried curious and spied on Sachirou? Very subtly, because he didn't care, nooo, not at all (/s). Idk just a thought, because he was crazy quick to stop Sachirou. Obviously he's a very blunt person but he also probably had no idea how to have a heartfelt conversation like that with someone (which ended up being the harsh reality check Sachirou needed).

Kourai Hoshiumi, the man who will read the fuck out of you and then in the same breath drops the gayest shit imaginable. I love this so fucking much though. Absolutely the last thing anyone expects someone to say after witnessing someone self harm and yet so unbelievably real. Asa taught him well, truly.

WOw, just... No thoughts in that brain, huh /j Bug-eyed mf (He's just a baby,,, ughhh)

Again... "tall, strong and super-tough body" WE GET IT. (/lh) Honestly though if I got props from Kourai like that I'd evaporate on the spot.

Gorgeous panel aside, I really like their matching haircuts LMFAO. I have a feeling both just hated dealing with their hair texture growing up.

Anywayyyy uhh long post over. All /lh btw, I do love these two idiots a lot.

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Four

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, talk of courting and mating, FBI, mentions of murder. Think that’s it.

Word Count: 3.87k

A/N: Here is Chapter Four! A whole lot of setting up what's to come, I think, but hopefully y'all still like it! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“Are you still feeling alright, honey?” Susan asked you, checking you over. You gave her a small smile as she gave you a once over. Her green scrubs contrasted against her blonde hair, and the wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced as she frowned at you worriedly. “You’re still taking it easy, right? Remember what Dr. Carson said when he checked you out the other day.”

“I’m fine, Susan. I promise,” you reassured the older nurse. She studied you for a second longer before turning to fix her coffee.

“You know, it’s a real shame about that Morris girl,” she continued. “She was always such a sweet girl. Wasn’t she in your class, Bobby?”

“No, she was a year ahead with Reuben, Nat, and Jake,” he muttered through a mouthful of Cheerios.

“That’s right,” she nodded.

Bob swallowed his mouthful and peered up at his mother. “Are you going to tell us what’s been going on?”

“You know,” she sighed exasperatedly, “I could have sworn I had told you. Or at least I would have if you bothered to answer your phone every once in a while.”

“You could tell me now?” Bob said sarcastically. Susan glared over at him.

“Tone, mister,” she warned before letting out another sigh and leaning against the kitchen counter. “I suppose it’s been a little over two months now since they found the first body. Everyone thought it was just an accident since it looked like a drowning. But then a couple of weeks later another body washed up, and then another one a couple weeks after that. They were all young women about the same age, and they all appeared to have drowned. Maverick was worried that there was a serial killer on the loose, so he called in a favor to Tom. You remember Tom, don’t you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, I remember Mr. Kazansky, Mom,” Bob nodded. “He was only the my baseball coach for most of middle school and high school.”

“Such a sweet man,” Susan nodded with a small smile towards you. “We were all sad to see him leave, but when the FBI offers you a job, what person in their right mind says no?”

“So he and that other guy are here because of this serial killer no one told me about?” Bob asked her, eyebrow raised.

Susan scowled at him, but let out a sigh. “Tom and his partner, Agent Simpson, got here about two weeks ago when the last body was found. I was talking to Tom the other day, actually, and he told me that there were signs of a struggle, which is why they got called in.”

“Should he be telling you that?” Bob frowned. She shrugged, sipping from her coffee mug.

“I think they’re holding a press conference today to discuss everything. He wouldn’t have told me if they weren’t already planning on telling everyone, I’m sure.”

“A serial killer,” you hummed, frowning. “That’s really scary, actually.”

“It is,” she agreed, eyeing you. “Which is why I want you to promise me that you won’t go off on your own at night, alright? You should be fine during the day time, especially with the summer crowds, but I want you to make sure you have somebody with you after the sun goes down.”

“I will, Susan,” you smiled.

Bob peered over at you from over his own coffee mug. “I promised Dad that I’d take the boat out with him today. I don’t suppose you wanted to tag along?”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head. “Nat actually texted me last night and asked me if I wanted to go and hang out at the boardwalk today, and I told her that I did. You’ll be okay without me, yeah?”

“‘Course,” he snorted, moving to take his dishes to the sink. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ditched me for other friends.”

“If you’re talking about that time in sophomore year when I went with Abby and Rachel to the football game after you insisted that you would be a fourth wheel even though we all told you that you wouldn’t be, then this is not the same situation at all.”

“I beg to differ,” he laughed, heading for the back door.

“You can beg all you want, but it’s the truth,” you giggled. “Oh, wait!”

You got up from your own chair, moving to follow him.

“I think I left my bag on the boat last night,” you told him. “I’m going to grab it before I head out.”

The two of you walked down the stone path until you reached the small strip of sand that led out onto the dock.

“You know I’m not ditching you, right?” You asked him, suddenly worried that your best friend really did think you were trying to leave him behind. Bob snorted and looked over at you with a quirk of his brow.

“Of course I don’t,” he said, making a beeline for the boat that bobbed up and down with the waves. “I don’t expect you to tag along with me everywhere. I’m actually really happy that you and the gang are getting along so well.”

“Okay,” you trailed off. “Good. Because I really like hanging out with them.”

Bob chuckled as he stepped onto the boat, turning to face you. “I know. Stay right there and I’ll grab your bag, yeah?”

You nodded, turning to watch the waves as he disappeared towards the back of the boat. You glanced down when a shine of light danced in the corner of your eye. Sitting on the wood of the dock was a collection of more shells and pearls, and you immediately crouched down to take a better look at them. A couple of sand dollars were added into the mix this time and even more pearls of various shapes, sizes, and colors were mixed in with the lot. You picked each one up gently, inspecting them. Your favorite was the beautiful black pearl that rested in the center of the grouping. The oily colors on its surface danced as you inspected it, and you felt your skin prickle in delight.

Your gaze shifted to the breathtaking conch shell that rested near the edge, and you gingerly lifted it up to get a better look at it. It truly was a marvelous sight. One of the best specimens you had ever had the privilege of seeing.

“How much crap do you carry in this thing?”

You whirled around to see Bob grimacing as he made his way towards you with your simple hobo bag.

“I carry just what I need in it,” you replied to him, reaching an arm out to take the bag.

“What are you doing crouched over here?” Bob asked you, brow furrowing as he handed it off to you. He stopped short when he saw the collection of ocean treasures at your feet. He inspected them before moving his eyes up to meet yours.

“Look at these!” You grinned, gesturing down at them. “These are more spectacular than the last bunch! Have you ever seen such amazing specimens? And these pearls!”

“Yeah,” Bob said uneasily, eyes shifting to look out at the water. “They’re pretty great.”

You stood up suddenly, turning to fix him with a small glare.

“What is up with you?” You demanded, hands on your hips. “You love things like this! You’re the one person I know who gets more excited about this shit than I do, and you’re over here looking like someone just told you they were planning on kidnapping me. You did the same thing yesterday!”

Bob’s eyes widened at your outburst before melting into a sheepish expression as he looked away. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck before letting out a sigh, looking back at you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed. “The shells are great, really. I guess I just have a lot on my mind with the murders and all that.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, replacing the annoyance. Your hands moved to pull him into a hug, one he returned.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” You told him, squeezing him tight. “I’ll be extra careful to not be by myself at night, so you don’t have to worry about me, yeah?”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He pulled back to look at you, a fond smile on his face as he regarded you.

“I’m always going to worry about you, you know,” he smirked, something serious behind his eyes despite the teasing tone he used. “You’re like the little sister I never had.”

“Bob,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m literally three months older than you.”

He grinned at that.

“Semantics.”

The street was busy as people walked back and forth along the boardwalk, taking in the different rides and stalls as the excitement for summer festival began to grow. Several decorations littered the pathways, all of various sea creatures and more than a few mermaids. You watched the different families, friends, and couples run around to the different events, and you let out a sigh as you checked your phone once again.

Sorry, Skip! Mom needed help with some things at the shop so I’m running late. Give me half an hour!

That had been thirty-five minutes ago, and you hadn’t heard anything. Sighing, you wiped the sweat from your brow, deciding to take a break from the overwhelming heat. You spotted a familiar, little shop and began walking towards it.

The bell above the door rang out as you stepped inside, letting out a breath of relief as the cool air washed over you. The shop hadn’t changed much in the days since you had last been in. There were new novelty items scattered about, but for the most part, Mrs. Cambroni’s shop was still quaint and cheesy.

The old woman appeared from the backroom, giving you a warm smile as she gave you a once over. Her eyes landed on your neck, an eyebrow quirking as she took in the raised skin that still shone in the light.

“My, my, dear,” she hummed, leaning against the counter. “What happened there?”

“Oh this?” You asked, resting your hand over the mark. You suppressed a shiver as a oddly pleasant feeling washed over you. “I had a bit of an accident the other day. I fell of a boat and washed up on shore.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Yeah, but I’m okay!” You chirped. “The doctor checked me out and said I was fine, just a little bruised. Said I was really lucky that nothing worse happened.”

“I’m sure you were,” she murmured, eyes still locked on your neck.

“But I guess I must have hit my neck pretty good on some rocks because the bump hasn’t gone away and the algae practically looks like it’s a part of my skin now,” you joked. Mrs. Cambroni blinked at you.

“The…algae?�� She asked. You nodded, and she threw her head back in a fit of laughter. You stared at her in confusion until she calmed down, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to laugh,” she said through bouts of giggles. “What brings you by my little shop?”

“Oh!” You cried, moving closer to the counter. “Nothing really, I was just waiting for a friend, but she’s running late. So, I thought I’d pop back in and say hi after I got dragged out of here the other day.”

Mrs. Cambroni gave another hum, a knowing look on her face. She took a sip from the cup of tea she held in her hands.

“Have you found any interesting seashells along the beach since I last saw you?”

“Actually, yes!” You smiled, digging through your bag to pull out the collection you were beginning to compile. “I found these over the last couple of days. It’s strange though, none of these were on the beach. I found a pile of them on our boat and then another pile on the dock this morning. My friend said it must have been the current-”

Mrs. Cambroni’s eyes widened as she coughed up her tea, nearly choking on it as she fought to regain control over her breathing. You reached out a hand to soothe her, and she gave you a grateful smile.

“The current, you say?” She said, barely hiding her amusement. You nodded self consciously, and the old woman shook her head with a chuckle.

“Seems to me like you’ve caught the eye of a sea person, my dear.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “What?”

“I’m surprised no one’s told you yet,” she mused, setting her cup down and examining the shells and pearls. “It’s part of the courting rituals for their kind, after all. Just like that intention bite on your neck.”

Your blood ran cold, recalling how your first reaction to the raised skin was that it looked like a bite mark.

“But it’s not-”

“Oh, but it is, dear child,” she smiled, no hint of malice to it, just understanding. “I’m not sure why no one is telling you the truth. Perhaps it’s because you aren’t a local, and they don’t know if you can be fully trusted yet. Or perhaps it’s because you were chosen in a moment of frenzy. Choice is such an important piece of the courting ritual, after all.”

“Is that why you’re telling me all of this?” You asked her, brow quirked. “Because you think I should have a choice?”

“Precisely. How can you make an informed decision without all of the pieces?”

“Alright, then,” You started, deciding to amuse the woman before you, “what is it you can tell me?”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Tell me more about the courting rituals. What are they? What does it entail?”

“Well,” she smiled, “that certainly is an interesting first question. It’s simple really. It starts with the bite mark on your neck. What you have right now is called an intention bite. This bite is to let other sea people know that you have been marked as the intended mate for someone. As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, it changes your scent as well.”

“Are you saying that I smell different?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “But not in an unpleasant way, dear. And as long as that’s the only bite mark that remains on your neck, it’ll fade after a few months along with it. The intention mark is only meant to be a placeholder for the permanent mark.”

“And what is that?” You asked her. Mrs. Cambroni turned her serious gaze to your face.

“That would be the mating mark.”

“And what does that one do?” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why you were entertaining this conversation, to be honest. Maybe it was your longstanding fascination with mermaids that kept you rooted there, listening intently. Or maybe it was because a part of you, one that you were trying your best not to acknowledge in that moment, believed her.

Before Mrs. Cambroni could respond, the bell above the door chimed again, and you both turned to see Nat red faced and out of breath as she looked at you.

“There you are!” She smiled, relaxing as she let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Sorry!” You exclaimed, gathering your seashells and giving Mrs. Cambroni an apologetic smile. “I was getting really hot and I thought I’d stop in here for a few minutes.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Nat said, watching the older woman with a suspicious frown. “I lost track of the time after I texted you.”

You waved to the shop owner as you followed Nat out the door, the sun bathing you in its warm rays. You peered over at your friend, a mischievous smirk on your face as your eyes lowered to her neck.

“Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that huge hickey on your neck, right?”

Nat’s hand flew up to her neck, cheeks flushing as she tried to splutter out an excuse.

“So,” you chirped as your friend continued to recover her speech. “Which of the boys is it?”

“What makes you so sure it was one of them?” She muttered, the red on her cheeks growing more pronounced.

You ignored her. “My money is on Javy.”

“How did you know?” She shrieked, earning a couple of stares from passersby. You laughed at her expression.

“I didn’t until just now.”

Nat let out a long groan, hiding her face in her hands. You rested a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said. “I think the two of you are really cute, and I don’t think the others have figured it out yet. I just see the way you two look at each other when you think no one else is. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

Natasha peeked out from behind her fingers, an oddly thoughtful look on her face as she studied you. Before you could ask, she was straightening up, a smile replacing her embarrassment.

“Do you think you could hold off on saying anything?” She asked you. You nodded, holding out your pinky to her. She wrapped her own around it, and the two of you shook on it.

“Scout’s honor, Nat!”

“Good!” She giggled, peering around the boardwalk. “What do you want to hit first?”

After Nat convinced you to take a ride on the tilt-o-whirl, you were sure you’d never walk straight again. You groaned as you fought to stay upright, nearly crashing into a man as you passed him. Your shoulder bumped his, and you turned around to look at him.

“I am so sorry!” You cried, hands reaching out to steady him, but stopping when you noticed that he was just fine. And staring at you. You gave him a sheepish smile, but the look on his face remained impassive. If the world wasn’t still spinning around you, you might have said that the green in his eyes glowed in the summer light. Natasha laughed beside you, throwing out another apology to the man as she dragged you off.

“Never again, Nat,” you said, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it without hurling!” She cackled, leaning you against the wood railing so you could catch your breath.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” you muttered, leaning over the side.

“Natasha!”

The both of you turned to see the weathered face of the FBI agent and his partner strolling up to you.

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Kazansky!” She called out with a wave. You turned to face them just as they stopped in front of you.

“C’mon now, Nat. It’s Tom, you know that,” the older man chuckled, eyes moving to you. “And who is this?”

“Y/n,” you introduced yourself, reaching out a hand to shake his. “But everyone just calls me Skipper these days.”

“Ah! You must be the young lady Susan was telling me about the other day,” Tom smiled. “It’s good to finally put a face to a name. This is my partner, Agent Beau Simpson.”

“A pleasure,” the other man said as he shook both of your hands.

“So are you two enjoying the festival so far?” Tom asked, smile still on his face. “This small town isn’t too boring for you, is it, Skipper?”

“Not at all!” You assured him, shaking your head. “I think it’s quite a charming little place! And everyone has been so nice since I got here.”

“That’s good to hear,” he chuckled, eyes falling to your neck. “Where’s the lucky boy?”

You gave him a confused look, and Nat cleared her throat, stepping up.

“It’s so embarrassing,” she started, giving Tom a pointed look. “Javy and I have been seeing each other on the sly for a while now, and I didn’t even think he left a mark. I’ll have to tell him to be more careful next time.”

Tom glanced between the two of you, understanding dawning on his face. He gave another smile.

“Young love is such a wonderful thing, don’t you agree Beau?” He asked his partner, who just smiled in agreement. “Don’t keep it a secret for too long, Nat.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“You two are being careful, aren’t you?” Asked Agent Simpson. Nat’s face could have been mistaken for a tomato from how hard she was blushing. Agent Simpson seemed to have realized what he said and a blush of his own crept onto his face.

“With the murders, I mean,” he explained quickly. Tom let out a chuckle as Nat cleared her throat. “We just got done giving a press conference. No curfew yet, but we’re advising young ladies to not be out at night on their own until we can find whoever is doing this.”

“Oh, of course!” You said, nodding your head in understanding. “We’re being careful! It’s such a shame what happened.”

“You two were there, weren’t you?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, we were,” you trailed off, feeling the nausea return at the memory of the girl’s body as it lay in the sand. You suppressed a shudder. “It was awful.”

“It was,” Beau agreed, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Which is why we don’t want to see anything happen to anyone else.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” Nat said, a determined smile on her face as she looked at the two older men. Tom chuckled, eyes moving from her to you, still studying the mark on your neck.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose we will.”

You couldn’t help but think back to your conversation with Mrs. Cambroni.

As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for.

“Well,” Tom started, eyes looking over your shoulder now, “you two ladies have fun! We won’t keep you any longer.”

He made to move, and Agent Simpson made to follow after him. The dark haired man stopped just after he passed you.

“Oh,” he said, “And don’t hesitate to let us know if you see anything suspicious, yeah?”

“We will!” Nat called after him as she started dragging you in the opposite direction. The whole exchange felt weird to you. Why had Tom asked Nat about who the lucky man was when he was looking at your neck? Why did he keep starting at it at all? What had he meant by not having to worry?

You took a deep breath, deciding that you were overthinking the matter and that Mrs. Cambroni’s stories had just gotten in your head. But even as you had made your mind up to ignore your questions, you couldn’t help but feel a pulse come from the base of your neck as if it were begging you to keep questioning.

[larkingame]

outsourcing larkin's code

I’m not going to lie to you all, coding Larkin the past few months has been a relative nightmare. I’m going to reveal to you one of my deepest fears: I send you this game to play and I get bombarded with message after message about how broken it is. This past weekend, I’ve been awake a total of thirty-six hours fixing bugs/wracked with this existential fear that what I’m giving you isn’t good enough. And I know, I know, I’ve really prided myself as this stem girlie who knows how to code! And to be totally fair to myself, I do! I’m just not as advanced as I’d like myself (and for the sake of larkin, I NEED to be) 

Coding has been taking the fun out of writing. That’s why I started this project to begin with, the writing. It’s also, I think, why this fucking (sorry for the expletives) project has taken so god damn long. I am so sick of it dude, like just when I feel like I’ve gotten ahead of the curve and feel really confident that I’m in a good place with where I’m at write--I come to the realization that I’ll have to code it. As much as I hate to bring her up 🤢 twine is not choicescript. I can’t simply press a button to see if my code will pass. I have to go through the humiliating endeavor of putting it out into the world and having others tell me everything I’ve done wrong (even if I think I’ve checked everything over a hundred times.) 

Which is why I’ve come to a conclusion. I need help. I’m in the process of finding someone to outsource the coding of Larkin to--that way I can focus primarily on the writing aspect, the important part to me, the part I care about. Which is why this first version of the demo is much smaller than I initially wanted it to be. It’s about 55k words and essentially encompasses the first chapter of Larkin before I switched over to the episode format. I’m planning to release the full episode later this year, after I’ve worked with a developer and gotten Larkin to be as good as it possibly can be, but I just don’t feel comfortable releasing what it is in its current state with all the bugs and code-screw-ups as is. 

That being said, the earliest version of Larkin--that is, the last version of Larkin that has solely me behind the wheel, will go up for all Patrons tonight at 6 p.m. EST and fully live on Friday, June 14th at 5 p.m. EST. I want to thank ari <3 who has joined my ranks as an official editor and has done amazing work with me so far, as well as tapeworm and several of my other artists who are producing all this beautiful art that is going to be implemented into the game in the near future. I thank you for your continued patience with this development, and look forward to what you have to say about this new version <3

[friendlybowlofsoup]

Another Update

Hello Friends,

I have a rather long (but optimistic!) update to share with you all today. As many of you are probably tired of reading these kind of posts, I have a TL;DR here, but I did want to share what has been on my mind in that past half-year that I haven't been here.

It has been rough, and busy as always, but I think I'm finally facing myself and my project for the first time in a very long time.

TL;DR (it's actually long, I have a lot to say (*_ _)人)

I soul-searched and decided to stop compromising on my own feelings with regards to this project. I gave in to everything I wanted to do.

Plot changes, which means some character changes, which means some of the demo is outdated.

GotRM will be switching over to Twine.

----

OH MAN DID I SUFFER THE LAST FEW MONTHS

After my previous update, I hunkered down and really analyzed how I wanted to proceed with GotRM as a project. Because even prior to that post, I had already been going through long periods of hiatuses (which you are all aware of), and while I didn't lie about school taking up my time, I was also harboring a growing dissatisfaction with my own writing that really killed my progress for a long time.

So after everything had settled, I sat down and forced myself to peel apart my work. I know I said I would answer asks, but I uninstalled all of my social media and put aside this blog to focus. I made a note of all the things I liked and didn't like, and I made a list of things I wanted to change or improve on. The biggest point was that I also looked at my efficiency during actual writing sessions: how much of my time was spent writing vs. fighting with code? How could I change that?

And after a lot of deliberation, I figured there were a few things I had to change from the ground up, summed up in four points:

My working style was super incompatible with grad school. I can't spend 20-30 minutes scrolling up and down CSIDE checking code or looking for narratives while also jumping between chapters to make sure events line up. As this story grows, the more difficult it becomes to keep track of all the branches, so I needed an alternative working method, which I am adhering to now, and it prioritizes efficiency.

I hated the way I was tracking and coding stats in-game. I have griped so much about coding stats, and I have adhered to such a rigid style that I really felt trapped whenever I was confronted with balancing them out. So I'm throwing that to the wind and redoing how I utilize and convey them. Player-side, this decision doesn't change much since I never fully utilized stats in the demo anyway, and the stats page with indicators will still exist, but I'm getting rid of stat bars and how I treat stat checks.

The story I want to write now is different from the one I started out with. I've known for a while that GotRM was becoming far more than the tiny, wishful novella that I wrote as a teenager. I held onto that old story for a long time, but there's just so much I want to change that I realized I'd been clinging to a story I no longer enjoyed writing. So I spent the majority of the last few months rewriting GotRM from scratch. I redid some worldbuilding, I changed a lot of plot points, and I fixed a lot of characters' backstories accordingly. This meant scrapping stuff from even the demo, but that turned out to not be the biggest issue because:

I wanted to branch away from ChoiceScript. Honestly, I never really cared about getting officially published, but the camaraderie in the forums and on Tumblr were why I committed to CS and CoG. However, ultimately, I really want the functionality that other tools can offer GotRM, and so after a long internal debate, I will be switching over to Twine. Fortunately, since I was rewriting everything anyways, this has been relatively painless, and passage mapping has made everything so much neater. I am trying my best to make it up to chapter 2 before I release the new demo, so please look forwards to that!

And so yes, I am still here, chugging along.

I love this game and this story: it's been my creative escape for as long as I could remember, and you can imagine how frustrated I was when I realized I was starting to dread working on it.

I am forever learning more about myself and my writing style, and this is simply more of that journey. Thank you everyone for sticking around, for joining the discord, and for checking up on me--that I have all of you has truly been a dream.

Hopefully more updates to come soon! I understand that there may be questions about these new changes, so please ask away! I will (try) to release some asks that I've been working on in the drafts too, but I will wait until at least tomorrow to release them so that this post doesn't get drowned out immediately.

And as always, with a lot of love,

FriendlyBowlofSoup (Mei)

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK (Teaser)

Get hyped!!!!!! Posting date chapter 1: 14th April

Chapter 1 is now here!

🗲summary:

It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?

🗲pairing: jungkook x f!reader 🗲teaser word count: 365 🗲full fic wc: you do nOt want to know (79k...) 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers, superheroes/villains au, found family (imagine a mafia au with superpowers) 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: in the teaser: none, just some tension. general fic warnings: violence with superpowers, weapons, swearing, arguing, injury, past trauma, mentions of death

>Updates every week!!

Supercharged Masterlist

a/n: guys. it's TIIIIIME!!! how many years have you heard me talk about how I was working on a superpowered jungkook story?? I started this thing four years ago so I can't believe the moment's finally come! it's been a long ride, and most of those four years was spent not writing this, but I just couldn't stay away either! I really wanted to tell this story, and now here it is and I am so happy to be able to share it💜 Let me know in a reblog, comment or ask if you want to join my taglist for this series! Over the next week before chapter 1 is released, check back as I introduce our characters👀I'm so excited for you to meet them!

As a smile was just blooming on your face, it was halted by Namjoon's next words.

“But. You aren’t ready just yet. I want you out there with us, so I’m willing to send you out sooner than I have with others before. These are unusual times, and you have to understand this will be more dangerous than I normally send rookies to. There’s work to do, with your powers, but also…

“As much as I appreciate your trust in us, I know it doesn’t extend fully. I need my team to be able to trust each other. Every single one.”

Fixing you with a hard stare to accompany his last words, he was effective in making you shrink in your seat. You knew exactly who he was talking about.

And that person was waiting for you right outside.

On leaving the office, you found Jungkook leaning up against the wall. Jin and Namjoon had hung back, leaving you alone as you emerged, and you instantly rolled your eyes. Determined not to be deterred, you kept walking down the corridor, trying to fix your eyes ahead – firmly away from the infuriating man that watched your approach.

“Scared yet?” his smirk bled through his words. You were almost upon him at this point, and he pushed away from the wall, blocking the way with his black-clad body.

Eyes flicking up to him, unimpressed, you tapped your foot.

“Why would I be scared?”

One corner of his mouth curved up, looking you in the eye as he leaned a little closer.

“We aren’t heroes, honey.”

“Thanks for spelling that out, Jungkook,” you drawled, making to step past him.

His laughter followed you while you started walking away.

“Need help packing?” he called.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jin’s stern voice joined him, “no need. She’s not going anywhere.”

Jungkook’s silence spoke volumes.

Glancing back as you reached the end of the corridor, you were met with the livid expression that seemed so familiar. Jungkook’s eyes bulged with shock. You were sure that Jin’s hand on his shoulder was all that was holding him back.

Making the most of his eyes on you, you flashed a serene smile and walked away.

Thank you for reading!! Part 1 is coming on April 14th, and I will update every week (that's a promise, since it's already written in full!)💜

Contact me to get yourself on the tag list!

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities