#the way i see it is if i’m allowed to wear colorful scrubs and it’s not an issue then why would colorful makeup be an issue?

[dragonanon]

If you told me a year ago that I would get into makeup and then obsess over it to the point where I legit document in the notes app on my phone, the different color and product combinations I’ve used along with which clothes they look the best with, I would’ve asked if you were high. 🙃😅

[raspberrybesitos]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward. 

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food. 

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way. 

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter. 

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet. 

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby. 

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles. 

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him. 

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat. 

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?” 

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving. 

“I���m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

[basilone]

Ooo maybe 25. Gentle with Brady? Would love to see some more of your writing on this blog again !!

Lovely anon, both yourself and @mercurygray had a similar thought... and I thought, well, why not combine the two? I hope y'all don't mind! ���� It's been lovely to experiment more in the MotA-side of things writing-wise for sure. 😊

golden & gentle

He never liked hospitals much. John supposes most people don’t – too many tragedies – but it’s the antiseptic that gets to him most. He sniffs loudly. Brushes his tickling nose with his uninjured hand, then sniffs again. Lemmons uses something similar in the planes sometimes. Scrubs them clean. It’s got John sneezing so much that Curt keeps joking about him being allergic to the cockpit.

Kept joking.

He exhales past the suckerpunch that landed entirely too close to his gut. Supposes it’s a small mercy he didn’t say it out loud this time. The dead need to stay dead. Need to be buried somewhere in the past, in some unmarked memories, lest they become ghosts to the living. As far as hospitals go, they’re as near to ghosts as he can tread.

“Take a seat, Captain,” he hears somewhere to his left. “Will be just a minute.”

John makes the mistake of turning into the voice’s direction. There’s a familiar cadence to its lilt, though softer than his memories of it would normally allow. He spies dark hair pulled back beneath a nurse’s cap, dark eyes to match, and one hell of a familiar button nose. Takes a step back when he registers the dimple in her chin. Almost knocks the chair over in his haste to put more distance between himself and… and… and that woman.

That woman actually smiles, though, which gives him pause. “I see you’ve met Ida.” It’s not quite a question, and if it is it sounds like one she already knows the answer to. “My twin sister,” she clarifies, clearly registering his answering frown. “Cressida Dorrance-Jones, and she’ll never make you forget that name while you’re at her table?”

John snaps his fingers. “Her, yes,” he agrees, feeling a cold shiver course over his back at the mere mention of that particular interrogator. “Apologies, Lieutenant Dorrance-Jones, I didn’t realize she has a sister. Let alone a twin.”

“And that, Captain, is exactly why she and I don’t do the same job. You can drop the Dorrance part of the name with me, by the way. Plenty of those around here already, each more insufferable than the last, and I’m as far from the golden child status in my family as a girl’s ever gonna get. Take a seat, why don’t ya? Let me get a good look at that hand of yours.”

“It’s just a scrape,” he minimizes as he sinks down on the chair.

“With the way you lot work,” she says, clearly not quite believing him if the stash of supplies she dumps on the nearby table is anything to go by, “you would still call it a scrape if half your hand was in danger of falling off. No offense, sir.”

“None taken, Lieutenant Jones.” He knows for a fact that Cleven would be one of those fellows. Hell, the man would probably not see a hospital’s insides for himself at all if DeMarco wasn’t such an effective mother hen. “Plane’s damage was a little sharper than it looked, and I wasn’t wearing my gloves anymore.”

Her hand is warmer than his. Her touch far softer than her twin’s would have been. Gentle, even, with the way she presses down around the wound and retracts the moment it begins to sting. John hisses through his teeth when her little finger dances too close to the part that’s been coloring every shade of red and purple conceivable.

“You banged this up real good, Captain…?”

“Brady. John Brady.”

Her answering smile takes the sting out of her touch just a little. “Well, Captain Brady, you’ve got a sweet bruise here. Gonna be a bit of a rainbow there for a while. Scrape’s not too ugly, won’t need stitches,” she assesses with a well-practiced eye, “but you’re gonna need to keep it clean. You come see me before you fly, all right?”

“Sure?”

“I’ll bandage it up when you go up there. Get you a bigger glove, too.” She snorts. “Last time a fella had a scrape like this, he tried to worm his big hand into his little leather glove. I just about had kittens seein’ that, lemme tell ya!”

John winces. “That sounds ill-advised.”

“I know, right? Some fellas are just like that, sir.” A shrug. Another smile. “Can’t do much about that except yell at them, I suppose. I can tell you’re smarter than that, though. Bet you’re gonna be right as rain once we get this cleaned out.”

“And I can fly with this?” he checks, flexing his hand a little despite the pain. “You’re sure?”

“Seen worse. And you’re needed up there, ain’t ya?”

Until I, too, become a ghost to the living. “So people tell me,” he says, pushing all thoughts of a haunting back to his mind’s furthest recesses. He offers her a thin, wan smile of his own. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she warns, wet cloth in hand. His nose almost twitches at the scent that’s wafting up at him. “This is gonna sting like a motherfucker, sir, ain’t no other way to say that.”

“Appreciate the warning, Lieutenant.”

“I try to be good about that, sir. Them fellas who come in with the frostbite always appreciate it, too. Least you ain’t got that, that’d be somethin’ different to treat…”

Lieutenant Jones, unlike her sister, is an anecdotal talker pulling stories out of her mouth the way a magician would pull a rabbit out of a hat. She hardly seems to expect answers to all of it, though she goes through the niceties spiel of where ya from I’m from Georgia ooooh New York state how fancy and exclaims real-not-feigned excitement about his college classes. John lets the chatter wash over him as he chews on the inside of his cheek to keep the pain in check.

“You’d do all right as an interrogator,” he allows, once she’s managed to pull half his family history to the forefront of the conversation. “I’d already forgotten I’d scraped my thumb on that bike two summers ago until you asked me about that scar just now!”

“I would,” she snorts, “but can you imagine Ida as a nurse? That’s what I thought”– she laughs to his answering shudder –“so I’m right where I should be. As, it seems, are you.”

He can only hope that’s true.

[duck-ducks]

Chapter 4: tales of long past

As obnoxious and terrifying as they were, it was dawning on Gladiolus that they were just as annoying as humans could be. While Jazz, who she was riding in, had silently accepted that she wasn’t interested in conversing for the time being, Sideswipe had not.

“We’ve probably been one earth since you were a kid-” While he continued on with his rambling, her attention was drawn to the golden one.

This one had said nothing since the drive began. All it did was circle the one pulling Deadend, who had done what she assumed was the equivalent of going limp when he, in his car form, was latched to the back of a larger red pickup truck.

Sideswipe just wouldn’t quit. “Are you out of high school?” He was like a toddler who just learned how to ask questions. Only the questions were structured better more detailed.

“Uh, yeah I am, I graduated years ago.” His stream of consciousness that spouted out of what she assumed was his mouth, although he was currently a car so she really couldn’t be sure, was while almost irritating was also in a way grounding. She could just listen to him as he seemed to have no need of any responses to anything he said or asked.

If only his volume could be lowered just a little then she would probably be able to fall asleep, alas he was just loud enough to make her pay attention to him should she stop thinking so hard.

She jumped slightly in her seat when she glance out the window to see the walls of a tunnel. It seemed Sideswipe's talking had served the unintentional purpose of distracting her as she hadn’t noticed that her surroundings had changed from the paved road and open sky to an entirely metal interior.

Even inside Jazz she felt that wherever they were should be cold. She could imagine the feel of the cool metal walls.

Slowing to a stop, Jazz opened his door to let her out. It was warm, not the hot kind of warm that made you slightly sweaty but the cozy kind of warm. The kind that still allows a cool breeze to feel nice but not as a relief.

This place was just as big as the room with the circular structure she had been in earlier after her original abduction; however, this room held many others.

Not only were there more robots of wildly different sizes and colors but also humans. Humans from many walks of life if their clothes and ages were anything to go by.

A group of teenagers whooped and ran around a smaller yellow robot, closely watched by a serious pink one.

A woman with dark hair wearing scrubs was conversing with a red and white robot who had red medical crosses on his shoulders. She could guess he must be an ambulance.

Small groups of robots had humans sitting or standing on their shoulders.

The floor didn’t shake, it didn’t even tremble as she would have expected it to when one of the largest robots made his way towards her. He knelt down in front of Gladiolus, she wanted to back up but that would mean bumping into Jazz’s door.

Although she couldn’t see his mouth, if he even had one, his voice was gentle, soothing, the kind of voice she’d like to hear while listening to an audio book. “Hello, My name is Optimus Prime. I understand that this is all frightening and confusing, if you would allow it I would like to explain who we are and why we are here.”

He held out his huge hand in front of her like he meant to greet her with a hand shake. She wasn’t sure if that’s what he wanted but that’s how she would opt to take it, she could only really “shake” one of his fingers. It must have looked comedic to anyone watching, Optimus had to put his other hand on the ground to keep balance while crouching so low.

“I’m Gladiolus.” she brought her arms awkwardly straight by her sides.

He stared at her for a moment, not saying anything, simply taking in her presence. Gladiolus had never been the sort to think herself important or in the makings of greatness but, the way he looked at her made her feel like he could see more than she could about herself. As though he knew what she could become and was trying to find a way to bring it about, like an artist with blank canvas.

His mask opened and he smiled at her. His face reminded her of her grandfather, warm and welcoming, the kind of face that had seen a lot but held onto the joy of what came next. “Perhaps somewhere quiet would benefit this conversation.” standing at his full height, she was surprised that he didn’t seem looming. Optimus had this open air about him, it made you want to do what he said.

Gladiolus went to nod only to stop, she was sure there was much to say about the situation but something felt off. Optimus took slow steps, he didn’t try to rush her.

It was now she saw it, all the robots that had rescued her were present except for the one pulling Deadend. Where had he taken him? What would they do with him? She wanted to ask, wanted to know what would become of the one troublemaker they caught.

Instead she said nothing.

She followed Optimus through hallways, these halls lacked the uniformity of the ones the Stunticons carried her through. The walls were various colors and other robots and humans passed them. It was bright and jovial in atmosphere. Jaring when compared to her earlier experiences the past few hours.

Optimus didn’t talk until they reached their destination, it appeared to be a giant living room. Couches and end tables, what she assumed was a massive tv, and a few robots milling around. There was a raised section with human sized things of the same caliber on it, along with a couple people about, most of which were conversing in little groups.

Optimus gestured in the direction of a staircase leading to the human area. Within the area, Gladiolus was sat close to the edge with Optimus sitting in a chair he had pulled over in front of her.

And then he spoke. He talked of everything she couldn't have even known to ask about. The war, how it started, Megatron and his Decepticons, Optimus Prime and his Autobots. After giving her an overview of the big picture he began to explain the details, what Cybertronians were, where they were from, why they were here.

He didn’t require her to ask questions he answered any she may have had of each topic before she could ask for any clarifications. It was like he knew what she was going to ask, like he had had this conversation more than a few times before. Considering how many other humans she saw he must practically have this conversation scripted by now.

Gladiolus couldn’t tell you how long he spoke at her, but she was enraptured by what he said. “I hope to one day gain peace between our factions, however I fear we have been at odds far too long to ever reconcile.” his features turned to a hard sadness. Throughout most of his tale Optimus had been informative first and foremost but as it came to more recent events he grew more bitter in tone, it was barely noticeable, the kind of bitterness someone tried to hide to save face, a tired bitterness one born of horrors you can never unsee. Gladiolus didn’t have all the context to understand Optimus Prime's bitterness or the horrors he granted a description to her. All she had was the sadness she kept close to her heart and questions that wanted answers.

Questions she wouldn’t leave unvoiced this time.

“The Decepticons you capture, what happens to them?” She wondered if they had some kind of geneva convention or if they followed the human one while on earth. She thought about Dead end and what may become of him in enemy custody.

There was a glint in Optimus’s eyes that Gladiolus couldn't read, his finials perked with interest. “If you are concerned for Deadend, I assure you he will not be mistreated. For now he will wait in the brig until we can question him.”

It was a slightly unsatisfying answer. “What about the other Stunticons? Will they try to get him back, I know you said Decepticons have less comradery among them but they seemed kinda close.”

“The Stunticons are a gestalt and a young one at that, their coding demands that they maintain a certain amount of integration with each other. And having been created on this planet I believe they have adapted to a more human type of familial relationship then most Cybertron created gestalts would”

“So they're considered young by your standards. Some of the things they did, did reminded me of children.” she said it in a joking tone, meaning no truth to the statement.

Optimus nods in agreement “I suppose that is one way of looking at them.

Although they onlined with basic functions and knowledge, they have not been online for long and still have much to learn.”

“What do you mean? How old are they?”

“They are only three earth solar cycles in age. They are among some of the youngest Cybertronians currently living.”

“Excuse me. They’re what.” Gladiolus stood from her chair, she heard chairs behind her slide against the floor as other people stood as well.

“Approximately Three earth solar cycles in age.” Optimus was baffled by her startled reaction.

“Three solar cycles? As in three years? They’re three years old?”

“Woah wait Prime I didn’t know that!” A middle aged man with brown hair mostly hidden under a bright yellow hardhat spoke up. “You’ve been fighting kids this whole time. Oh my god Optimus you put a toddler in the brig. Is he unsupervised?” It was nice to not be the only one put off by this.

“Sparky we would never leave someone kept in the brig to their own devices, he is being monitored remotely. And while it is unfortunate that the Stunticons are as young as they are, I don't think they can be considered with the same age standards as humans.”

“You said that calling them children is one way of looking at them.” Gladiolus pointed out. She crossed her arms at almost the same interval as ‘Sparky’ although she popped a hip to the side while he leaned forward slightly and squinted at Optimus’s widening eyes.

“Perhaps I should get Jazz to explain the difference in our cultures in this regard.” Optimus didn’t stand up but he raised his hands palms outwards and moved as though to make it so he could make a quick exit, his finials slowly moved down. Gladiolus wanted to equate it to a timid cornered animal but left that train of thought behind to get back on topic.

“No wonder they’re so misbehaved if they have Megatron as a role model.” Sparky added thoughtfully.

From the little she had actually seen of him and the descriptions Optimus had given her were enough to know the Decepticon leader couldn't be a good parent to five toddler-teenagers.

“I won’t disprove you of that opinion however Deadend is still a dangerous Decepticon soldier no matter his current age.” Optimus said.

“Seems to me you captured him pretty easily especially with the whole two against one sideswipe and the gold one had going on. How long was that fight before they retreated.”

“Actually I kinda gotta give that one to Optimus, gestalts aren't just a fancy word for a close group of mechs, it's another name for combiners, mechs who can -combine- with one another to make a bigger stronger bot. The Stunticons can combine to make Menasor, a giant destructive pain in the ass.” Sparky informed her.

It still didn’t sit right with Gladiolus and from his expression it didn’t with Sparky either.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for Gladiolus to be introduced to the others.” Optimus addressed Sparky, it felt like a cheap shot at redirecting.

“Right.” it was clear with Sparky’s tone this would not be the last of this conversation. “Well shoot I haven’t even properly introduced myself. The names Sparkplug Witwicky, me and my son Spike were some of the first to meet the Autobots when they came to earth.”

“Gladiolus Roberts, I got kidnapped by the Stunticons today.” Optimus chuffed at this but added no other comment. Gladiolus couldn’t tell if this was of amusement or alarm.

“Oh yeah, that's about as fun as introductions to the Decepticons get.” Sparkplug nodded with his hands on his hips while looking into the distance, a very ‘yup, that's how it is’ dad pose.

Gladiolus jumped when a creak sounded from a nearby vent. Later she would swear she saw yellow optics through the vent cover, now she wouldn’t notice right away, she would look back to Sparkplug and continue a conversation.

Buzzsaw couldn’t know that Gladiolus wasn’t in the right mind to process that she had seen her. For all she knew the human woman had seen her get sloppy in enemy territory and let it slide. Surely Soundwave wouldn’t mind her taking a little long to gather some personal interest information. Not like Deadend would cease to exist in the Autobot brig while he waited.

Buzzsaw opened a comm line. Perhaps her master would let her use this.

 

Gladiolus was driven home by a bot. He told her he would drive her to work the next day and that he would pick her up and bring her back to the Auto bot base afterwards. She wasn’t given a name and she didn’t ask. She would in the morning but she had enough of learning names today, of formal introductions or the lack of them.

She went inside her house that for the first time, in a long time, felt far too quiet.

She didn’t shower or change clothes, just climbed into bed.

She ended the day trying hard to stop thinking. To stop wondering. To turn her mind off and fall into either the mercy or the curse of the dream realm.

Come the morning she wouldn’t remember her dreams. She wouldn’t remember the conversations had with those long passed that spoke of futures and ends, of yellow optics and purple visors. She wouldn’t remember how they warned her.

She wouldn’t remember.

She would simply wake.

[originalfartgalaxy]

What Does He Looked Like?

When Hassan turned 12, he received his first pair of shoes, it was a gift from his father; who’s apparently been saving up the money for years, anticipating no more unexpected situation on the horizon, his father was able to make the purchase . It’s been 4 years since then and that same shoes is so worn-out its unrecognizable; now, he longs for a new pair.   

“Father, just a few more days and we can finally harvest, once that is done, I’d like to get myself a new pair of shoes.” Hassan said looking up to his father. “I’ve been wearing the same shoes for several years now and its already worn out, they laugh at me at school.” he complained, shifting his gaze to avoid his father’s eyes. He couldn’t contain the spark of embarrassment.  

A warm smile crept onto his father's face as he asked, “Sure! What color do you want?”

Hassan’s face beamed with excitement. “I want black! It looks cool and suits me well.” he stood in front of his father and showed his shoes.

Mr khilaam looks down, seeing how damaged the shoes are, he felt ashamed.

“Black again?” looking straight at Hassan, “You have to try out other colors too.” his father commented.

“C’mon, you know that’s the only color allowed at school, besides, I like black.” Hassan insisted, shuffling the grass with his feet.

The father chuckled. “Alright alright, whatever you say. I’ll buy you one but you have to keep it a secret to your mother, we both know she prioritize needs before wants” he playfully said.

“Father, I ‘need’ a new shoes” Hassan replied firmly, shooting glares at his father. Amused by this sight, Mr. Khilaam raised his hand.

Laughing lightly, he pat his son’s head. “Don’t let other people break your spirit kid. A shoes can be changed but not a broken spirit. You’re my son, be tough. Fight back if necessary but as much as possible you have to keep the calmness of your mind, don’t make enemies, because like I said, a worn shoes can be changed and so are people’s opinion.”

Hassan’s brow met each other, pouting his mouth he looked away and mumbled. “I’m not making enemies, but I really need a new pair of shoes”

“Hahaha, I know I know. Once this is harvested, I will buy you a new pair.”

The pair of son and father looked at the vast acres of rice fields, fresh air embraces their body as they both showed smile of satisfaction. They both had worked hard maintaining a healthy condition of this plants, like his father’s frequent advice to him. A great effort will receive a great reward, and that just unfold right in front of his eyes. And he’s about to have a new pair of shoes, Hassan’s smile travel through his mouth to his eyes, seeing this unfold, Mr. Khilaam couldn’t contain his happiness; he raised his arms and put around Hassan’s neck, both looking at the rice field, the father and son giggled uncontrollably.

After several days, the harvesting season arrived. Hassan woke up earlier than usual, he excitedly folded his mosquito net and shove them at the usual spot. Hassan’s house is not as big as what the magazine shows, not as big as the television in town shows, just like everyone else, he lived in a humble abode, a small two story nipa house; with one room which he shares with his parents and a kitchen big enough for the comfort of the three of them.

“Where’s Father?” he asked his mother who was cooking on the side, carrying his tube wrap, he walked down the three-step wooden stairs.

“He left already; don’t mind him and start getting ready. By the way, you have to drop something for me at Babo Belay’s house on your way later.”

Hassan shrugged a little and started getting ready, he took the bucket and walked out of the house. After a brief five-minute walk, he reached the central weel of their Bario. There’s only three weels in their Bario, one for the community, one for their Kapitan and one for his family.

After arriving, Hassan wasn’t surprised to be welcomed by the sight of three men scrubbing each others’ back, and on top of that, he was quite familiar with them.

“You’re early” his cousin, Emran jokingly said. Hassan put down his bucket and started filling it.

“I feel good today, like something good is going to happen”, he smiled, flexing his white teeth. He shifted his gaze to Ali, one of the guys, and continued “By the way, any news from the job you mentioned before?”

“Now that you mentioned it, I’m pissed again” Ali replied, scrubbing Harim’s back forcefully.

“Ouch, Dude! Slow down, that hurts!” he cried.

Emran looked at them amusingly, turning his head to Hassan. “The Kapitan suddenly canceled the work, we don’t know why, he didn’t said anything.” he stated.

“And this foolish guy is in debt!” Harim added, scoffing at Ali.

“Argh, I was pretty confident that I’d be able to pay since he’s giving us work. Now I don’t even know where to get the money to pay all those debt”

Harim couldn’t believe his friend was this foolish—too confident to borrow five pack of cigarettes because, according to him, ‘I found a job, I’ll be able to pay’ only for things to end up like this. He wondered how he’d sweet-talk his way into the fuming face of Babo Maria if she learns he can’t pay. He chuckled a bit at the thought of it.

Hassan stopped what he was doing and looked at the guy who just arrived. Carrying his towel, the guy said, “Are you talking about the cancellation of the work the Kapitan was planning to give? Didn’t you hear what happened?”

The four guys turned to him. “What do you mean?” said Hassan.

“What? You didn’t hear? Tsk. Tsk. Apparently, his men ambushed the brother of Joharto, the Kapitan in the next Bario. He’s probably walking on eggshells right now since they won’t let this slide.” Jomar informed, the new guy. 

Confusion painted on their faces. They looked at each other out of disbelief.

“What? I thought they’re in good terms, what happened?” - Harim spoke, preventing the weird feeling growing in his gut.

Emran rolled his eyes. “It’s probably because of the land the government is planning to provide to the farmers. Looks like they both want  it for themselves.”

Among all of them there, Emran is the most observant. Ever since the government personnel visited their small Bario, there’s been  a shift in the Kapitan’s action.

Contrary to his observant nature, however, Hassan is on the less observant side.

“Why kill for a piece of land?” Hassan asked, confusion clearly displayed on his face. The guys scoffed at him.

“You don’t understand because your family has a ‘piece of land’ idiot.” - Ali whined. “Why bother talking to this dumbo?” he continued.

Hassan’s family is known for having cultivated the same land for generations already. Its been passed down from generations to generations, making them one of the oldest families to have reside in that Bario.

“Seriously, I can’t believe we’re sharing the same well.” Jomar added. “For you information, ‘Hassan, The-Soon-To-Be-Land-Owner’”, these words of praise completely lacked sincerity. “not all of us have land in this Bario. Having a land is a big deal; that basically means you have a stable income.” he continued.

Hassan’s eyebrow twisted. Of course, he knows; he’s not completely oblivious to that fact. “I know that, what I don’t understand is, how can they stomach killing someone for a piece of land when they already have a lot?”

They went silent.   

“Greed, what else? They want to be the richest man in this small place,” Emran explained, turning to him. He continued, “So you, Hassan, should stop hanging out with Ibrahim for the meantime. We don’t want to see you bloodied on the street.” he stated with much seriousness. The others seems to agree as they all looked at him and nodded.

No one said anything after that. Hassan took his toothbrush and start working on himself. He was in deep thought the entire time they were bathing. Until he reached home, he couldn’t stop thinking about Emran’s warning—not because he’s scared, of course. He just doesn’t understand why hanging out with Ibrahim could put him in danger. Why would those people harm someone who’s not involve? Beside, they weren’t old enough to be considered a threat. Why would they bother hurting a teenager? Don’t they have better things to do? He didn’t understand.

Hassan was about to leave the house when his mother called. “Datu!” she yelled. “Stop by Babo Belay’s house and give her this watermelon. I asked her to make an amulet for you and your father. We can at least repay her with this.”

Hassan extended his arm to get the fruit. “Mother, why would you ask for something like that?” he exclaimed, looking irritated.

 “Oh, Silly boy, can’t you see how our Bario is so quite these days? Something is about to happen, and we have to be ready for it.” Slapping Hassan on the back, she stated. “Now go, go. Make sure you wear it when you get it, alright?”

The son pouted and started walking. He woke up feeling pretty good, and now it’s all ruined. Why do they have to say all these things today when clearly his father is out there harvesting crops? This should be a happy day since he’s getting new shoes.

As Hassan thought about his new shoes, a subtle shift in his mood became evident. Feeling so much happier, he starts running to reach Babo Belay’s house. He felt calm by the embrace of the wind, as if validating the happiness he’s feeling at the moment.

He reached the lady’s house short after, it was quite and still, as if she wasn’t around.  Hassan was confused; its unusual because she never goes anywhere.

“Babo? Are you there?” he shouted, looking closely at the small space the bamboo walls couldn’t fill. Her small bamboo house was dark inside; he couldn’t quite see what was in there, but he was sure he once made eye contact with a goat head at the center of her house. It wasn’t until he heard a door opening that Hassan stopped squinting.

Babo Belay is standing there, looking at him sharply. He felt like she was looking straight into his soul. He gulped silently, handed the watermelon to her, and stated. “My mother wants you to have this.  She said thank you.”

His forehead formed sweat. A chill swept through his entire body, leaving him slightly shivering. The old lady did not even blink nor reach for the fruit, instead she looked at him more intensely without saying a word.

A few more seconds passed before she moved, handing him a wooden necklace with an eye-looking pendant. “Wear this wherever you go, give the other one to your father too and don’t stay with someone with something red attached to them”

Hassan politely took the necklace and left, looking at it on his way. He couldn’t deny the shiver he felt; the pendant stared at him the same way the old lady did.

He doesn’t really believe in stuff like this; if its one’s time, its one’s time, and nothing can stop it. Letting out a sigh, he put it on quickly; he can’t have his mother nagging all night for not putting this on. Thinking of his new shoes, Hassan was once again dancing with the wind. Sixteen-year-olds tends to get over things easily.

He arrived at school not long after; everyone was assembled at the flag ceremony, including Ibrahim, who waved at him happily.

“Hurry up! You’ll be late!” Ibrahim yelled cheerfully. Hassan smiled and ran faster toward his friend.

He thought, ‘This is the kind of guy they wanted me to stay away from, ridiculous’

Ibrahim is known for being a cheerful kid; they’ve been friends for a long time. Hassan knows that Ibrahim knows nothing about whatever riot his father is starting. Like what his father always said, ‘The sin of the father cannot be a sin of the child’.

“Dude, Norjana’s coming! How do I look?” Hassan looked at his friend, his frantic expression showing how panicked he was. Looking up and down, he smirked and made a thumbs up.

There was nothing red attached to this guy.

The class ended like usual, nothing new and nothing different. “Didn’t you said your father will buy you a new shoes? What’s the color?” Ibrahim excitedly asked him, thinking of his new shoes; Hassan’s eyes twinkled again.

“I asked for black shoes, of course! I wonder what they look like, I can’t wait to go home” The friends giggled in unison. The resting sun embraces them as they walk outside the school gate.

Among the relationships he developed these past few years, the one with Ibrahim is the most genuine and meaningful one. His father always reminded him to seek for meaningful relationships and treasure them.He didn’t understand it at first; a child basically  knows nothing about the world unless he experiences it himself. Over time, Hassan learned just how important it is, and his father was more than proud.

It was as hectic as always, every single student was excited to go home. Some  were waiting outside the school for their parents to pick them up, while others couldn’t contain the adrenaline and ran on their way.

It was busy; everyone is running around, left, right, front, back.. There was students everywhere, and clearly, the clock was running fast.

Except for Hassan, he was looking somewhere far away. He didn’t know if it was the shiver he felt from Babo Belay’s stare, or the fact that he’s so happy; its strange. But he’s aware of one thing; Emran is running towards him, bawling his eyes out, screaming like a madman. He’d never seen him like this. It scared him, so scared. He couldn’t comprehend what Ibrahim was saying beside him, as if there was no one around but him and his cousin, panting so hard, struggling juts to reach Hassan.

‘Time should stop, I wish time would stop. Time has to stop. Please stop. Please. Please.’

“Home. Now.” Emran ordered, dragging his wrist as they ran like there’s no tomorrow. He doesn’t know what’s going on, nor does he want to know.He don’t wanna know. It scared him. Scared so bad. He wants his father. Father, right, he’s buying new shoes; he’ll be home with his new shoes.

Hassan couldn’t feel his feet anymore. They were running for a long time, yet, their house seems so far away. The rain poured and it feels like it’s punishing him. Every drop of it hurts, but for what? Why would the heavens punish him? He didn’t do anything wrong. Why would the heavens punish him when he did nothing wrong? It doesn’t make sense.

Why do people blame those who are not involve just to let the anger out inside their hearts? Is it so hard to admit that you’re the one in the wrong? What’s so hard about apologizing and talking? Whats too hard about asking for forgiveness and to forgive? His father had always said, “Keep the calmness of your mind; the world can be cruel ,but always choose kindness before anything.” so, why can’t we all just forgive?

On the other side of the Bario, in the middle of the day, while Hassan was in school. Mr. Khilaam asked for Samer’s assistance, he wanted to buy new shoes for his son.

“Bapa Khilaam, what shoes are we looking for? We’ve been going circles! We should really ask for the saleslady’s assistance now.” Samer complained, looking at how silly his uncle is right now. Checking every single shoe his eyes landed on too seriously.

“Shh, don’t bother them. I’m about to find it, just wait a little bit.” Mr. Khilaam replied, looking as intensely as before.

Samer knows how easily his uncle get shy in situations like this. He’d rather circle the place some more than ask for him. But what can he do? It is their job to provide assistance.  

“C’mon you’ve been circling around for like 2 hours now; we really should ask for their help.” he retorded, glancing at the saleslady nearby and shyly gesturing at her. The woman, who seem to be observing them for a while now, smiled and walked toward them.

“Aish, Silly boy!” Mr. Khilaam shoot him with serious face, turned to the woman who came to help. “I-I’m sorry, I am looking for a cool shoe.”

The woman is confuse, “Cool shoe?” she thinks for a moment. “Please wait a second”

Samer chuckled lightly, looked at his uncle with disbelief, seeing how innocent he looks right now he can’t help but smile bitterly, every single  shoes is cool.

Samer patted his Uncle’s arm; he should let it go. “See? Easy, you should thank me; I want a new pack of cigarettes.” he jokingly affirmed.

“Didn’t your mother asked you to stop smoking?” Mr. Khilaam glared at him. He was about to refute when the woman interrupted them carrying two boxes of Nike shoes.

“Thank you for waiting, this is what I think you’re looking for,  a cool shoes” she chuckled lightly and handed them the box. Mr. Khilaam smiled at her and opened the first one, black Nike shoes with an eye-catching design; this is exactly what Hassan is looking for.

He looked at it for a few more seconds; deeply contemplating, he has something else in mind.

He opened the next one; inside was a red Nike shoes with an interesting design. Looking intensely at it, he smiled; this would fit his son perfectly, it may not be black but, he will surely love it. “I would like to buy this” He happily announced. Holding the box firmly as they walk towards the counter.

Samer rolled his eyes at how silly looking he was. If they had just asked for the saleslady’s help, they wouldn’t be going around and wasting so much time. “I’ll make a call for a sec, wait for me outside” he whispered, to which his uncle agreed.

Samer wasn’t oblivious to the eyes that had been watching them for a while. Ever since they set foot in this bario, the number of men around them was weird. It’s as if they were watching and waiting, but for what? He couldn’t remember someone he angered, nor does he know someone his uncle angered. The guy is known for being the kindest man in their bario; why would someone like him make enemies?

He was in deep thought when the shop’s door opened, indicating his uncle was no longer inside the store. He felt his body run cold, throat dry as he watched the door close, before he realized what just happened, before he could do anything.

 A series of gun shot echoed throughout the street.

There were screams everywhere; everyone is on the ground, holding their heads as the gun shots continued for some time. It took a while before it stopped.They shot as if there’s no tomorrow, the level of anger from the hands who pulled those triggers was menacing, they were angry, dangerous and murderous. Shaking uncontrollably, Samer looked for him. The shop was ransacked, the shoes were all over the place, the woman whimpering nearby looking traumatized, next to her is a pair of black shoes. A series of shiver crawled down his spine; his beloved uncle was outside.

Pulling enough courage, he tried to stand. The gun shots stopped, and he heard motorcycles rushly running out. That means they got their target, right? But why is his uncle so quite? Shouldn’t he rush inside and see if he’s doing alright? That’s what uncles do.  

His question was soon answered when he opened the door. Horrified by the sight, he fell on the ground, breathing harshly as his tears streamed down. Samer struggle to contained himself; blood was splattered everywhere, the door is painted with crimson red, a strong scent of blood rushed through his nostril. Right outside was the lifeless body of his uncle, face down, still gripping the handle of the paper bag, bathing on his own blood. He wasn’t even able to protect himself.

His uncle is dead.

Hassan’s heart pumped so hard, Samer sat there as if he lost all hope in humanity, crying uncontrollably right next to Hassan’s mother who, for some reason Hassan cannot comprehend, fainted.

There’s a lot of people inside their small home, crying, shouting, confused, angry, he can’t tell.

“W-What happened? W- why do you look like that?” he pulled all his energy to produce the question; he ran so fast can’t take another step anymore. Looking sharply at Samer, he tried to stand properly.

“U-Uncle is……” Samer choked; his crying intensified so hard he couldn’t breath. He tried to make out a word, but nothing is coming out; all he could do is to cry.

Hassan felt his body shiver, he felt thousand of needles peircing him from within. Looking at Samer strangely, his hands moved on their own, sharp pain ignited on his fist. “What about my father huh?! What about him?! say something!! Where’s my father?!” he shouted, anger and pain intensifying his voice.

Emran stopped him from behind: still crying, he hugged him so hard. “Please stop, my brother is sorry.”

“I- I am sorry, so sorry………………………………………… I-I have to get out of there, s-somehow…………” his voice broke again, his body shakes as his mother hugged him dearly, people started arriving left and right, looking as pained and horrified by the news.

“Please just tell me, where is he?! please….” Hassan pleaded, could no longer contain himself he collapsed on the ground. Emram held him tightly; the house was filled with cries and screams. Hassan’s body hurt so bad, every muscle is on fire, his heart was on fire, it feels like he’s dying. So hot, so empty, so cold, so angry. The last time he saw him was last night; he woke up early to greet him but he’s no longer there. When will he able to greet him a good morning again? He wants to, please. Please.

Tears streamed down Hassan's cheeks as he yearned for his father's embrace, the ache of missing him growing with every passing moment. He wanted him there; he wanted his father to hug him. He’s scared,so scared,  every time he’s scared, his father is always there. Every time his confused, his father is always there. What to do now? Just where is he? He needs him. He needs him.

It took a while before Samer calmed down and start narrating what happened, from the shoes to the closed door, every single letter coming out from his mouth were like a sharp blade stabbing Hassan multiple times. He doesn’t understand; it doesn’t make sense. He was ambushed because he’s from the same bario as the Kapitan? His father is not an acquaintance nor a family; he was an innocent farmer who just happened to be there. He was not related; he was not involved, He's innocent. He was so innocent, truly blameless.  

“W-what does he looked like?” Hassan was in pain than ever before, he tried to remember his fathers face, but for some reason, he couldn’t. The face of the man who raised him is no longer visible in his chaotic mind; he couldn’t think straight. He’s going crazy; he needed the image, he needed his father, he badly needed his father.

Once again, he received an apology from Samer and there continued a sentence he would never forget.  

“Is that him?” Hassan impatiently asked, he held his gun tightly, pointing at the man not so far away from them. For five years, Hassan couldn't shake the memory of the ambush that took his father. The day haunted him, both waking and sleeping. All he could think about is this moment, when the table is turned, when he’s getting his revenge.

“That’s him, that’s him right there.” Emram starts the engine, “Are you sure about this? We can still go back and rethink everything.” this was his last attempt to talk Hassan out of his senses.

For the past five years he witnessed how his cousin changed, he witnessed how he turned into a madman, the innocence was gone and so the loving soul his father cultivated over the years. Observant as he was, he knows by all means, this day will come.

“Do you think I’m not sure?” rage clear on his voice “Emran, let me remind you, they put 19 bullet holes on my father’s body! 19! I will never let this go!!” he pushed Emran from behind, holding his gun tightly, he continued. “They showed him no mercy! No fucking Mercy!” Hassan chokes; “I will understand if he angered them, I will understand if he’d done something wrong, but Emran, my father is innocent. He is fucking innocent! He is innocent!”

Tears once again streamed down his cheeks, marking the pain etched on his face, eyes burning with rage he looked at his target, he once prayed for happiness and lifelong health, its funny how he came from a loving son into a lunatic who knows nothing but to curse the world and god. They made him like this, they will pay for turning him like this, every single one of them. He will curse every single one of them.

Emran couldn’t take it anymore, holding the handlebar he gulped. There’s no stopping Hassan, and he choose to help.

In a blink of an eye, a series of gunshot echoed in the street. He did it. He finally did it.  He shoot them. There’s no coming back, this is his life now, his sole purpose.

He’s ready for their revenge, he knows its coming, it will surely come. What’s important right now, however, is that he got his own.

Hassan ambushed the brother of Kapitan Joharto, in a few days, Kapitan Joharto’s side ambushed an innocent Farmer, and there continued a cycle of never ending revenge on both sides; by the family members, by the ones who lost a loved one, until they no longer care who died. It doesn’t make sense to target the innocent, but when does murder made sense? Common sense doesn’t exist in the eyes of a monster.  

“W-what does he looked like?” Hassan was in pain. Slowly forgetting the face of his father. He cannot bear the  sense of disconnectedness with him.

Once again, Samer apologized, and continued with a sentence he would never forget.  

“I’m sorry. If I see him, I won’t be able to sleep.”

[capricious-bastard13]

Obsession

AO3

Rating: Mature

Pair: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: Alternate Universe, Stalking, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, POV First Person, Possessive Sanji, Yandere Sanji, One-Sided Attraction, Short One Shot, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read

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

We became friends through Luffy. A love-hate relationship of sorts that sprouted into something magical.

I looked at you with a grimace and derision on the tip of my tongue. You would glare and growl, scowl and frown, fighting me back with every word that I spit and hack unto your face; such fire never once dying down in the face of our childish idiocy.

Now, I look at you and see the beauty that you hold. The brightness of your smile and the life in your eyes. The vibrancy of your entire being fills a room to near suffocation.

I wish to hold your hand and whisper love into your ears, I wish to touch your skin and caress it against mine. My lips to yours, my mind to yours, my heart, my everything is yours.

I don't have the courage to confess, I'm sorry, my love for you. We are family first and I respect that.

But late at night, I wonder how it would feel to have you laying beside me, calling me by my name, making love between the sheets like the sun would never rise. And that comforts me. Holds me with the arms of darkness and vivid imagination. I touch my body in a way that I know how you would touch me, with reverence yet anger, fucking instead of loving but at the end of it all, you lean down close to me and whisper I love you. Because I love you too.

I love you so much.

I watch you even as you close your eyes to sleep, I stay beside you to feel the warmth of your body, I listen to every word you say and carve it deep within my flesh, a tattoo forever in your name.

And yet.

And yet.

You have the audacity to show up, standing there with a grin, cheeks aflame and ears hot, holding hands with somebody else.

How? How could you?

I thought it was just us. Me and you, against the world.

Yet you've let in some fucking whore touch you where I should be the only one allowed to do so.

You come up to me and introduce this inferior, insipid, obtuse bastard to stand by your side.

Oh, you who is so bright, so wonderful, heavenly, you don't deserve to be mingling with a quack.

And you know what I did? I smiled because the smile you wear warms my heart so, beaten into my heart, with each blink, it is you and your smile.

I stayed by the side, watching the two of you, a god blessing a maggot on rotting flesh.

I see its true colors and I decided to help you. You deserve only the best, and such cutting it would free you.

You're living together, I found out later that week, living together when I should be the only one allowed into your space, allowed to touch the ones that you hold dear.

But I remind myself, with your big heart, this is simply charity, pity for a homeless fruit fly.

But did you know?

If you let one in to your home, it will leave its dirty little traces around, leave its offspring and create more.

Like all fruit flies, you leave it be for a moment, keep a close eye on it, watch as it lands on its weak knees, distracted and occupied before you come and kill it.

A harsh slap to its body, and it falls, dripping and staining your nice floors with its viscera and uselessness. I made sure to scrub between the cracks of your wooden floorboards, down on my hands and knees, worshipping the home you cherish, made sure not a single mark was left as I left it rotting in my home instead.

You came home, your face marked so harrowingly desolate of happiness that I knew I had to do something. I knocked on your door and made you your favorites, I pressed myself close as you cried on my shoulder.

You cried, He didn't even say anything.

And I said, I'm so sorry. Because he made you cry, made you sad. How dare it hurt you, when it had no such right. But I held you and together we fell asleep on your couch, with your head pressed to my chest and my fingers through your hair.

Coming back home, I dealt with the rest of a decaying roach, a vulnerable little thing, still breathing wiggling around. There's many ways to get rid of a roach; the method that I chose was to suffocate it, have it be bereft of air as it wails, gasping for breath that it will never get. Just like that, the disgusting little roach died. Threw it into the trash where it belonged.

We continued to thrive, to laugh, to live. I looked at you and you looked back. Happy moments where it would be just the two of us, walking down the shore of a beach, a bottle of beer in your hand while I made sure you stayed on the path. We talked about plans of a future in the floor of your lovely home, shoulder to shoulder, and I knew that I was in your future just as much as you were in mine.

That shattered however. Because like last time, a flea has attached itself onto you. A disgusted, bloated flea that made my skin crawl unpleasantly.

To rid of fleas, you have to clean the home as thoroughly as you can. Don't let it stay for too long otherwise, like a fly, it will multiply.

Vacuum and gloves in hand, I proceeded to treat your home back to its original glory.

I washed your clothes, your bedsheets, your pillows. I changed your mattress and wiped down your windows. I dusted the corners, the shelves, and the cupboards.

Yet the flea wouldn't leave.

Eventually, fortunately, I found the flea's little family, its little home.

And how will you get rid of a flea, if you don't include its relatives?

You came to us, your friends, to me, your Sanji. I opened my arms and welcomed you back, held you close as you murmured how it never replied back to you. I tucked you, my preciousness, into my safety and you held me back. Tightly with your strong, calloused hands that tried its best not to tremble and told you that there are others, things out there who are just that mean, that bad, for you.

You nodded and agreed. Then you smiled at me, with your adorable dimples and straight white teeth, cheeks bunched up into the widest of smiles. I knew I could trust you.

Yes, because only I can be trusted. Only I can give to you your utmost happiness. Only I know how to make your favorite meals, serve you your favorite alcohol, wash your clothes with the correct detergent, know where your belongings are placed.

It is only me. Only I know you to your deepest core. Only I know how to laugh and cry and smile and say your name.

Only I know.

[indigoh4ze]

party || rafe cameron

warning- SMUT // vaginal fingering, eating out, vaginal penetration, mentions of intoxication

rafe cameron x fem!reader

a/n- so this is my first time writing for outer banks, im terrible at writing actual interactions so im sorry its so bad at first lmao. also disclaimer: rafe in this fic is nothing like he is canon, so his characterization is off. enjoy :)

also feel free to request for any outer banks characters i write for

turn on notifs here - @slvt4fakerealities-library - to be notified when i post a new fic

join taglist (add yourself to the outer banks section)

the lights were blazing, different colors zapping throughout the room as you made your way over to the couch. your head was slightly fuzzy from the intoxication, but you managed.

since the couch was empty, you took the chance to sprawl your whole body out on it, head on one arm and feet dangling off the other. you watched as everyone danced and made out and filled their bodies with even more toxins. soon, you found yourself just dazing up at the ceiling, lips opening and closing slightly as you lip-synced in a whispering tone to the loud music.

after what felt like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes, you felt something nudge your thigh. without moving your neck, you let your eyes flash down to find the source of the movement.

hovering over you was rafe cameron. his dirty blonde hair framed his face messily, a single cross earring dangling from his left ear, a red solo cup in his hand as his free hand poked at your thigh.

“what?” you slurred, now moving up on your elbows and blinking back the haziness.

“i wanna sit,” he said, taking a sip from the cup. even in this state it wasn’t hard to notice how good the boy looked, tilting his head back and gulping down the liquid, eyes never leaving your own.

you groaned, pulling your knees to your chest and allowing rafe to throw himself onto the cushion. you were now facing his side, as his hands gripped your legs and pulled them back to their original position, except now they laid over his leg. giving him a curious look, you laid the side of your face on the back cushion and fidgeted with the bracelet around your wrist.

“shouldn’t you be like- getting shit faced or something.” rafe snickered at your words, sending you a glare before looking back down to his cup, which he was also mindlessly playing with.

“sorry, did i interrupt your little..nap?” he teased with a hint of amusement, referring to the previous state you were in, and you scoffed in return, mind clearing a bit more and making room for annoyance.

“whatever.” and then, you were pulling your legs off him and standing up, albeit wobbly as you almost fell to the side, caught by rafe’s firm grip around your arm.

“you good?”

“‘m fine,” you dismissed the boy, confused as to why he was even talking to you in the first place.

the truth was, you never liked him, he was rude and careless and selfish and way too much to put up with. but you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards the boy, and the tension that was always evident when the two of you were together.

but you always just pushed those thoughts aside, because even the thought of anything happening made your mind whirl with a plethora of emotions, not good ones by any means.

but then, you also couldn’t deny the recurring fantasies of things that could happen. could but wont, because he’s rafe cameron, and not even you’re desperate enough to be one of his bitches.

“hey?” a light tug of your arm pulled you back to the present, and you turned to see rafe at your side, cup forgotten as one of his hands molded around your waist and the other wrapped around your bicep to steady you.

“i’m really fine-.” you pulled away from him, and right as you did so, you felt someone back up on you, pushing you towards rafe and into his chest as a cold liquid spread from the lower half of your head and down your back.

you gasped in surprise, suddenly awake and alert as you sharply turned to see a boy standing there, cup tilted and empty as all its contents spilt on your back. he mumbled a quick apology, then took off laughing with his friends about something they said that probably wasn’t even funny.

“you sure about that?” rafe inquired, eyebrow raised in amusement as you stepped away from him, this time more cautiously. “c’mon, we’ll clean you up.”

although you wanted to say no and tell him to fuck off because you could handle it yourself, you were too exhausted from the long night to put up much protest other than a dramatic groan. then, you nodded, and rafe led you away from the crowd of people with a tug of your wrist.

—//—

now, you found yourself in a bedroom, rafes bedroom, waiting expectantly as you stood in front of the boy.

“what now?” you ask, palming your eyes and yawning, looking back at rafe with glossy eyes now, which were sending waves of tingles through the boys stomach.

“take a shower,” he implied, as if it was obvious. you scrunched your brows as he pointed to the bathroom on the other side of the room.

“i don’t have any spare clothes.”

“i’ll find you something to wear,” rafe shrugged, “go on,” he urged you to the bathroom, and you followed obediently, not having it in you to put up any sort of fight or ask questions.

“i’ll be right back,” rafe said from the room as you closed the bathroom door, only to hear the door to the bedroom close as well, meaning rafe left.

your mind was filled with the thought that he just ditched you, which was a possibility, but you ignored that thought and slipped your shirt over your head. once all the articles of clothing were thrown onto the cold tile floor, along with your shoes which sat messily in the corner, you lift a foot into the tub, stepping in.

immediately, you played with the oddly fancy knobs and managed to turn them on, warm water rushing through the shower head as your tilted your head back into it. the odd colored drink washed away from your hair, falling onto the floor of the tub and down the drain smoothly. you searched for soap, quickly cleaning up and scrubbing your hair twice for good measure. the smell of the soap reminded you of rafe, not surprising considering it was literally his own soap, you told yourself, annoyed by your current thoughts.

the feeling of the slightly cold water hitting your skin was enough to wake you up fully, but you were too lost in the blissful feeling of the water to pay much attention to your surroundings.

that was until you heard the door to the bathroom open, and you peaked your head through the curtain to find rafe, setting a towel on the counter, along with a shirt and a pair of shorts.

“who’s are those?” you questioned, making rafe jump as he realized you were watching him.

“sarah, i just took some from her,” he shrugged, and now you were even more confused.

first, he started talking to you randomly. then he’s helping you stand. then he’s taking you to his room..so you can shower. then he’s getting clothes for you to wear? how much did you have to drink? you started to ask yourself, questioning if this was all you just being wasted.

but it wasn’t, you felt pretty much fine. so there had to be something you were missing.

“just hurry up and change, i’ll be in the other room.” without another glance towards you, rafe left the bathroom, leaving you standing there, wet hair dripping forward from the way you had tilted your head to peek through. you went back to getting the soap out of your hair, rushing a bit more now.

meanwhile, rafe was in his room, just outside the bathroom, sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. what the fuck am i doing? was his only thought.

he was honestly just confused as you were. it started when he saw you laying on the couch, mouth agape as your eyes sketched shapes on the ceiling. you just being there was tempting enough, but after that he just had to make his way over to you.

the two of you hadn’t had many conversations in the past, at least no genuine ones. most were just bickering, to be honest. but, just as you thought, the tension was undeniable. the feelings weren’t one sided, that was for sure.

when he caught you from falling over, you had leaned into his warmth and something almost turned in his stomach, which was quite nauseating on his side. it was annoying how fucking worked up he got around you. his mind would spin with options of what to do with you. did he want to just kiss you, fuck you or annoy you to death? he had no idea, but it was overwhelming, to say the least.

so when he invited you to his room to clean up, he wasn’t really thinking about it, because everything was happening at once. he even searched his sisters room for goddamn clothes for you.

interrupting his inner monologue, a door opened and out came your figure, except you weren’t wearing the clothes he had given you. no, you were just in your towel, actually. your skin looked slightly damp still, but your hair had been fluffed out and dried a bit from the towel.

“what are you- where are the clothes i gave you?” rafe asked, standing hesitatingly.

“dunno, wasn’t my style i guess,” you shrugged, looking around his room casually, taking in the very rafe feel it gave.

rafe just scoffed, messing his hair up and stepping closer. “well, you can’t really go out in a towel now, can you?”

this reminded you that there was still a party going on, although it was muffled and a bit quieter as people began to call it a night.

“then i won’t go out.” you stepped closer, looking up at rafe with an expression of uncertainty, trying to identify the look behind his eyes, figure out what the fuck he was up to. but you saw nothing. if anything, there were just a bit of nervousness hidden there.

“and what exactly do you plan on doing, then? since your obviously so wise.” now his guarded demeanor was back up, though he had taken a step closer so your heavy breaths were hitting each other perfectly, hands close to grazing one another’s.

“i don’t know.” then, another reminder flashed in your mind, and you looked back at rafe, “wait, why are you even here? isn’t this like- your party?”

“well, technically topper wanted a party, i wanted to go to bed and sleep for a year.” you chucked at this, figuring he had already gotten fucked up today and didn’t feel like another party. then, taking a risk, you leaned in just a bit, and rafe didn’t pull back. actually, he pushed forward, bringing his large hands to wheel around your waist, setting fire through your veins.

it was as if both of you snapped at the same time, first eyeing each others lips, then pushing forward and taking said lips between your own. the kiss was hungry and long waited, immense relief flushing through you, which took you both by surprise.

not even a few minutes of this passed by before rafe was tugging at the towel, still clinging around your naked body, droplets of water probably wetting his floor.

before letting the fabric reveal your body, rafe looked at you, pulling away for a moment and looking over your features, silently asking permission. a quick nod was all it took for the material to be ripped off and throw to the side, rafe spinning you both around until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you fell back onto the mattress.

rafe looked over you with a smirk, eyes skimming over each and every detail of your body as if savoring it. a lick of his lips was all it took for your thighs to rub together, anticipation becoming too much as you waited for him.

this obviously pissed him off, because now his hands were tearing your legs apart, exposing your bare cunt inch by inch. “don’t even try to cover this up, got it?”

his voice was demanding, and luring, enough to make you nod, eyes softening in obedience, resulting in a snicker from rafe.

he leaned back in, delving down to leave kisses along your collar bone and suck on the flesh until bruises built against your skin, making you whimper and grab his dirty blond tressed with your fingers.

the sound of your whimpers made rafe go crazy, but he tamed the need inside him long enough to work his way down your stomach, placing teasing kisses down your inner thighs, but not once touching the spot you needed the most attention in.

“please, rafe,” you pleaded, not sure where it came from but gong with it once you saw the way he looked up at you, lust blown eyes and parted lips, waiting to be against your cunt.

“please what, hm? tell me what you want me to do, baby,” rafe cooed, fingers clenching around the inside of your thighs so he could push them apart and kiss your inner thighs, resulting in your back arching and hips begging upwards.

“n-need your mouth.” your face blushed with embarrassment of having to speak the words, but rafe just tsked, one hand moving upwards as he used his thumb to draw circles around your cunt, only passing your folds, earning a cry from you.

“i need more than that, doll.”

“fuck! please, j-just need your mouth on me, rafe, need to feel your mouth on my pussy, please!”

it seems that was acceptable for rafe, his thumb pausing just above your clit, then dragging down, finally grazing over the sensitive bud and stimulating it perfectly. your hips jerked at the sensation, but you grew accustomed to the feeling once he began working in small circles.

soon, his mouth was on your cunt, tracing paths over your folds and rubbing at the nub with a flat tongue, constantly sending shivers through you as you moaned with pleasure. his hands stayed at your side, ring clad finger’s cold against your flesh as his tongue dug inside you and began fucking your hole with no remorse.

the shapes and letters his warm tongue carved into you were almost too much, and when you reached down to rake your fingers through his hair, you fought the urge to push his head down and allow him to bury himself completely between your thighs.

“f-fuck! rafe, oh god, feels so good,” you sobbed, voice becoming louder as he hummed into you, a smirk on his lips, no doubt, from seeing you fall apart for him.

rafe pulled away within a second, licking his lip and keeping his eyes on your cunt, calculating his next move. you watched as he did so, suddenly feeling exposed as he raked his eyes over the slick coating your folds and your clit throbbing painfully through them. you squirmed at the emptiness, about to squeeze your thighs together, but you were too late as rafe brought a hand up, middle and forefinger pushing through your folds and embedding themselves within your walls.

a loud gasp escaped your lips as he did so, and you bit down painfully on the cushion of them as his fingers pumped in and out of you with nonstop speed. rafe looked up at you, his own lips parted beautifully as he watched moans flow easily out of your mouth.

“you like that, baby?” came his husky voice, only intensifying your already great pleasure that ran through your body. you nodded at his inquiry, not able to form coherent thoughts under his gaze. and that was when his fingers made a hook and pressed against your most sensitive part, making you squirm.

his smirk became bigger, and his fingers fucked you harder, a desperate attempt to ruin you right there. then he was leaning down, still pumping his fingers, and began to lick your clit with fervor, flicking the bud and sucking without resistance until your thighs were clenching around his head and you were a complete moaning mess.

“oh fuck- i’m g-gonna come rafe, pleaseplease,” you begged pathetically, having no time to be embarrassed as he hummed, nodding his head while still sucking on your clit, and permitted you to let go.

the orgasm took over in a huge wave, which came surprisingly fast, and the only thing on your mind was the bubbling in your stomach that was finally freed. moans and gasps fell from your lips as you wet his tongue and fingers, and rafe didn’t let a drop go to waste as he lapped up your slick, helping to prolong your orgasm.

hands reaching for his hair in dazed motions, eyes closed and lips parted, you mumbled, “t-too much, rafe,” which was the boys que to give you a final kiss on your clit, then remove his head and fingers from your cunt.

now, rafe stared up at you, swiping a ring clad thumb over his bottom lip, which was glistening with your arousal. his thumb then moved to enter your mouth, and you dutifully took in the digit, sucking with starry eyes, and whimpering when he removed it from your grasp.

rafe rose to his full height, still in his shirt and pants, which were no doubt keeping his hard dick from standing tall. suddenly, you felt that flush arise to your cheeks from your being nude, and you bit your lip and reached a hand out to grapple at his shirt. he took this as a sign to pull the material over his head, then going in for his buckle as well. the sound of the metal clinking as he loosened it from its straps was enough to send you into a spiral of anticipation, eyeing his clothed prick impatiently.

rafe had that smirk plastered to his face still, throwing his belt aside and then his pants, making sure not to go too fast as he tormented you.

you let out a whine as he hooked his fingers around his boxers, not pulling them down fully but revealing his v line. “rafe,” you pouted, and he decided to be nice and let them fall down, now unclothed as he kicked off his shoes and settled ontop of you, marking your chest and neck immediately.

sighing with content, you held him close and let his lips suck on your flesh, until the arousal was too much and he began to grind against you, slowly. your cunt was already becoming slick again as he rubbed against your thigh.

rafe lift himself up to his knees, pumping his cock, the point of his tongue poking out from the side of his mouth in concentration. the image of your breasts on display for him, and your lips parted and chest thumping was enough to make the boy cum on the spot.

he raised a brow at you, making sure you were still okay, and once getting a quick nod, he pressed the head of his cock against your folds. in the next second, he was thrusting into you, earning a loud gasp from you, which he covered with a hand on your mouth.

“shh, ‘m gonna fuck you good, okay? just lay there and look pretty,” he teased, but you nodded, wanting nothing more than to do as he said.

the thrusts started out mild, but soon quickened tempo, hips stuttering against yours as he wrapped a hand around your leg and pulled it over his shoulder. this allowed a better angle, and you moaned with him as he repeatedly pounded into your already sensitive cunt.

you slid a hand down your bouncing breasts and stomach, then to your throbbing clit, soothing it with your gentle fingers before rafe slapped them away, as if saying “mine.”

his own hand went around your propped up leg to thumb at your clit, whilst the other made a path over your hips and breasts, fondling with the mound of flesh and pinching your nipple.

the overstimulation was rushing through you violently, his thrusts becoming sloppy, orgasm at the brink. you watched his head fly back, eyes rolling and mouth a gape, hypnotized by how pretty he looked even when he was fucking you.

“rafe,” you repeatedly mumbled, forming no other words in your clouded mind.

“hm? does it feel good? d’you like the way i fuck you, pretty girl?”

“y-yeah, so good,” you hummed, your own head rolling back onto the pillow, hips thrusting up to meet his and satisfy the hunger that once again boiled in your core.

“i’m gonna cum on your tits, are you gonna be good for me?” he said just as your orgasm was about to wash you away, and you nodded fast, once again wanting to be the best you could for him.

then, you came, waves of pleasure splashing through you before he pulled out, still thumbing your sensitive bundle of nerves, using his free hand to fist his cock which hovered over your breasts.

you held your tits in two shaky hands, squeezing them together and massaging them while rafe came, painting your breasts and stomach until he had milked out every last drop he could. he mumbled yes’s and fuck’s, along with your name until his high died down.

breathing harshly, you set ur sight to the ceiling, deep intakes of air causing the ends of rafe’s lips to turn upwards slightly. he leaned down to place one last kiss on your flushed cheek before letting himself fall onto the mattress beside you.

“let’s clean you up,” rafe said, turning to look at you, “the party’s not over yet.”

uhhhh yeah idk how i feel ab this i hope it wasn't terrible ig. reblogs appreciated :)

@o-rion-sta-r @saggyb1lls @rylynn-m @dobbysockcollection @arcaneslut @arianagreyy @el-imaskingforyourlefthand

[multifandomwritings]

How the slashers would react to their S/O painting their nails

So sorry again for how slow I am these days! I promise I’m not ignoring anyone or haven’t forgotten! (also my confidence in my writing has once again plummeted so aslfkdj) I hope you all like this ^^ (if anyone has any character suggestions lemme know! Like horror characters and slashers. However if I end up adding more I might have to start splitting these up a bit!) 

Thomas:

- Thomas might be hesitant at first, but the second you took his burly hand into your own, he'd melt

- You would get complete creative control — he wouldn't mind what colors you chose, and any worries of being teased by his family would disappear as he watched how eager you were 

- Seeing you so fixated on his hands would make him blush beneath his mask, though he would appreciate the opportunity to freely stare at you as you worked

- He'd smile to himself every time he looked at them, and would happily let you do it again (No one, even Hoyt, dares to tease him about anything relating to you after a certain point, knowing it’s off limits! So he’ll happily show them off. Luda Mae thinks it’s precious, but is also kind of salty that you haven’t offered to do hers lol)

Brahms:

- Brahms would take any affection and attention he could get, so the second you even suggested it he'd just sit down and put his hands out for you

- You wouldn't be able to stop smiling at how seriously he took it. He'd have a surprisingly good eye for color combinations, handing you the colors he liked and making you blush with how he focused on you

- He'd want to polish yours too: matching colors, of course (when you noticed this, you'd smile even wider, which would not go unnoticed by Brahms, who would smile in self satisfaction)

- This would probably become a regular thing. He’d adore anything like that, that made him feel close to you. Of course you have to match though! Or at the very least, coordinate 👉👈

Michael:

- Michael wouldn't really know how to react to you asking about it, to be honest. He wouldn't really mind, he'd just be kind of iffy about it

- It would probably take him a while to warm up to this (or pretty much anything) but he ~might~ allow it, since it's you

- If you reach for anything pastel or colorful he'd just take your hand to stop you and shake his head, causing you to have to hold back a laugh

- He wouldn't admit it, but he'd actually like how it looked. He'd forget about it, and would think of you every time he noticed them. He isn't really soft but he would be for you

Jason:

- You’d be going through your nail polishes when you’d gesture for him to come over and sit, offering to paint his nails

- He agrees of course! Like he’s gonna refuse anything you wanna do for him like that!...Although you’ll have to excuse his slightly crusty hands

- He always admires your own nail polish, thinking the colors are so pretty and cute. If you offer to let him pick out the colors he’ll just shake his head, knowing you’ll choose something nice 

You, reaching your hand to hold his while you polish: Okay, gimme your hand

Him, ~misunderstanding~: *takes your hand as if to hold it* 

You: 🥺🥺🥺

(A bonus thought that you might disagree with: if you’d been in a relationship with Jason for a while, he’d begin to pick up on his own cuteness. Or at least, what you think is cute. And he’d take advantage of it, if only to make you smile. Also, he secretly loves the effect he has on you alsdkfj) 

Bubba:

- Bubba would love this. He'd carefully watch and learn, already planning on doing yours too

- If you hold his hand while you do it his stomach would be full of butterflies, cheeks all pink beneath his mask. He adores when you’re soft with him like that

- He'd probably chip them up really quickly, to his own dismay. When he would notice, he'd want them done again asap, as they'd remind him of you

- You would melt when he did yours. He hold your hand close to his face, focusing intently and going slowly to make sure it was perfect

Chop Top:

- It would probably be his idea to be honest. He'd see you doing your nails and would excitedly pester you about it until you did his, too

- You end up getting ~playfully~ annoyed, as he'd keep pulling his hands away to look and would keep changing his mind on what colors to use

- Eventually you just snatch his hand and hold it still so you can finish. He'd stop whatever he was saying with a nervous laugh, getting surprisingly flustered at you being like that with him 

- He'd be another that would paint yours, too, trying his best to pick colors that would suit you. He'd adore his, and would want to impress you by doing his best!

Nubbins:

- Nubbins would see you doing your own nails and wouldn’t even give you the opportunity to offer to do his. He’d just pick up a random color and would start doing it himself (badly)

- You don’t really notice at first but after a while you glance up and chuckle at what a sloppy job he’s done, prompting him to smile at you so sweetly that you don’t even say anything about it

- Instead, you just gesture for him to hand it over, which he happily does. You can’t help but smile at how delicately he drapes his hands into your own, allowing you to fix his mistakes and finish it 

- Once you’re done he’ll continue holding your hand, too. Good luck getting unlatched for a bit. Nubbins will use any excuse he can to be close to you (tbh he doesn’t need an excuse but if he has one he’ll use it) 

Beetlejuice:

- Beetlejuice would probably tease you for suggesting it, despite the fact that he'd be choosing his colors as he did 

- Spooky colors only, of course! Neon purple, black, green, things like that. He'd love it, tbh

- He'd be flirting with you the entire time, enjoying the close proximity as he could watch your face flush as he spoke

- Despite his teasing, he'd actually enjoy things like that a lot. He'd love that you wanted to do things like that for him, feeling all special and cared for

Candyman:

- Daniel would probably seem a little indifferent to it at first, although he would enjoy seeing you dote over him like that

- He'd smile to himself as he watched you carefully pick colors, refraining from suggesting anything because he'd want to see what you thought would suit him

- He makes you melt the whole time, his hand gently draped over yours as you try to ignore his intense gaze, gnawing at your lip all the while

- He would unintentionally show them off *a lot*, showing off his hand way more than he normally would. You'd have to hold back smiles as you noticed, finding it so sweet

Bo:

- Sort of like Beetlejuice in that he'd tease you and act playfully annoyed like, "You want to paint my nails? Pfft, I don't know..." (he says, while sitting down and stretching his hands across the table for you) 

- Isn't really paying attention (or so he'd have you think), just looking around or closing his eyes while you polished away, occasionally glancing over to see what you were up to when he thought you weren't looking

- If Bo liked you, he'd pretty much go with anything tbh. You could paint his nails the softest, brightest colors and he wouldn't even really have the heart to gripe about it, seeing you all smiley over it 

- Will be all smiley himself anytime he looks at them, but if someone else notices (besides you) he'll shoot them a death glare

Vincent:

- You wanna paint his nails? Okay! He has no hesitation whatsoever and will ask no questions — if you want to, you can 

- You’re so cute to him and he loves your attention, anything you want to do like that he’ll allow. If you want to do his nails, brush/play with his hair, or anything like that, you can! In fact, please do 🥺

- Will be smiling the whole time behind his mask, happily suggesting colors if you ask. He’ll end up with cute and sparkly rainbow nails because you both keep finding different colors you like

- He would do yours, too. All the colors you couldn’t fit on his hands will go on yours! You both have equally colorful nails that will be teased by Bo and Lester, who are both secretly envious of Vincent (plz do their nails too)

Lester:

- When you asked if you could polish his nails, he'd immediately light up, loving the idea of it but quickly getting shy

- He'd disappear for a second so he could go scrub his hands and make them as clean and pretty as possible for you 

- He'd be kinda nervous?? His eyes would be flickering back and forth between your face and his hands, smiling as he watched you

- Little things like this would make his heart flutter endlessly, and he'd try so hard to keep them all tidy and unchipped. (This would result in him being ridiculously delicate with everything he touched) He'd love them no matter what colors you chose!

Graverobber:

- Graverobber has some clammy, crusty hands, (I mean, he hangs out in dumpsters) so beware. Still, if you offer to paint his nails, he’ll just lazily offer up his hands without a second thought

- Watches you the whole time with a satisfied smile. Anytime you glance up and catch him, he’ll give you a look that somehow manages to be both sheepish and smug, wiggling his eyebrow to make you laugh

- He'd smile every time he looked at them, thinking of you. You’d match them to the streaks in his hair which makes him just :o !! Will show them off a lot too

- He'd wear them until they were completely chipped up (which wouldn’t take long), patiently hoping you'd offer to do them again

Luigi:

- Luigi would initially agree with no complaints, but chances are you’ll only get a few nails done before he gets impatient 

- He feels kind of bad about it later, though, seeing them unfinished and smiling a bit as they reminded him of you. If he’s in a grouchy mood he’ll ease up right away when he sees them

- He’ll let you finish later, though not without some amount of awkwardness, as he’d be embarrassed to bring it back up 

- Of course, you’re happy to do it though! You snatch his hands right up and get to work, choosing colors such as black, red and white. He’d smile the whole time he watched you. His expression would change freakishly fast if someone interrupted, though

Pavi:

- He probably paints his nails anyways, but he’d always be happy to be doted over by you, so of course he’ll accept your offer!

- If you offer while he’s already wearing nail polish he’ll quickly run off and remove it so you won’t change your mind 

- Compliments you the whole time, even if you’re just messing around. You end up giggling the whole time at how extra he is, calling you an artist and talented and actually making you blush quite a bit with how sincere he was about it

- Shows his nails off endlessly, staring at them constantly and making it a point to be as showy with his hands as possible. The moment they chip he’ll be so over-the-top dramatic, only feeling better once you’ve redone them (you will forever be Pavi’s manicurist from then on, sigh) 

Billy Lenz:

- Probably confused by it, but he'd be happy to give it a try. He'd watch you intently the entire time, saying very little

- ...Which would result in you getting nervous, low-key trying to rush through it and accidentally messing one or two up (Cue Billy looking at you like smh, Y/N, smh...)

- He’s only messing though, he genuinely couldn’t care less about it really. You could be painting his whole finger and he doesn’t even mind because he’s more focused on you and the fact that you’re doing something like that for him

- He is unused to being treated like this so he never really knows how to react. Any kind of looking after will always be met with some amount of nervousness, though he adores it. Will retreat to the attic afterwards and just stare at his nails like 🥺 (Even the messy ones! Especially the messy ones tbh)

Asa Emory (The Collector):

- He'd agree to you doing his nails so quickly that you'd actually be shocked, not expecting compliance at all. He'd offer up his hands so willingly that your jaw would almost hit the floor

- Nothing flashy! He just wants tidy, pretty nails. He's very sure about what he wants, which would almost make you laugh, as he'd be quite assertive about it

- Needless to say, he'd stare at you intently the whole time, lips twisted into a small but wicked smile as he noticed your cheeks flushing and eyes refusing to meet his

- He'll do yours too, of course. You have to bite your lip the whole time to keep yourself from smiling because he’s so meticulous. He’ll carefully choose a color, eyeing you for approval before pulling your hand close to his face, seriously and slowly polishing each nail 

Otis Driftwood:

- Otis will absent-mindedly swat your hand away when you try to do his nails. However, when he glanced over to see you frowning at his grouchiness, he’ll feel bad and will just roll his eyes as he gives up his hands

- Will complain the whole time though. It smells! It’s cold! Stop squeezing my hand! (Tbh he loves these kinds of gestures, but he’s guarded, to put it simply, so he doesn’t know how to deal with it. So, he’ll gripe, all while staring at you lovingly when you aren’t looking)  

- You end up using simple colors such as black and white, and he would end up liking it much better than he thought he would. In fact, he’d want you to do it again in the future, but would be too embarrassed about his complaining to ask

- You’re going to have to give the whole family manicures now too though, especially Baby (honestly probably pedicures too? They’d get greedy lol) 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.1

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.2

Beautiful artwork was created by @starstruck-loner​! THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEETIE I LOVE IT!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Snow freckled the chilly January day lightly, like powdered sugar over a freshly baked pastry, sticking to each layer effortlessly and creating a blanket that completely covered the woods and the cabin nested between the trees. The atmosphere was still and stiff, like frozen icicles that were not going to start dripping any time soon. The air was bitter and unwelcoming, which was probably why no living thing was outside today. Today was the perfect day to burrow and sleep and keep warm with your own body heat.

A crack through space-time cut through the air. The crushing of tiny ice particles followed as two twelve-year-olds ran, one chasing the other, as the time-tape was heating up and buzzing. “This thing is getting hotter! Hot! Hot, hot, hot!” Mabel attempted to save her palms from burns by bouncing the tiny machine between her hands.

“What are you doing?!” Dipper demanded as Mabel bounced the tape-measure too hard and her twin reached a hand to catch it. He managed to catch it perfectly, like an athlete catching a baseball, and then was gone in a flash of baby-blue lightning.

Mabel’s eyes widened in sheer panic and she held her arms as a gust of wind blew and nearly froze her to her core. It felt like her skin was being pricked by mean sewing needles. She looked around wildly for her brother, for him to come back to this time and place immediately, because surely he would use the time machine to come back, but seconds ticked by and she was still alone.

Puffs of smoke decorated the wintry scene as she held her shivering body and looked at the shack. It wasn’t as colorful and welcoming and loud as the shack Mabel remembered, but she made herself consider that it was because there was no big sign or tourist-y things, and it was winter. Then a light turned on, the hall if Mabel remembered her summer home correctly, and the door opened.

The hope that Mabel had in her chest of seeing her great-uncle was gone, and replaced with fear and confusion. This man looked very much like Stan, though much younger, quite chubby and youthful, wearing a black t-shirt and blue plaid pajama-pants. He had the same face as a young-Stan, but with a more pink than orange nose, a cleft chin, fluffier hair that reminded Mabel of her’s when it was short, and different glasses. 

Mabel didn’t know what to do or how to react or how to feel. People change a lot when they age, sure, but this much? It was possible this person wasn’t Stan, but who else would look so similar to him and live in this house? Maybe this is the guy who lived here before Stan, and they just happen to look very similar. This is Gravity Falls, and though she and Dipper were still new to the town, it was a weird place where something like this could happen.

It also came to Mabel how odd the situation was for the man: a little girl was standing in a sweater and skirt outside his house in the winter. Would he try to send her home? She had no home to go to. She didn’t know what year this was, but if it was a time Stan didn’t live here, it must have been way before she was born, maybe even before her parents met. She was stranded.

But the man looked at her sympathetically and he seemed kind and worried. He grabbed a trenchcoat and called gently, “Hello. Are you okay?”

Mabel bit her lip. His voice was definitely not Grunkle Stan’s. A gust of wind made her shiver and her teeth chatter, and the man stepped into some slippers and walked up to her, draping the trenchcoat over her shoulders. “There there, that’s a very nice sweater, but it doesn’t seem to be keeping you warm, is it?”

“N-No.” Mabel shivered. “I… I used breathable yarn for…” She stopped. She was going to say how she used breathable yarn for the warm California weather, but she decided not to.

“You used?” The man repeated, rubbing her shoulders to try to make the trenchcoat work faster. “You made this?”

Mabel saw his excited grin and she smiled nervously. “Y-Yeah. I knit sweaters.”

The man bent his knees in front of her and studied her sweater. She held out an arm so he could see and his brown eyes sparkled. “That’s very impressive! I love sweaters!”

Mabel gasped happily. “C-C-Can I m-make you one?!”

The man looked taken back, but chuckled and stood. “Of course, but first let’s get you warm. How does hot chocolate sound?”

“Y-Yes, p-p-please.” Mabel shivered, and allowed the man to walk her into the house.

It was scaringly like the Mystery Shack, but so much was different. It was the same layout, the same house, but there was so much that was different. A coat rack stood by the door, holding a white lab coat with black rubber gloves in the pocket, some safety goggles like the ones in Mabel’s science classes, and Stan’s fez. Mabel stared at it. Well, okay it probably wasn’t Stan’s fez, but it was a maroon fez with a golden fish and a black tassle. 

There was a wood-burning stove alive in the living room, with a small box full of wood by it and a tiny stool. Instead of Grunkle Stan’s armchair, there was a red-velvet couch, a large writing desk, and the room was decorated with books, desks, papers, and jars and experiments. It was all strange, but warm and cozy with the fire going.

Mabel smiled as the man pulled out the tiny stool and gestured for her to sit by the stove. She obeyed and the coat was removed from her shoulders, but quickly replaced with a dark-green blanket.

“There, do you mind warming up here while I make your hot chocolate?” He asked, draping his trenchcoat over his arm.

Mabel shook her head and held her cold hands in front of the stove. “Thank you.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome.” And he turned and left for where Mabel knew the kitchen was.

Sitting alone and feeling better as her body was getting warm, Mabel thought it all over. This man was clearly not her Grunkle Stan, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nice or couldn’t help her. Any minute Dipper was going to come back for her, but until then she had to stay where she was. That’s what grown-ups told her to do if she was ever lost. Stay where you are until you’re found.

By the time Mabel was very comfortable, the man returned with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and handed one to the girl. “Here you are, my dear.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mabel sipped and hummed in delight as the man sat on the floor next to her.

“You’re very welcome.” He sipped his drink and added, “Now then, I have to ask, what were you doing out there? Did you get lost?”

Mabel’s face dropped and she nodded. “Uh, huh.”

“Hm, very well. That can easily happen when playing on a snow day.” The man said with a smile. “Why don’t I call our parents and we can arrange to have you back home safe?”

Mabel swallowed nervously. She bit her lip, looking down at her mug. She didn’t know what to say to that.

The man looked at her and noticed how scared she was. “Is something wrong?”

Mabel looked up at him, was met with a kind face, and whimpered, “I can’t call them.”

The man smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure you won’t get into too much trouble. Maybe a little, but it’s for the best to call them so we can get you home soon.”

Mabel shook her head and squeezed her stinging eyes shut. “They’re… not around.”

The man’s face dropped as Mabel scrubbed at her eyes. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Mabel only replied with a sniff and she sipped her hot chocolate.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” The man asked. “I’m sure there’s someone out there worried about you.”

Mabel bit her lip. “M-My brother… He’s still out there…”

“Is he lost, too?”

Mabel shrugged.

“Well,” The man held his cleft chin in thought. “I’m sure he’s out there looking for you. Perhaps then you should wait here until he comes here, and then we can send you to your guardian.”

“It’s just us.” Mabel muttered. “Just us.”

The man smiled. Mabel hoped he believed her brother was much older than her, or at least old enough to take care of her. That way she wasn’t really lying, just letting this man believe what he wanted to believe. Nothing wrong with that. “Okay. Still, you may stay here until he finds you.”

Mabel sniffed and wiped her nose with her sweater sleeve. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Ford.” He said and held out a hand to her.

Mabel smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Mabel.”

“Mabel, huh? That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.” She looked down at their hands and her eyes widened. One, two, three, four, five, s-...

Ford pulled his hand free, his cheeks reddening as he sipped his hot chocolate, but Mabel was grinning at him happily and she gasped with joy, “You have six fingers?!”

Ford blinked at her, reminding Mabel of a startled owl, and he cleared his throat. “Um, y-yes. It’s a birth defect.”

“Nuh, huh! It’s cool! Can I see, please?” Mabel sat her mug on the floor by her feet.

The researcher didn’t like people staring at his hands, but this young girl wanted to look, it appears, in admiration, so Ford hesitantly gave her his hands and she held them lovingly, her eyes sparkling like stars.

“Wow! That’s neat! No wonder your hand shake was so friendly! It’s a whole finger friendlier than normal!” Mabel was then reminded that Dipper’s journal had a six-fingered hand on it.

The girl’s eyes widened as she wondered if she was meeting Dipper’s idol. It was possible. The journal Dipper had dated it in the 80s, and Dipper said that the author mysteriously disappeared. As exciting as it was to meet the Author of the Journals, all it did was put Mabel more at ease. If anyone can help her, he can.

Ford laughed and gave her hands a soft squeeze. “I like you! You’re weird.”

Mabel grinned, distracted from her thoughts and grateful for it. “I like you, too, Ford!”

[indianamoonshine]

Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

[baekhansol]

N.D.A | f.l

ℕ𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔸𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 (ℕ.𝔻.𝔸.) noun

a contract by which one or more parties agree not to disclose confidential information that they have shared with each other as a necessary part of doing business together.

Happy Birthday, Felix Lee!

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff!

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mature

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : best friend Felix x gn + nonverbal reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : reader is nonverbal, JYP is an asshole, wanting to lie about having been eating well, food/eating, mentions of wearing masks, I think that's it ?

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 : Felix has always been your best friend, and takes care of you when you can't

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : this was beta read by the lovely Dee Dee over at @sugasbabiie . Her notes and edits were wonderful as always 💜

this is also a friendly reminder that my blog contains nsfw elements, so do not follow me if you are a minor.

At one simple glance into your eyes, once allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability with your best friend, Felix knew what a terrible day you must have had. He immediately pulls you into a warm hug, pausing in case he meets resistance before squeezing you and holding you tightly.

"Have you eaten well?" He softly asks you, playing with your hair as he sways you back and forth.

You wanted to lie and say yes. You really did. But you couldn't get yourself to respond that way, so instead, you shake your head no.

"I'll make something then," he says simply, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

Felix finds tears welling up in your eyes, so he cups your cheek with one hand. "Have you taken your meds?" He checks.

When you nod, his expression gives away a brief flash of relief before turning back to genuine concern.

"Good. Why don't you go put your pajamas on and start getting ready for bed then, hmm?" He suggests, smiling sweetly.

You hesitate, considering saying no. You rack your brain, but the fog from your mental state makes the task difficult. You were fairly certain you'd never been braless around Felix before, but at the same time, you really didn't want to wear one.

"It's okay, y/n," he softly assures you.

Looking into his eyes, you remind yourself he has sisters. So you nod as a soft whimper accidentally escapes you.

You retreat to the bathroom, scrubbing your face harshly as you wash it. You try to get rid of the self-hatred and body insecurities that consumed your entire body, but particularly your face. Of course, it didn't help.

A whine of irritation escapes you before you apply the rest of your skincare. Afterwards, you slowly shuffle to your bedroom. You stare at what pajamas you have clean (which isn't much) and end up in a long sleeved shirt to hide your arms and pajama shorts. You made sure the pair wasn't too free flowing, as you didn't want to flash Felix by some weird accident since you didn't wear underwear to bed.

You slowly shuffle out to the kitchen, finding Felix at the stove throwing something together. Padding closer, you notice him making ramen. You ask him what he is doing with a soft “Hm?”

He gestures for you to come closer before speaking, “You had some ramen, so I’m making it with eggs. And now I’m adding in vegetables, see?”

When you nod, he smiles. “Do you want to grab a bowl for yourself? I already ate,” Felix assures you.

You nod and timidly get yourself a bowl and chopsticks, your hands unsteady. You manage to set down the bowl without dropping it, and Felix notices your lack of stability.

He moves from the stove, getting a plastic cup with a lid and straw, pouring you a cup of water before getting himself a glass. Felix sets it at the table before returning to the stove, getting your ramen together in your bowl. “Will you sit down, Y/N?” he asks gently.

You nod and sit, sipping your water and swinging your legs. Felix soon places the bowl in front of you, and you begin to eat slowly. He sits next to you after getting a napkin, watching you to ensure you don't eat too quickly.

Following “Dr. Lee’s” orders, you finish the entire bowl of ramen. Once done, he inquires, “Go brush your teeth, okay? Do you need to take your night meds?”

You pout but nod, getting up and taking the cup of water with you. You take your medicine before slowly brushing your teeth, trying not to let the sensation overwhelm you. When you finally finish, you pad back out to find Felix, who was currently cleaning the dishes.

You huff at him, upset that he was doing them for you. He wasn’t just doing the ones he cooked with, but even the ones you had left in the sink.

He says nothing but smiles when you hug him from behind and bury your face into his shirt. When he finishes and dries his hands, you drag him to the bathroom and get out a spare toothbrush, silently offering him to stay overnight.

“Go lay in bed; I’ll come and join you soon,” he says. When you nod, he takes the toothbrush and gets himself ready for bed.

You lay in bed playing games on your phone, curling up under your sheets. Felix soon comes back, grabbing a book off your bookshelf. He sets his phone on your bedside table, placing his there as well. Felix sits on your bed, leaning against the wall and spreading his legs.

“Come here,” he suggests, patting the spot between his legs.

You hesitate before sitting up, moving to sit in his lap, resting against his chest. He opens the book in front of you, making you giggle when you realize what it is.

“Didn’t your mom buy you this?” he asks, kissing your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. You nod as he opens the book. “I still can’t believe she knew it was a Star Wars storybook and didn’t think it was a children’s book,” he laughs.

A little giggle escapes you, and Felix beams. He begins to read, his gentle voice helping to lull you to sleep. When he finishes the book, he helps you lay down and tuck you in. He puts the book back and turns off the light, smiling at the soft whine escaping you.

You wiggle a little, subconsciously craving his hold. "Lixie?" You manage to murmur, not even realizing it was your first words since he came over. But he knew.

"I’m here," he assures you, climbing into bed with you and spooning you. Felix wraps his arm loosely around your waist, handing you one of your stuffies to cuddle. "This okay?" He checks with you.

You nod, relaxing into him and falling back asleep.

"I love you," Felix says lowly, and you can't quite tell if you were dreaming or not. You two had said that you love each other plenty of times before, but this time seemed different.

You wake up in the morning alone and immediately begin to panic.

"Felix?" You cry out, stumbling out of bed.

You're quick to find him in the kitchen and nearly cry out of relief.

"I didn't leave; I'm just making breakfast," he assures you, setting down the spatula and hugging you close.

When you pull away, he looks at you intently, a smile creeping onto his face. "Good morning, sweetheart," Felix says, causing you to blush.

"Morning," you manage, glancing down.

"Go take your medicine. And don't worry about being nonverbal or not, okay?" Felix says.

You tried not to go nonverbal around others, but you had mentioned your frustration to Felix before. People, especially your parents, always ended up forcing you into talking. It made you uncomfortable and took up extra energy, exhausting you quicker. Felix was rather understanding at the time, but you were always afraid to be around him while nonverbal due to the struggle of communicating. But at the moment, it was going surprisingly well. You figure it's his patience and caring nature.

You go and do as he says, briefly wondering why he was telling you what to do and why you found it so easy to listen. You shrug and come back out, sitting at the table as Felix places a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

"Eat up, please," he says, joining you with a plate of his own.

You begin to eat, letting out a happy hum as you do.

Felix’s smile grows before he clears his throat. "I have to go into the studio today, but I'm not comfortable leaving you alone, even if I take all of your sharp objects," he admits, his expression turning serious.

You look intently at your plate, finding the yellow of the eggs to be a lovely color suddenly.

"Will you come to the studio with me? You can stay somewhere quiet and read for homework, if you'd like," Felix offers, watching closely for your reaction.

You'd never gone to the studio before. There had been times where Felix had said it would be okay, but you never had the chance. You wanted to, but you were worried about saesangs, getting Felix in trouble, starting a scandal… you had, and have, a lot of anxiety around it.

You hesitate before nodding slightly, causing Felix to grin in absolute delight.

"Okay! Great! And the second thing is… can I borrow clothes? I know you sometimes wear boxers to bed, and I just need a clean shirt and sweats…" Felix asks, and this time it was his turn to blush.

You laugh a little and nod, hoping your clothes would fit him.

"Great! Then after we get ready, I'll drive us there," he decides, smiling to make sure it was okay with you.

You nod in agreement, giving him a sense of relief.

You go use the bathroom, relieved that he didn't get up and leave without saying goodbye, or that the whole thing was a dream or strange hallucination. You take your medicine before going back to the kitchen, sitting at the table where Felix had already begun to eat.

You hum softly as you eat, letting him know to the best of your ability that you appreciate his actions.

Once you finish your plate, you bring them to the kitchen sink and wash them. You go to pick up the pan, but you can tell it’s too hot to wash. You leave it aside to cool down, drying your dishes as Felix washes his own.

After drying your hands as well, you head to your room with Felix to get ready for the day.

Felix helps you make your bed, but you manage to do most of it yourself so it was made the way you like it. You sit down and hug one of your pillows, watching as Felix goes through your clothes and picks something out to wear. He ends up picking out your clothes as well, getting you a soft shirt, your favorite pants, and a hoodie that he could have sworn belonged to him at one time.

He opens your underwear drawer before you can stop him, a noise of distraught escaping you. Felix ignores it just as he ignores your sex toys and lubricant, finding a pair of boxers for himself and a soft, simple pair of cotton panties for you along with a wireless bra.

Felix shuts the drawer and sets what he chose for you on the bed, the soft blush adorning his cheeks visible.

"I'll change in the bathroom, ok?" He states, gathering his borrowed clothes and shutting the door behind him.

In shock, you stare at the door for a moment before managing to get yourself dressed and tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper. You get up and head to the bathroom, greeted with an open door. Felix had already changed and was borrowing your hairbrush.

"Sorry," he apologizes, somewhat sheepishly.

You shake your head and dismiss it with a wave of your hand, silently letting him know you didn't mind.

"Turn around," he says.

You give him a confused look but turn around regardless, watching his reflection in the mirror. Felix runs the brush through your hair, careful about your ears. He sets the brush down and runs his fingers through your hair, braiding it. Felix then ties it off with a hair tie, beaming in pride at his creation.

You give him an appreciative smile before he asks, "are you ready?"

You shake your head, pulling out your makeup.

"You know you don't have to," he begins.

You shake your head more stubbornly, crossing your arms with a huff before you point to your concealer. Felix chuckles, and much to your surprise, he begins to do your makeup. You turn to lean against the sink, watching as he concentrates on doing your makeup. His soft breath fans over your cheeks, and you were secretly glad you gave him a toothbrush.

Felix doesn't take long, giving you only base makeup. He does your eye makeup very simply, looking through your lip products before choosing the one he wants for you. Felix applies the glossy tint, his concentration on your lips causing you to blush.

"There," he softly murmurs, stepping back for you to look in the mirror as he pockets the lip tint.

You beam at him, turning and hugging him. He gently rubs your back before leading you to the door.

"Ugh, socks!" He remembers, turning back and heading to your bedroom.

You laugh and go to the kitchen, somehow managing to start cleaning the dishes. Felix comes back and looks confused, only to realize what you were doing. He helps by drying the dishes, watching as you tie up the trash.

"Eggs," you say pointedly.

"Good idea," he hums, going and putting on his shoes.

You notice he grabbed your backpack and keys, so you put your own shoes on.

As you throw out the trash, Felix goes and starts your car. You soon join him, using the hand sanitizer you carry for situations like this.

Felix turns on soft music, driving to the company after ensuring you were both wearing your seatbelts.

Once he parks, he grabs masks from his bag for you both. Felix puts his on before going to the passenger side door and helping you with yours. He slings your backpack over his shoulder, locking your car before leading you inside. You don’t notice Felix’s fingers twitching, but you did wish you were holding hands. Even in your sensitive state, you knew holding hands here and to the JYP building was not a good idea, as the possibility of saesangs taking a photo and starting drama was too high for either of your likings.

Once inside, security tries to stop you. “It’s okay, they’re with me,” he assures the guard, taking your hand as he shows them his ID.

The security guard stares you down before nodding and taking both of your temperatures. The guard stands to the side, letting Felix take you to the elevator and towards their practice room. He doesn’t let go of your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Once off the elevator, another security member is about to stop you before they notice Felix holding your hand. “Excuse us,” he says, leading you around them. Their puzzled expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you were glad they didn’t try to stop you.

He stops outside a room, pointing to it. “This is Channie hyung’s room, okay? If you need to go there for somewhere quieter, he won’t mind,” Felix explains, quickly pulling out his phone to check something. “Then we are practicing in this room today,” he says, leading you to a different door and opening it.

It was loud, as some of the others were stretching, talking, and dancing. Hyunjin smiles and waves as soon as he notices you, while most of the others shout their greetings. Changbin runs over and is about to hug you, but Felix stands in front of you, since Changbin was prone to hugging without asking.

“Do you want a hug?” Felix asks you, wanting you to be comfortable.

You hesitate before nodding, stepping around Felix and hugging Changbin. Changbin picks you up and spins you around, giggles escaping you.

“How are you? I can’t believe you came!” Changbin cheers as he sets you down, a grin on his face.

You step back into Felix, who gently holds your shoulders as you lose your balance. You look up at him, worry clouding your features.

“Y/N is… having some trouble talking right now. So, simple yes or no questions work best for them,” Felix explains, squeezing your shoulders reassuringly before letting you go.

“Oh, okay,” Changbin says, nodding despite not clearly understanding. “Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know,” he adds, smiling.

You shrug a little, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“They don’t normally leave home when it happens. They generally are stressed and overwhelmed, so it helps them cope and is easier just to let them… communicate in other ways,” Felix further explains, moving to stand next to you and resting his hand on your back.

When you tense up, he withdraws his hand, but you stop him by grabbing his arm and shaking your head. Felix gently rubs soothing circles on your back as you accommodate yourself with the new space.

Chan comes over at the same time, smiling brightly. “It happens normally to neurodivergent people, right? Especially autistic ones?” Chan asks, looking at you for confirmation. You nod, and he continues. “Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?” he asks. When you nod a second time, Chan places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I’m happy you came! If you need a break, you can go to my studio room, okay? Did Felix show you where it is?”

You nod, glancing at Felix.

“Okay, good! Today might not be the best day though,” he admits, looking to Felix.

“What do you mean by that?” Felix asks, rubbing your back.

Chan removes his hand from your shoulder and says in a hushed voice, “JYP is supposed to come to practice today.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Felix responds with a tight lipped smile.

Once Felix makes sure you are comfortable sitting down, he produces earplugs from his pocket (you have no idea where or how he got them), and sets them in the palm of your hand. “In case it gets too loud,” he murmurs, smiling.

He straightens up as the choreographer enters the room, who they greet and thank. They soon start practicing, and you find yourself carefully stuffing the earplugs in your ears. You watch them in awe, looking at each of them practicing the new moves. Your eyes always come back to Felix, and you soon find yourself grinning like a fool. The song was amazing, and you wrote a note down in your phone to tell Chan, Changbin, and Jisung later on.

Right as they start a break, JYP himself comes into the room. You look up from your phone, the blood draining from your face as you try to meet Felix’s eyes. They immediately turn around and greet him, bowing and thanking him for his time.

“Show me what you have so far,” JYP says, heading towards you, standing in front of the mirror. That’s when he notices you. His eyes narrow and he walks over to you, and you immediately bow in greeting.

You feel the anxiety bubbling in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you as your breathing becomes irregular.

“You’re not an intern. Who are you?” he inquires, resting his hands on his hips.

You gape up at him, but thankfully Felix is quick to come to your aid.

“Sorry, JYP! This is my partner, Y/N. They can’t talk right now, since their doctor has their voice on rest-” Felix begins, only to be interrupted. Your eyes widen in shock as he introduces you as his partner, quickly trying to hide your surprise as he lies for you.

“So they’re sick? They shouldn’t be here then!” JYP demands, his face reddening in anger.

“No! They just aren’t supposed to talk because they had vocal chord surgery, that’s all!” he explains, doing his best to pull the lie.

Felix’s words seem to console and calm JYP, who huffs.

“Someone’s going to have to give them a non-disclosure agreement then,” he huffs, looking at the staff as if to tell them they needed to. “I will have a conversation with you later, Yongbok,” JYP sneers.

You knew Felix was in for it, but he gives you a charming smile before starting to practice.

You notice JYP’s glare every now and then, so when they take a break you make a beeline for the door, heading to Chan’s studio room and sending Felix a text with an explanation. You’re so caught up in remaining calm and composed that you almost bump into who turns out to be Mina from Twice.

Your eyes widen and you apologize, bowing and managing to say a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Once in Chan’s studio room, you move his chair and curl up under his desk. You put the hood of your hoodie over your head, doing some deep breathing. You take out the earplugs and put them in your pocket before turning on some soft, soothing music.

You close your eyes and don’t realize you had fallen asleep until Felix comes in the room, calling your name. Before he panics, he notices you under the desk. He bends down and offers you his hand, saying, “C’mon, you must be uncomfortable.”

You take it and he helps you stand up, your back popping as you do so.

“Are you hungry? It’s been a while since breakfast, and we all stopped and had lunch,” he explains, gently letting go of your hand.

You shove the hood off of your head, grabbing his forearms. “Did you mean what you said?” you ask, your eyes wide as your cheeks flush.

“What I said?” he asks, perplexed.

You stare at him for a moment before blurting, “You called me your partner…”

“Oh,” Felix says, his voice small. “About that…” he begins, subtly checking his pulse before rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable…”

“Do you want me to be your partner?” you bluntly rephrase.

Felix’s cheeks turn pinker and pinker as he nods ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about asking you before, but never did. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way, and you’re my best friend…” he murmurs.

“Well…” you shyly begin. “You’re patient, caring, and help me when I go nonverbal. You’re understanding of my space and sometimes I swear you know me better than myself. You’re… Well, pretty much everything I want in a boyfriend…”

“Really?” Felix asks, surprised at your admission.

“Yeah…” you murmur with a nod, glancing downwards as you loosen your grip on his arms. You look back up and bite your lip before shyly asking, “Will you kiss me?”

Felix blinks, but smiles before pulling down both of your masks and giving you a soft kiss on your lips. You whine softly, so he cups your cheek and kisses you again.

After he pulls away, he smiles and giggles, “So about that non disclosure agreement…”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed iv, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: Your boyfriends woke up and chose violence. Excuse me, Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi? Do you really think you can post one after another on Twitter, send the world into heart palpitations, and not expect your girlfriend to do something about it? Hmm?!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of the pandemic; reader and Yoongi have giant heart eyes whenever they see each other; feels and fluff; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, nipple play, f and m-receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, m-masturbation, double penetration/spit roasting); idol!BTS

that’s right JK posted his blue hair and i absolutely lost it part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your boyfriend asked JJK to fuck you, then again, and then they decided to make this a thing; based on real time.

--

Your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Everything was fine. You were on your lunch break, sitting in your kitchen, knowing you would have to get back to work soon. A quick meal and scrub of the dishes left you with you a few minutes to check your phone. You didn’t get many messages throughout the day and you preferred it that way. You took a moment to scroll through social media.

Only to choke a little seeing Jeon Jungkook, the Golden Maknae of BTS, reveal his dark blue locks to the world in the middle of the damn day. Did you almost drop your phone? Yes. Did you not because it was the special edition BTS S20+? Also, yes. The TinyTan SUGA phone case would have protected it anyway, but… still.

You placed your phone aside and went back to your computer, ready to attend work again.

Not quite composed, but it was just a picture, just a picture, just a picture…

Except you knew what Jungkook looked like naked and that wasn’t helping.

Three hours later, you snuck a glance at your phone only to be attacked by the cutest human being in the world, Min Yoongi, SUGA of BTS, sometimes Agust D, all the time lil meow meow because, holy shit, why the fuck was this man so cute? Those damn cheeks. Those eyes. Fuck, you loved his eye shape. And his pretty lips. Damnnit, why couldn’t you kiss him right now?

They’re trying to kill you and ARMY all at once. 

You’re convinced.

You rubbed your temples and took a deep breath.

It is only a coincidence. It doesn’t involve you. They’re only being their usual adorable, attractive selves and giving a gift to the fans. You weren’t delusional. It was their job to do things like this. You knew this and you were used to it. You’ve seen Yoongi say all kinds of things in V-LIVEs and you always thought it was funny. Lately, he hadn’t been responding to them much though. As for Jungkook, well.

Everyone in the world wanted Jungkook, including you, so could you blame the world? No.

Jungkook tried to tell you before that he was shy and you recalled all those see-through shirts he’d worn on stage. All those ab reveals. Hmm, you weren’t fooled.

“I wanted to make sure you were looking at me, noona,” Jungkook had teased you, hooking his arms around your waist. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

Yeah, yeah, your attention and millions of other people.

It made you laugh, until he became your boyfriend, and now it made you choke on air like every other human being who saw him looking that good. Before you had the safety of giving your full attention to Yoongi. Yoongi had always been your priority and you wanted to make sure he felt that way.

Little by little.

Jungkook grew up.

And became harder and harder to ignore.

Even more difficult when Yoongi gave him the apartment key and told him to fuck you in his stead.

You heard your phone ping. You checked your messages, saving your work in the process.

That will teach you to post such sexy pictures.

You twitched. Excuse me? What was Jungkook talking about? Your personal, private Instagram was for expressing your – sometimes eccentric – fashion sense. Was he referring to the images you posted for Valentine’s Day, the ones with the white vinyl coat, red stockings, and sky-high red heels? Hmph. You couldn’t even see your face in those. Actually, you deliberately cut off most of your face in all of your pictures. The most you showed were your lips, always painted to match your outfit. You didn’t want anyone to recognize you, even by happenstance.

Made taking pictures much easier, since you never had to do eye makeup or worry about accidentally making ugly faces.

It was private now, but it wasn’t before, and the only reason you privated it was because you started dating Yoongi. You still wanted it use it as an outlet though, so you left it as is, with your follower count unchanging. It wasn’t that many people to begin with and you were pretty sure a lot of the accounts were bots.

In any case, sometimes you felt like being creative and dressing up, thus you did so on Instagram. You couldn’t dress like that when you went to visit Yoongi. Ah, and now Jungkook too. To be honest, you loved fashion and trying on different looks, but it wasn’t possible unless you were alone. And you were alone a lot, with no one but strangers to appreciate (or be confused by) it.

Might as well take a picture, right?

And if you could tease Yoongi a little, at least from a distance, that was even better.

You forgot Jungkook also followed you now though. 

Dammit. 

Had the photos been sexy? Sure. Provocative, lots of leg, almost a peek of ass but not quite. Red lips to stand out against the white. If the coat was black, it would have been more traditionally fetishist, but that's why you had picked shiny white vinyl. Brighter for the cute holiday. 

Who are you kidding? You wore it to provoke Yoongi.

He texted you after you posted it. Usually, he said things along the lines of, pretty, cute, you look crazy, I like it. Only sometimes did he say...

what the fuck

You had asked him if he liked your post today. 

I'm not trying to pop a boner in the middle of practice, control yourself woman.

Maybe don't post such cute selfies then, you had thought. Then your phone pinged again. 

Send a picture with the coat open. Jungkook wants to see. 

Oh, so now that the maknae was involved, he was going to pin things on the younger one. Two can play at this game. You sent the photo to Jungkook first. You knew that if the situation was reversed, Yoongi would have done the same. Jungkook's reaction had been hilarious.

Noona?! WHAT???

And then a slew of head exploding emojis.

Yoongi had been agitated until you finally sent him the picture too. It had been a fun incident.

Until your boyfriends woke up today and chose violence.

Dammit. 

You stared at blue-haired Jungkook and 'Blue and Grey' Yoongi from the MTV Unplugged performance. 

This just wasn’t allowed. 

-

This visit had a purpose, but then you saw Min Yoongi standing in the hallway waiting for you, wearing an olive-green shirt, hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, small smile on his lips. Purring your name lovingly after you closed the door, and you realized you missed him so very much, his lovely dark brown eyes and dark hair, and then you were suddenly in his arms and he was hugging you. 

With both arms. 

Yoongi was recovering well and he still couldn't do strenuous activity yet, but he was hugging you with both arms and you wanted to cry because it was so nice to have them both around you. You could've been cool and collected, yet somehow both you and Yoongi had the same idea to first hug and breathe in each other, his fresh, woodsy scent strongly invading your nose and his soft cheek against yours.

"You smell different."

"Do you like it?" you mumbled into his neck, kissing it lightly. 

"Mhm."

You thought it had worn off by now, but the new perfume you had purchased lingered far longer than you imagined, clinging to your hair. Warm spiced sweetness with a hint of sharp smoke. Yoongi inhaled deeply beside you.

"You should wear more perfume," he murmured, hands kneading your waist.

"Someone might notice."

"Nah, your taste similar enough to mine."

He was taking off your coat and you were stepping out of your shoes, being pulled deeper into the apartment, and now his kisses were yours, soft and light, every one saying, I missed you, I want you, I love you. There no need for words when it was Min Yoongi. Fingers tapping down your waist, pulling your oversized black shirt up and over your head. 

"Excuse me?"

You pooped your head out to see Yoongi staring at your chest, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Oh, right. You had been so occupied with hugs and kisses that you almost forgot. Your shirt fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

You smirked. 

"Surprise."

Yoongi made a face at you. Somewhere between angry, aroused, and shock. Good. Serves you right for posting such a cute selfie.

The front door opened. 

Both of you instantly moved, you sliding behind him and into the bedroom, Yoongi standing in front of you, masking your frame. The discarded shirt and jacket could be explained away – that's why you wore oversized men's clothes, usually in Yoongi's preferred color palette.

"Hyung?"

Oh, whew. Actually, wait. No, this was danger. 

"Ah, Jungkookie."

Yoongi placed his hand on your arm and you popped your head over the corner once you heard the door close. Yup. A swift shake of dark blue locks, white sweatshirt and loose black sweatpants, and that mischievous smirk with a wrinkle of his nose. 

Danger.

"Hey, noona!"

Damnnit, planning for two is hard! You couldn't just go put your shirt on and do the grand reveal again. Yoongi grasped your upper arm with his right hand and yanked you from the doorframe. You squeaked, body stumbling into Jungkook’s view.

"Did you plan this?" Yoongi asked with a cocked brow. 

Jungkook's eyes went wide. 

"Uh... no, but I like where this is going," Jungkook replied, smirk growing. 

The black lace bra stood out against your skin, strappy and elegant, molding to the swells of your breasts and the curve downward to your waist, matching the garter belt that disappeared into the black jeans you were wearing. You didn't usually wear lingerie. It wasn't practical and if you accidentally left something behind... it wasn't worth the risk. Yoongi and you took every precaution to not fuck this up. 

Therefore, you only wore lingerie on your private Instagram. 

Only showing little flashes, never the whole picture. And, really, you wore it in your photos to mess with them. It made you feel nice too, so it was a win-win. This set was familiar to Yoongi and Jungkook because you had worn the red version in the original Valentine’s Day themed photos. 

Again, you didn't usually wear lingerie, but Jungkook and Yoongi couldn't just post pictures on Twitter back-to-back, two-shot you, and not expect a damn reaction. That kind of shit wasn't tolerated! On top of all that, you had to wait and get properly tested before getting here. This pandemic extended your frustrations. So, yes, fuck it, you wore the damn lingerie that made you feel the sexiest. Even if your jeans were still on, you knew you looked good. 

No one had to tell you. You checked in the mirror before you left. 

"Is this your response to my text a couple days ago?" Jungkook teased, kicking off his shoes and bounding over to you two. His dark blue hair shimmered in the light, like a night sky covered with stars, smile pure and naughty at the same time, lighting up his whole face. 

Fuck you for being hot, Jeon Jungkook!

You leaned back against Yoongi, crossing your arms under your breasts, pressing them together. Jungkook grinned, the mole underneath his lower lip winking at you. 

"Something like that," you coolly replied. Shit, there was an edge to your voice. Hopefully neither Yoongi or Jungkook picked that up.

"Hmm..." 

Jungkook pursed his lips, the tip of his pink tongue sticking out the side. Ack. You had to look away. You turned and bumped your lace-covered tits against Yoongi's chest. His dark brown orbs flickered to your breasts, sly smile on his lips. 

"This is your fault too, by the way."

Yoongi raised his eyebrows, amused. "What do you mean?"

You dropped your hands, surveying him suspiciously. "You think I don't know? Posting right after Jungkook? That's not allowed! You know what that does to me."

Yoongi leaned forward. Your breath caught in your throat, heart beating fast all of a sudden. You backed up, right into Jungkook's chest. Uh oh. Yoongi hummed, black hair shadowing his face, devious sparkle in those dangerous eyes, his voice a raspy, purring drawl. 

"What does it do to you?"

Your hand fell back to brace yourself and Jungkook's fingers wrapped around your wrist, stroking your skin. You felt him shift behind you and then his lips were on your ear, whispering in his silvery voice. 

"Yeah, noona. Tell us.” His grip on your wrist tightened, squeezing lightly, asserting his presence behind you. “Or you can show us."

...

!!!

How dare they tag team you? First, they visually attack you – and millions of other ARMY – in the middle of the workday, and now this, Yoongi closing in, kissing you once more, deeper, hungrier, with dark intent, smirking against your lips as Jungkook took both your hands, ghosting his long fingers over yours. You whimpered into Yoongi's mouth, body tensing, Jungkook pressing himself into your back, breath against your hair. 

"You smell different," he murmured.

You couldn't reply. Yoongi was sucking on your tongue, making you whine. 

"Warm, sweet, and spicy."

Yoongi released you and you gasped for air, bucking into Jungkook's crotch. "I bought it last week... thought it smelled nice..."

Jungkook nuzzled your hair. "I like it. Makes me horny."

You laughed a little, turning your hands around in his to lace your fingers together. He held your hands firmly, grinding his crotch into your ass. You could already feel his arousal through your jeans.

"Sounds dangerous," you mused. 

"It is," Yoongi chuckled. "But you should keep wearing it anyway. You smell good."

Heat rose to your cheeks. Then you realized your jeans were already undone, being daintily pushed down by deft hands and an amused expression, Yoongi crouching to pull them along. Bit by bit, revealing the matching garter belt, the high-cut black lace panties that framed your thighs, and lace-topped sheer stockings, all the straps emphasizing your softness, sinking into your thighs and ass.

"Fuck..." Yoongi breathed, running his fingertips over the delicate fabric, touch so light against your skin, dancing up your knee. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He looked up at you, eyes so dark they seemed black, playful smirk on those perfect pink lips. Thump. You felt Jungkook pull your arms back and press them to his sides. You grabbed fistfuls of Jungkook’s shirt, staring down at Yoongi advancing between your legs, his smirk growing wider and more teasing, lovely voice low and husky, deep with arousal.

"What's the matter?" Yoongi purred. "Cat got your tongue?"

Your body tensed in anticipation, Jungkook's hands crawling around your sides, one tattooed, one not, fingers hovering over your now trembling chest. Looking down at Yoongi's smug expression, tongue flicking out and teasing you. Reminding you how good he was and how long you'd been waiting. 

Fuck you for being hot, Min Yoongi!

"Don't overexert yourself..." you breathed.

A sculpted brow lifted. 

"I have help now," he reminded you and Jungkook's hands sank into your barely-covered breasts. 

"Fuck..." Jungkook hissed into your ear, running his palms over your nipples, listening to your gasps as Yoongi dived between your thighs, hot tongue sliding against the lace. "Missed these tits so fucking much." His lips on your ear, growling your name, that dominant edge to his silvery voice, tweaking the hardened nubs while Yoongi teased your clothed clit with his tongue, the lace hardly a barrier but still an effective one, the rough threads plucking against your sensitive nerves.

How long had it been? So long, almost forever since Yoongi’s tongue was on you, soft and fast and the perfect pressure, deliberately teasing you and not moving the fabric aside, so close yet so far. If it wasn’t Yoongi, maybe you could tell him to move it, maybe you could beg, but you couldn’t speak because of Yoongi’s tongue and Jungkook’s rough touch, his hands on your breasts, pushing them together, your nipples poking tiny tents in the black lace, running his fingertips over them over and over, his hips grinding into your ass. Yoongi cupped one of your ass cheeks and spread them, your panties bunching in the center, Jungkook’s hardness slipping in, still covered by his sweatpants.

Wetter, hotter, sanity slipping little by little.

“Y-Yoongi… J-Jungkook…”

You tried not to shove your hips in Yoongi’s face, not wanting to strain his neck, and ended up pushing back instead, bouncing against Jungkook’s cock. The younger man snickered, nipping at your ear, pinching your nipples, and you felt a slick squelch as Yoongi’s tongue pushed the lace into your dripping pussy. The moans dragged out of your throat, eyelids fluttering, letting them do whatever they wanted, pleasure flooding all your senses, watching Yoongi wreck you, clutching Jungkook’s sweatshirt, panting their names, leaking more and more, the scent of your juices getting stronger and sweeter.

“This isn’t fair…” you panted. “I’m going c-crazy…”

Yoongi hummed on your clit and you cried out, hips rocking, so good, head tipping onto Jungkook’s broad shoulder, his long blue hair brushing against your cheek and eyelashes.

“Good, because you make us crazy,” Jungkook muttered, pushing your breasts together and squeezing them roughly. His voice was so deep you could feel your back vibrate with his words. His other hand came up and gripped your chin, trailing down and fitting around your neck, the loose sleeve falling and revealing his forearm tattoos, contrasting your lace-covered skin. “Always looking so fucking pretty and making me want to fuck you…”

His index finger came up and pressed against your lower lip. Those chocolatey eyes were watching your face from his peripheral vision, smirking as he witnessed your expression.

“Even showing off these sexy, fuckable lips. That’s not fair either, noona.”

“T-That’s not…”

Jungkook’s hand at your throat dropped and you yelped, his large palm fitting around your right thigh and lifting it up, fingers sinking in. Stockings, lace, garter, Jungkook’s touch, holding your leg up and out, giving Yoongi a perfect view of your glistening core. Then there was more, too much more, Yoongi pushing aside your panties, soaked fabric snapping against the inside of your thigh and then his mouth was directly on you, oh, fuck, his tongue on your throbbing clit, lips wrapped around it, pure suffocating ecstasy, your slick juices dripping down his chin, so easy, it was just too easy for Yoongi to make you feel so fucking good and he looked so sexy doing it too, those cat-like eyes piercing into you, ordering you to cum for him, to spill all over his beautiful face.

“Yoongi… fuck, your tongue is so fucking good–”

Your body rippled with pleasure and you flung your head to the side, away from Jungkook’s ear to moan far too loud, filling up the entire hallway, wanton and lewd, absolutely pornographic and sinful in nature, orgasm gushing into Yoongi’s waiting mouth, shuddering against Jungkook’s hard body. So many sensations, too many sensations. Yoongi sank his nails into your ass, growling as he sucked out your cum and drank it, Jungkook grinding his stiff length in between your ass cheeks, spreading your leg so far that your left one was quivering with strain, tits squashed in Jungkook’s left hand, his warm tongue on your ear, whispering darkly. Dirty, sensual, and your pussy couldn’t stop throbbing, Min Yoongi’s mouth and Jeon Jungkook’s low octave driving you insane.

“You look so fucking good, noona. Your body is so fucking perfect, so sexy wrapped up in lace,” he exhaled, sliding his palm over your nipples roughly, earning more depraved moans. He lowered your leg, slowly, Yoongi lapping at your clit, sending shocks of pleasure up your torso as he cleaned you off. Jungkook’s hand slid down over your stomach, flicking the straps against your skin, small snaps of pain that made you gasp, trapped in Jungkook’s power, letting him take over you. He took a step back, forcing you to arch your spine and look up at him, a curtain of cobalt surrounding that handsome face and those intense brown eyes.

No one could make you feel the way Yoongi made you feel. No one.

So...

Why did staring up at Jungkook like this do things to you? Why did it put your heart on a string and tension in your throat? Get it together. You weren't a teenager. Ask for what you want. He was just so insanely attractive in every way.

Jungkook smirked and you wanted him to ruin you. 

He lifted you up easily. You saw Yoongi standing up and wiping his chin, self-satisfied and amused. He tilted his head and plucked one of the straps on your stomach, a light, erotic sting. Yoongi made eye contact with you, locking you in his gaze. A single look, and your heart was fluttering, immediately smitten. One by one, fingers wrapping around a few of the straps and pulling you to him, backing up, leading you to the bed by own your lingerie. 

"Why today?" Yoongi drawled, tracing the curve of the bra cup, sending shivers over your skin. "Feeling risky?"

You raised a brow, focusing on him, trapped in those cat-like eyes. 

"Control yourself. Aren't you used to this body by now?"

Yoongi grinned devilishly, darting closer, leaving you breathless in his speed. The scent of his cologne and your orgasm lingered on his skin, a delicious combination. 

"Never."

Kissing you, taking your startled inhale, and you could taste yourself, fuck, just something about his skilled lips and your taste had your fingers twisting into Yoongi's shirt, rolling your body into his, still being so careful, but it was so hard because he was making it so hard, teasing you with that deft tongue, bursts of pleasure with every heartbeat you had while captured in Yoongi's lips. You missed it, this intensity, the overwhelming feeling that Yoongi gave you, being able to give in to the want, but you still couldn't give in without abandon, but you were so close. 

So close. 

Ruin me. 

He pushed you lightly and you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, the kiss suddenly broken, but the second touch was familiar now, one tattooed arm, one not, and you knew that if you fell, these arms could catch you.

Jungkook put you in his lap, your back touching his bare chest. Oh, shit. Before you could think much about it, he turned you so you were laying in his arms princess-style. He must have removed his sweatshirt while you were talking to Yoongi, but he still wearing his pants, now sitting in the side of the bed, blue hair messy from your hands and the removal of his clothes. Your arms hooked around his neck instinctively, not wanting to fall, but he had his right hand splayed across your shoulder blades, holding you up securely. 

"Mmm, this is nice," Jungkook murmured, playfully smiling. He nuzzled your nose, tongue flicking over your lips. "Why did you make us wait so long, hm?"

You frowned, breath against his chin. "The number of cases got higher... and you all were so busy... I couldn't get tested until recently."

Jungkook made a disgruntled noise. 

"Hey, public health and safety is important."

He pouted at you. "But..."

"He's horny and wants to fuck," Yoongi cut in.

"Hyung…!"

Yoongi pulled up his chair and sat down, looking amused. 

"He's been jacking off to your pictures."

"N-no, I haven't!"

"Really? I have."

Yoongi's face was completely neutral. It was hard to tell if he was lying or not. 

Jungkook tried to hide his flushed face with your hair. "... M-Maybe I h-have..."

"Tsk, tsk, naughty Jungkookie," you teased.

"Noona..."

"And you?"

You felt Yoongi grasp your chin, tipping you back in Jungkook's arms. Some of your hair fell over your eyes, hazing your vision of Yoongi. Even so, his intent was obvious. You could feel it in his gaze, the burning hunger, his fingertips caressing your chin, leaning forward slightly to observe you. 

I want to ruin you. 

Yoongi didn't have to say it. You knew it, pierced by the predatory glint in his eyes. You could tell he missed this, could tell that he wanted to give in to his desires, wanted to lose control, only limited by his own physical body.

However. 

He pressed his thumb into your lower lip, lifting a brow. 

Jungkook was here now.

Yoongi gave you his trademark open-mouthed smirk. 

"Ruin me," you whispered, staring into those cat-like dark brown eyes. The recognition was instant, pleased that you knew what he wanted. You shifted your attention to the maknae, his chocolate eyes wide, watching your tongue slide out and licking Yoongi's thumb. "Ruin me, Jungkook."

You loved the way Jungkook could turn from blushing anxiousness to sly confidence, and all it took was your words and the way you said them, enabling him in the best way possible. The dark blue hair helped accented the shift in demeanor, creating cool-toned shadows over his lightly tanned skin. 

"Anything for you," Jungkook purred.

You gasped sharply as you felt two fingers slide into you, Jungkook’s thumb rubbing your overstimulated clit. Your body jerked, trying to get away, but Yoongi's hand on your chin slid down, pressing on your chest, holding you still, your name a dangerous rasp from Yoongi's lips.

"Stay still."

Your eyes flickered down. Right hand. Okay. You shouldn’t be worried anymore, but you were. It was habit.

"Yoon–ah!"

You gasped, left arm firmly behind Jungkook's shoulders and the other behind you, your hand on the bed to steady your balance as Yoongi shoved the bra cups down, exposing your breasts. He lowered his head, the contact of his lips on your hot skin paired with Jungkook's thrust of his fingers into your pussy. Instant waves of pleasure overtook you, fingers sinking into the sheets and Jungkook’s hair, fuck, his beautiful navy hair standing out against your skin and, for some reason, seeing that made you feel prettier, thrusting your chest in Yoongi’s face to get more into his mouth, spreading your legs wide to give Jungkook more access.

Only a brief moment of, I should know better, I shouldn’t be doing this, and then Yoongi’s eyes were on you, tongue flicking your red nipple.

Let go.

Was this even fair to them? Could you satisfy both? Could you and should you? But Yoongi’s eyes were telling you to let go, to chase the feeling, to give in, and hunt the desperation and the want. They wanted you. There was nothing like this and there will never be anything like this again.

“Give it to me,” Yoongi growled.

You whined sharply as you felt two more fingers push into you, but not Jungkook’s fingers, Yoongi’s fingers, his thumb joining Jungkook’s on your clit and your eyes rolled back, so wet and aroused from knowing both Jungkook’s and Yoongi’s fingers were thrusting into you, four in total, your pussy sucking them in, back arching as Yoongi sucked on your nipple. So much pleasure, rapidly ascending higher and higher, so fucking full and tight that their fingers were making sloppy smacking sounds, matching rhythm so they filled you completely together, all at once.

You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting them, fingers spreading out in Jungkook’s hair and the sheets as you came hard, gasping their names, euphoria soaring through your nerves, and still they didn’t stop even though your pussy was violently spasming, creating a messy splatter of your juices on the inside of your thighs and their hands. Instead, the pace changed, Yoongi switching sides on your chest, and then you really couldn’t think, because Jungkook was lowering his head too, and now both of your nipples were getting abused, Jungkook’s arm firmly under your upper back to hold you up, not letting you fall.

“Yoongi, Jungkook… p-please, oh fuck!”

Your other hand flew up and buried in Yoongi’s dark locks, both hands in their hair now, one blue, one black, another orgasm crashing down, moan torn from your chest. And they kept going, changing the pace again, your toes and fingers curling, every muscle tense with irresistible, consuming ecstasy that you almost felt a little numb, unable to compute anything else but your body scantily covered in lace, two mouths sucking on your nipples, four fingers stuffed into you, clit engorged and sending violent shocks throughout your system. You couldn’t even discern one orgasm from another, pussy continuously throbbing and convulsing with the continuous, chained orgasms, so wet that it was soaking the tops of your stockings, the sweet honey of your cum the predominant scent in the room.

“I… I-I can’t take a-anymore, please…”

Your legs threatened to close but Yoongi snapped his head up, snarling your name dangerously.

“One more,” he ordered. “Give us one more.”

“Your pussy feels so good,” Jungkook panted, saliva dripping down your chest. “I love it so fucking much, even when it’s around my fingers.”

You were trying to hold back, trying to control it, tensing everything, your core, your legs, your arms, and you didn’t even realize it, but you held your breath too, biting your lip and seeing Yoongi and Jungkook at the same time, both watching you, fingers punishingly squelching into your tight little hole, stretching it out unforgivingly, abused clit pulsating so hard it almost hurt, and it was exactly what you wanted, brimming, boiling pleasure that threatened you on the brink, closer, closer, closer, and the world was almost hazy with how ferociously you had constricted the coil.

“Fuck!”

You threw your head back, back abruptly arching and smacking them in the face with your tits as everything came plummeting down, resolve cracking with a wanton howl, orgasm racking through your entire frame so hard that your body lurched and flinched, Yoongi and Jungkook cradling you while you rode your high, grinding your hips into their hands and carnally moaning, liquid gushing out and dripping down your legs, your ass, down Jungkook’s sweatpants and onto the bed.

It was such an intense orgasm that you were lightheaded, hands slipping out of their hair and falling down, drained, aftershocks causing your body to shudder, even as they removed their fingers. Your clit was still throbbing, pumps of pleasure spreading through you.

It was obscene witnessing Yoongi and Jungkook cleaning their fingers off right in front of you, pink tongues sliding between the digits, licking off your viscous cum, giving you a perverse sense of satisfaction when Yoongi moaned softly and Jungkook groaned lowly, savoring your taste like a fine wine. Yoongi spied your exhausted, smug expression.

“Do you think you’re done?”

You gave him a weak smirk. “I better not be.”

“Sit in Jungkook’s lap,” Yoongi said calmly. “Face me.”

You tilted your head curiously but did as you were told, shifting your still quivering legs so your thighs were on the outside of Jungkook’s thighs, the balance a little difficult, but Yoongi took your hands and placed them around his hips. You held onto him as he lifted his shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Jungkook, rip her panties off.”

Wait, what did Min Yoongi just s–?

Two strong hands dug out the lace trapped in your ass and fastened around the thin fabric.

Riiiiiiip!

“Yoongi!”

The shirt fluffed his black hair as he removed it, dropping it onto his chair. You glared at him as Yoongi looked down at you, expression blank, dark brown orbs full of mischief.

“You knew it was going to happen. If he wasn’t going to rip it, I was.” Yoongi placed his right hand on his left shoulder. His tone dropped, mockingly rueful. “You wouldn’t want me to hurt myself, right?”

Yeah, this was why you didn’t wear lingerie.

But, also, this was why you wore it today.

You felt Jungkook tugging off the now useless pair of panties, plucking them out from under your garter belt. Oh well. You liked the red more anyway. That’s why you had bought two sets, after all.

“Remind me to take all the bits before I go,” you grumbled.

“Sure, noona.” Jungkook dangled the said lacy bits next to your head. You narrowed your eyes and mouth into slits even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll put them in my pocket.” You felt him shove them into his sweatpants.

Were you… going to remember?

Yoongi beckoned you. You shot him a warning look, still annoyed, but Yoongi pointed down to your hands on his hips.

“Isn’t there something you want?” Yoongi mused in that raspy, dark tone, the one that made your irritation fade instantly and replace it with arousal. “Take it.”

He cocked his head, shading his dark eyes with his hair, pink lips parting, the slightest hint of a smirk. Challenging you. Go on. Show me how much you want me. Your body still buzzed with the aftermath of moments before and yet you still lowered your head, sliding your hips back, sucking in a breath as your puffy pussy lips touched Jungkook’s toned chest, smearing yourself on his skin.

“Ooh, I like this,” Jungkook murmured, leaning back a little to give you space. You rocked your hips into his torso, his muscles flexing under you opening, inflamed clit brushing against his hardness. You pushed Yoongi’s pants and underwear down, dipping your head, hearing Yoongi breathe your name lustfully.

“That’s a pretty picture.”

He was only semi-hard, but he was getting harder and harder, watching you grind against Jungkook’s pecs. You knew exactly how to get him the hardest, dipping down and latching your mouth around one of his balls.

“Fuck, yes,” Yoongi gasped, his hand coming up and fitting behind your head. You sucked it into your mouth and then extended your tongue, bouncing the other with your wet muscle while sucking the first one. The first time you did this, Yoongi was literally speechless, sputtering and confused at how you could stimulate both at once and in two different ways, sucking with your lips as your tongue flicked against the other, slurping slightly to add vibration over the sensitive skin. You felt his cock swell, smacking your cheek, fully hard at the combined sensations.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” Yoongi gritted out, keeping your hair away from your face.

“Do what?” Jungkook asked behind you, one hand on your ass and squeezing it.

“She can suck one of your balls and lick the other at the same time.”

“What?!”

You yelped at the sharp sting of Jungkook’s slap to your ass.

“How come you never did that for me?” Jungkook complained, whining a little.

You tried to lift your head, but Yoongi’s hand refused to move. You make a muffled noise of distaste, but Yoongi answered for you as you switched sides.

“Have you asked?” Yoongi replied calmly, sighing in satisfaction.

“How am I supposed to know she has porn star skills?”

“Is this a discussion for right now?” you mumbled into Yoongi’s balls.

“No, because you’re supposed to be swallowing.”

“Wha–”

The second your mouth opened, Yoongi nudged his cock between your lips and you wrapped them around it, moaning as his stiff length slid down your throat, so satisfying, his taste on your tongue, so delicious that you didn’t even want to complain, you only wanted to bob your head up and down, hands on his hips. Yoongi chuckled above you, guiding your head with his right hand, left loosely by his side. You slid your lower body up and down Jungkook’s chest, your increased slickness adding more stimulation.

“Fuck, that’s so damn hot,” you heard Jungkook groan. There was a rustle of fabric and then skin on skin, his muscular arm brushing against your stocking clad thigh with every stroke.

If only you could take a picture and could see how sexy you were, blowing Yoongi with his hand behind your head, tucking the head of his cock into your throat a little deeper every time you descended, your pussy sliding up and down Jungkook’s chest, and Jungkook furiously jacking himself off while watching you suck his hyung off, feeling your slippery clit throb against his skin.

Good thing the door was locked, because of any other member walked in on this, it might have become a damn foursome.

“Close,” Yoongi panted, fingers digging into your scalp. “You want it like this?”

You hummed approvingly in your chest, increasing your pace and fucking Jungkook’s torso harder, nearing your end too, Jungkook moaning louder and pumping himself harder. So many indecent sounds, skin on skin, mouth on skin, hand on skin, moaning, crying out around Yoongi’s cock, his saliva-covered balls smacking you in the chin, you ass slapping down on Jungkook’s chest.

Hot, wet, positively sinful.

The chain reaction started with Jungkook. He came suddenly, choking on your name, shooting up your chest, warm stickiness splattering onto your skin and you squeezed your eyes shut, moaning as you came all over his chest, slippery and sweet, drenching his skin, throat muscles tightening, Yoongi whimpering your name, a rare moment of lost control as he thrust his hips into your lips, coating your throat with thick hot strings, forcing you to swallow fast, the pressure satisfying and overwhelming, gulping it all down eagerly.

You did ask to be ruined.

Just… a little more.

Your eyes were still closed, lazily licking Yoongi’s twitching length. He was panting above you, gently stroking your hair, words so soft that they were almost inaudible.

“I love you…”

You went all the way down and Yoongi groaned, your tongue flicking the top of his balls, rapid, swift laps that made his cock swell again, bending against the roof of your mouth. Yoongi chuckled, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Still want more?”

You backed up, panting hard, Jungkook’s cum clinging to your chest and lingerie, hair a mess from Yoongi’s hand.

“Want your cock in my pussy,” you demanded hoarsely. “Want you to fuck me, Yoongi.”

He pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I don’t know…”

You got off Jungkook’s lap, snaking around the younger man’s body, crawling onto the bed, eyes on Yoongi, his intense gaze following you, enticed by your movement. On all fours, hips in the air, dropping your chest down a little, the curve of your back accentuating the roundness of your bare ass. Still in your garter belt and stockings, your bra half-off, the lowered cups pushing your breasts together invitingly. Jungkook turned his head, pink lips parting as your fingers fanned out over the sheets, one eyebrow arching gracefully.

“Jungkook in front. Yoongi behind.”

“Do… Do you want a towel or something, noona?” Jungkook asked, blinking rapidly at your assertiveness.

“I want to get fucked and I want to get fucked now, so get over here.”

“Bed’s going to be a mess,” Yoongi remarked, moving quickly, shedding his pants and going for the nightstand, taking out a condom.

“We can sleep in Jungkook’s room,” was your dry reply, yanking Jungkook’s hips towards you after he removed his sweatpants.

“Wha– ack!”

You spread his legs out in front of you, eyes roaming over his naked body, admiring it all, his legs, his abs, his pecs, covered in your drying juices, his adorable surprised face, navy curls around his chiseled cheeks, chocolate eyes round and awed at your prowess. Your hands were on his knees, breasts hanging down, breathing hard, adrenaline humming in your veins.

“You are so fucking pretty it’s unreal,” Jungkook breathed.

You grinned.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck my face.”

Jungkook grinned back at you.

You dove down, tits bouncing before becoming squashed against the bed, Jungkook’s drying cum flaking off as you wrapped your lips around one of his balls, moaning as you felt Yoongi’s hands firmly grip your hips.

“You have to help me a little,” Yoongi murmured.

“I will, hyung.”

“I mean her too,” the older man chuckled, smacking your ass playfully. Your tongue flitted out, slurping at Jungkook’s other ball from the side of your mouth as you sucked the first one, wiggling your ass at Yoongi to indicate that you heard him. Jungkook yelped, hands slamming down onto the pillows and clutching them, moaning out your name.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, holy shit…” His head hit the headboard lightly, speaking to the ceiling and maybe even the higher power himself. “H-How...? Why does it feel s-so good…?”

You felt Yoongi slide in, so easy because of all those back-to-back orgasms, and yet he still hissed at your tightness, muscles holding him firmly. You could cry with how good it felt, Yoongi finally fully inside you once again, filling you up just the way you liked, knowing how to hit your deepest spot right away, skillful and wonderful. You licked up Jungkook’s now hard length, moaning deeply as you slapped your hips back into Yoongi’s crotch. Yoongi moaned to match yours, enraptured by the feeling.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, nails digging into your ass. “Missed you so fucking much, my love.”

“I’ll do the moving, love,” you gasped back, squeezing Yoongi’s cock inside you. You reached for Jungkook’s right hand and grabbed it, planting it on your head. “Fuck my face, Jungkook. Please. Don’t hold back until you cum.”

Jungkook bit his lip, exhaling your name. “I think I love you.”

“And I definitely love you, so please give it to me.”

You closed your lips around him and sank down, looking up at him and his sweaty dark blue hair, his blown-out pupils, his outstretched tattooed arm, so fucking hot, fuck yes you loved him, him and his body and his work ethic and his sweetness and his firmness as he obeyed your command, thrusting into your mouth from below, filling your throat with the thick head.

Perfect.

You rocked your hips back to Jungkook’s rhythm, matching him, slow at first, but gradually faster, rougher, planting your hands on the bed for balance, completely focused on clenching your core and your mouth to fit the two cocks, giving them the maximum amount of pleasure that you could offer, suffocating them with tightness. It if was obscene before, it was ten times obscener now, Yoongi’s hand on your hip, barely having to move as you smacked your ass into him, Jungkook lurching you forward with his force, clenching his jaw as he chased his release, the bed screaming for help and none of you listening.

“You’re so fucking sexy, fuck, you always make me feel so good, can’t help but want you, need you, miss you so fucking much,” Jungkook gritted out, fingers curling in your hair, desperately and viscerally whimpering out your name as you tipped your head to change the angle, the sensitive head dragging against the roof of your mouth as he buried himself in your throat. “You’re so good to me, such a soft and tight mouth, fuck.”

You arched your back a little more, Yoongi hitting you deeper, hearing him suck in a tight breath at your movement.

“Tighter,” Yoongi growled. “I’m close, come on, give it to me.”

And then he smacked your ass with his open palm, making you moan around Jungkook’s thick cock, pussy clenching around Yoongi’s entire length, and then again, smack! Control slipping with every hit, falling into Jungkook’s pace, the sheer force of his hips pushing you down on Yoongi’s cock over and over, now only focused on hollowing out your cheeks and gripping Yoongi’s cock, the sudden twitching indicating that Yoongi was close, so close, holding out a little so he could watch you longer, torturing you just the way you liked, but he couldn’t hold out for long because you didn’t let him, walls pulsating around him brutally as you came, stuffed so full that you couldn’t think. Yoongi groaned your name, gripping your ass with both hands and digging his nails in your softness, cock jolting as he came in thick pumps, filling up the condom and swelling it against your walls.

It took Jungkook a little longer, but not that much longer, your mouth still locked tight and he hissed out your name, whimpering as he came down your throat, filling it with cum once again, so fast that you had to swallow hastily to breathe, and yet there was more, thick salty dribbles that made you moan, so delicious that you leaned into it, sucking Jungkook dry.

“A-ah, n-noona…”

Your body ached, flinching from oversensitivity, your mind swimming with pleasure. Had it ever felt this good before? You slid off Jungkook’s cock, falling against his thigh and using it like a pillow, chest heaving, sticky all over, lips overused, pussy throbbing, barely realizing that Yoongi had pulled out, far too spent to see straight.

“Fuck, I love you two…”

Yoongi’s face suddenly appeared, smug expression above you. He had crawled over your body, ruffled black hair hanging down, dark cat eyes gleaming.

“Romantic.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Mmm.”

He leaned down and kissed you, smiling against your lips, mouthing his love to you, forming each word against your skin slowly so you knew. You smiled back, showering him with light pecks, mouthing the words back to him. Yoongi purred and lifted himself up, taking you with him.

“I can’t move,” you complained, using your arms to push yourself up to avoid straining Yoongi’s shoulders. He chuckled, not the least bit fooled by your whines. He pushed you into Jungkook’s hard chest, covered in sweat and cum, and sandwiched you between them, your face right beside Jungkook’s, cheek to cheek. You could feel the heat in his face, his hair sticking to it.

“Noona?”

“Hm?”

Everything was far too messy for this cuddle session, but that could wait.

“Is it okay if I love you?” Jungkook mumbled, burying his nose in your hair.

“Mhm,” Yoongi responded, sounding sleepy.

You brushed Jungkook’s hair away from his face. “I would very much like that.”

“Everything is dirty,” Yoongi grumbled.

“You are a main contributor,” you said cheerfully.

Yoongi grunted, leaning against you, squashing you a little harder against Jungkook. Nothing to complain about. You were enjoying every second of this.

“Jungkookie?”

“Hm, noona?”

You reached up and ran a hand through his dark cerulean hair. Jungkook hummed appreciatively, closing his eyes at your touch.

“You know this shade is Cookie Monster blue, right?”

“… Hah?”

“Does that make you Ggukkie Monster?”

Yoongi burst out laughing, raspy and full, a rare moment of Min Yoongi absolutely losing his shit.

-

part v "Sorry, Jungkook, you're not allowed this time."

--

masterpost

[jared-19-cant-reid]

Sunday Kind of Love

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You need a date to your sister’s wedding, and Spencer begrudgingly agrees to help you out. Your feelings for him become difficult to hide, and Spencer really commits to his role as your “boyfriend”.

Word Count: 5.3K

Content Warnings: Family conflict, minor angst, unprotected sex, Dom!Spencer/Sub!Reader, bondage, daddy kink, spitting, choking, breath play, exhibitionism/public sex, teensy bit of sacrilege

Author’s Note: This fic idea came to me while I was listening to “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James, so I’d highly recommend listening to it if you read the fic. Gives you the ~vibe~. Anyway, this is way longer than I expected but Spencer and reader deserved the extra time! I hope u enjoy :)

~

“C’mon, just make an appearance with me!” You pleaded. “It’s just one night! How bad can it be?” I didn’t even believe the words as they came out of my mouth.

Morgan snorted at that, shaking his head as he moved to exit the bullpen. “Sorry, kid. I love you, but I am not spending my night off at your bitchy sister’s wedding.” 

You sighed, reluctantly stepping aside to allow him to leave. Beginning to lose hope, you turned to your only remaining coworker. Spencer was still sitting at his desk, busying himself with organizing drawers and repositioning folders to avoid meeting your gaze as you approached his desk.

“Spencer, please come with me tonight. I can’t deal with my sister alone, and I think I might die if I have to explain to her that the guy I told her I was bringing ghosted me last week.” As you spoke, you watched him try to think of a way to protect your feelings without going. In the year you’d worked at the BAU you’d come to see everyone on the team as family, but it was Reid you felt closest to. When he didn’t respond immediately, you put your hand on his shoulder. “Spence, I need you.” You spoke quietly, but he heard you clearly.

He looked up at you at your last words, visibly conflicted. You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and he sighed, standing up. Knowing you had won, you threw your arms around his neck in a hug, nearly sending the two of you tumbling over in your enthusiasm. He tentatively wrapped his arms around you, returning the gesture of affection. 

His touch brought with it feelings of peace and happiness that you had come to associate with Spencer. Your smile grew impossibly wider as you thanked him a million and one times, squeezing him tightly as you felt relief spread through your body. Forcing yourself to pull away, you noticed his lips had quirked up into a small smile at your reaction.

“You know, almost twenty percent of weddings are called off. There’s still a chance it won’t even happen.” Spencer mumbled as you walked out together. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself. As you reached the garage, you thanked him again for agreeing to be your date. He just nodded, visibly nervous about the event.

You stopped him before he could start walking to the metro. “Let me drive you home,” you insisted, “it’ll be faster and we can talk over our game plan on the way!”

“Game plan?” He questioned, amused at your choice of words.

“Just pretend we’re going undercover on a case! We’ll get into character and everything. This can be fun if we make it fun.” Spencer seemed unconvinced, but he followed you to your car.

As you drove to his place, Spencer seemed to relax as he started to plan, happy to gain some control over the situation. You knew he hated big events, especially ones with a lot of strangers, but your deep dislike for most of your sister’s invite list meant you’d at least suffer together. Pulling up to the curb, you said a quick goodbye, telling him to be ready in an hour.

When you got home, you jumped through the shower, scrubbing off the stress of the work day to allow family-related stress to take its place. You quickly blew your hair dry, putting more effort into your hair and makeup than you usually did. As you reached your closet, you scanned your dresses for one that would match the maroon tie Spencer planned on wearing. A smile spread across your lips when you spotted it, your fingers toying with the soft fabric as you imagined Spencer’s reaction when he saw it. 

You tried to push the thought away, sighing at your own hopelessness. You’d been trying to bury your feelings for Spencer ever since you joined the BAU, but it was a losing battle. You found it impossible to ignore him, despite your efforts to remain neutral in his presence. Your heart swelled at the excitement shining in his soft hazel eyes, skipped a beat at the sight of his tongue resting between his lips in concentration, and stopped altogether at the way his hands moved and flexed when he spoke. The opportunity to spend this much one-on-one time with Spencer in what you were sure would be an incredibly flattering suit was almost worth the stress of dealing with your family. 

You slipped on the soft satin dress, admiring how it hugged your curves and flowed around your legs. The plunging v-neck was flattering, but tasteful enough to stave off disapproving looks from older guests, leaving you comfortable and confident. You stood in front of the mirror, taking in your appearance as you would a stranger’s. The face that looked back at you was friendly but tense, hands fiddling restlessly with the soft fabric of your dress. It didn’t take a profiler to see you needed to relax.

Taking a deep breath, you cleared your mind, taking a few minutes to give your mind rest and ground yourself. Opening your eyes again, your reflection looked much more peaceful, nodding as you decided you were ready to leave. As you drove to Spencer’s, you felt your heartbeat quickening, this time from excitement instead of stress. 

Knocking softly, you were surprised to hear Spencer’s footsteps already nearing you, as if he had been waiting by the door. As he stepped outside, your breath hitched. You shouldn’t be so affected by the sight of him, it’s not like he’d never worn a suit in front of you before. It was mostly the look on his face that struck you, his lips slightly parted and eyes scanning your body as he took in the sight of you. 

“So what do you think? Good enough to pass for a put-together adult who hasn’t been dreading this day for months?” You asked.

He took a second to respond. “Y-yeah, you… you definitely shouldn’t worry about it. I mean you look great- not that you don’t usually look great it’s just-”

You interrupted him for his own sake, giggling a soft “thank you, Spence. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Understatement of the century.

Soft music played through the speakers in your car, soothing your nerves as you hummed along to “A Sunday Kind of Love” quietly. You almost jumped when you heard Spencer begin to hum with you. 

“You know this song?! I didn’t know you listened to any non-classical music!” You exclaimed, unreasonably excited at your discovery.

“I’ve heard you listening to Etta James on the jet a couple times, so I checked out a couple of her songs,” Spencer said simply. You tried to pretend your heart hadn’t just exploded at the implications behind his words. You couldn’t trust your voice to mask your overflowing adoration for the man beside you, so you just smiled and began to sing along quietly.

Oh I'm hoping to discover

A certain kind of lover

Who will show me the way

Lost in the music, you were surprised for the second time that car ride by Spencer’s voice joining yours to sing the chorus. Your eyes shot to his face, but he kept his eyes forward, a small smile the only sign he’d seen your reaction. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face as you sang with him, his attempts at melody bringing a smile to your face. The words seemed to gain meaning as your voices joined together, both looking forward but focused fully on each other.

To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold

Love for all my life to have and to hold

Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love

Before you knew it, you had arrived. It was as if the bubble that had protected you from the reality of the situation had popped, leaving you exposed to the harsh world that lay waiting for you. Spencer reached out and squeezed your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence, his support, unwavering as you faced the night together.

Nodding slightly, you let go of his hand and stepped out of the car. Spencer walked beside you to the entrance of the church, close enough that you could feel his body heat. As you got closer, you groaned internally at the sight of your mother. 

A fake smile stretched across her lips, nodding at a woman whose outfit was so brightly colored you nearly had to look away from the glare. Her smile dropped for a split second when she saw you, but quickly returned with twice the artificial sweetness as before. She called out your name, voice straining with the effort it took to sound happy to see you. 

“This can’t be the boy you’ve been seeing! Much more handsome than I expected, how much did he cost you? Just kidding, of course.” Her laugh was somehow faker than her smile. You saw Spencer tense up beside you, and opened your mouth to correct her. She wouldn’t openly admit it, but you were sure your mother would be smug about the fact you and Spencer were just friends.

Before you could say anything, Spencer’s next words sent you reeling.

“Actually, I’m her boyfriend. Glad to finally meet you.” He said as politely as he could, though you could tell he disliked her already. Spencer had never had much patience for people who made jokes at others’ expense. 

You were still processing what he’d just said when his arm wrapped around you, gripping your waist. The feeling of his hands on your body was almost too much for you, and you struggled to pay attention as your mother smiled and made smalltalk with Spencer that walked the line between passive aggressiveness and outright hostility.

You finally registered what was happening when your mother made some excuse to leave, off to emotionally torture a new victim. Your head whipped to face Spencer, your mouth hanging open, confusion written on your face. 

“Why did you-” you began, interrupted by Spencer’s panicked words laced with regret.

“I’m so sorry, I know we didn’t plan on pretending to be a couple tonight, but she just seemed so smug about it and I wasn’t thinking clearly and I just-” he rushed out. Now it was your turn to cut him off.

“Spencer, thank you. I’m not mad, I promise.” You leaned into his chest, the arm still wrapped around you tightening. “I guess we’ll just have to pretend we’re dating for the rest of tonight, though.”

The two of you slowly made your way into the church, stopping a few times to chat with relatives who called out to you. Everyone was charmed by Spencer, who played the part of your boyfriend remarkably well. You found seats on the right, farthest from the aisle in an attempt to limit your interaction with other guests. Sitting down, you remembered how uncomfortable church pews were, the hours you’d spent in mass with your family all coming back to you now. 

Looking around, however, you were reminded of what had gotten you through it. The stained glass windows that surrounded you created a kaleidoscope in your field of vision, capturing your attention for long enough to forget why you had been uncomfortable in the first place. You looked back at Spencer to find him already looking at you, sending a small blush to your cheeks. 

“Did you know that stained glass was originally used in Catholic churches to tell stories from the Bible visually for the benefit of illiterate churchgoers? During the English Reformation, many stained glass windows were smashed and destroyed as part of the 1547 Injunctions against images. In fact, all images in churches were ordered to be removed. If it weren’t for that period in history, more stained glass would likely have- sorry, I’m doing it again.” Spencer’s eyes were cast down at the floor, only to shoot back up to your face when he felt your hand on his.

“I like listening to you. Why did they want to destroy all the images in churches?” You asked, leaving Spencer speechless for a second, seemingly unable to process your request for him to continue his rambling. With a small smile, he continued to explain the importance of the English Reformation to religious art as you watched him adoringly.

The ceremony started all too soon, pulling your attention to the front of the church. As you and Spencer listened to the seemingly endless stream of anecdotes about love and life that the pastor had clearly spent years reciting, your eyes started to glaze over. You pushed thoughts about marriage and family and religion out of your mind, preferring emptiness. Your mind didn’t stay blank for long, though.

Apparently Spencer had noticed your change in mood, because he brought his hand to rest on your thigh in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Unfortunately, you were unable to respond in any way, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand flattened against the satin fabric of your dress.  His thumb beginning to rub small circles into your skin, you felt your heart rate quicken. The warmth he brought to your thigh began to spread through your body, suddenly finding the church unbearably hot. 

Spencer seemed unaffected by the room’s sudden warming, keeping his gaze locked on the happy couple. You took a shaky breath and tried to calm yourself down, reminding yourself that you were overreacting to what was likely a completely platonic display of affection. The ceremony seemed to drag on for hours, but that might have had something to do with the constant effort it took to mask the desire and panic that Spencer’s touch had ignited in you. 

You were broken from your trance of concentration by the feeling of his hand inching higher on your leg. Whipping your head around to face him, his gaze remained fixed on the pastor, pressing his lips together to hide a smirk. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt Spencer’s hand slowly make its way up your thigh, paralyzed by shock and desperation. His grip tightened as he glanced at your face, reading your reaction to his touch. Before you had a chance to respond, it was withdrawn, the world around you coming back into focus as everyone began to clap. The ceremony was over. 

When you went to stand up after the recessional, you nearly stumbled on your weak legs. Spencer stabilized you, guiding you through the pews and through the hallways with his hand on your lower back. As you followed the crowd to the banquet hall, the gears in your mind were turning slower than usual, as if they had rusted in the time you hadn’t allowed them to work through the idea of Spencer returning your feelings. Finding your seats, you and Spencer were faced with one of the greatest challenges of your night: extended conversation with your family and their similarly judgemental friends.

The overlapping chatter of so many people at once was clearly bothering Spencer, but he stuck it out for your sake. You felt a tug in your chest at the thought of the effort it must be taking for him to stay in such an uncomfortable situation. He played his part beautifully, though, responding to the borderline offensive questions directed at you politely but firmly, protecting you from their attacks. Your sister would usually have led the onslaught, but thankfully she was preoccupied yelling at the photographer for some suggestion she’d taken as a personal slight. 

When Spencer struggled to answer questions about your “relationship”, you took over. He had never been a good liar, and while you loved that about him, you knew it could blow your cover if you allowed him to continue.

In your story, the two of you still worked at the BAU, having started dating a few months after you joined. You threw in small details from your countless daydreams, centering them around real events so that the tale was completely believable. Maybe too believable, you worried, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you as you talked. Under the protection of a lie, you had finally been free to speak the truth, pouring a year’s worth of pining and affection into your words as you concocted a love story you wished was real. 

You heard a band start to play, a bluesy vocalist at the center of the ensemble. The music filled the hall as the newlyweds rose for their first dance. A small crowd gathered around the pair as they moved in synchrony, every step practiced and planned. A few songs later, many couples were swaying together, tonight’s celebration of love bringing out the romantic in most. 

You turned to Spencer, nodding your head at the band. “We should probably dance for a song or two, just for appearance’s sake.” Spencer looked uncomfortable, but nodded and followed you closer to the source of the music.

Raising your hand to his shoulder while his landed on your hip, you felt a warmth spread through you as you joined hands. Fingers intertwining, you began to move along with the slow song that had been playing, stumbling at first but moving more smoothly as time went on. You had no idea how many songs passed while the two of you swayed, apprehension and desire swirling in the air between you. It took a second for you to notice it, but as soon as you did, Spencer’s small smile told you he had as well. 

The smooth vocals of the singer sounded even more lovely on Etta James’s familiar melody, filling you with an intense emotion you couldn’t put words to.

I want a Sunday kind of love

A love to last past Saturday night

And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight

And I want a Sunday kind of love

The feeling in your chest grew as you looked into Spencer’s eyes as the song continued, your chest threatening to burst with whatever magical dust you’d inhaled from the shared breath between your faces. Wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, you were overcome with a feeling of safety and contentment as he returned your embrace. You swayed together as you began to ponder the cliches you’d always despised, begrudgingly admitting that you now understood the sentiment that nothing in the world mattered but the two of you.

As the song ended, you gathered up all the courage you had, and spoke before your mind could think through the possible negative outcomes of what you were suggesting.

“I need to tell you something,” you started. You felt his grip on you tighten, as if afraid what you would say next would take him from you, but he let you continue. “I think I love you, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt him pull away from you. You felt cold without the contact, but it was nothing compared to the loss you felt in your chest as you realized what you’d done. He didn’t feel the same way.

You opened your mouth to apologize, to try to undo the damage you’d done, but before you could say anything he was dragging you toward a hallway. Overcome with confusion and fear of losing him, you didn’t realize where you were going until Spencer opened the door to the single-use bathroom and pulled you inside.

“Spence-” you began, the rest of whatever you had been about to say swallowed by Spencer’s lips as they moved against yours with urgency, his hands coming to cup your face gently. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, the coldness you’d felt replaced by the warmest light filling your chest.

Your hands found his hair, pulling him closer to you as you tried to eliminate any space left between your bodies. A frantic mess of hands and lips exploring any exposed skin, you stumbled backwards with the force of Spencer’s kiss, hearing the door lock as your back hit the cold wood. Your hands slipped under his suit jacket, moaning at the feeling of his firm body under your hands. He shrugged it off completely, allowing the jacket to fall on the floor, his germophobia trumped by his need to feel your warmth. 

You moaned into his mouth as his hands wandered your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. As the kiss became more heated, you noticed that he seemed to withdraw whenever he noticed his touch had gotten rougher, clearly holding back so he wouldn’t hurt you. You smiled into the kiss at the care he showed for you, but your desire to see him fully let go was too strong to allow it to continue. You weren’t sure exactly what he was willing to do, but you took your second biggest risk of the night, showing him what you wanted.

Finding his hand on your body, you laced your fingers between his, kissing him sweetly before pulling away with an innocent look on your face. Spencer stared down at you, confusion clear on his face. You brought his hand up to your mouth, kissing the back of it before moving your hand to his wrist. He watched you intently, unsure what you were doing. Staring up at him with an angelic smile, you brought his hand to your neck, his fingers curling around it instinctively.

 As he realized what you were asking of him, his eyes darkened and his grip around your neck tightened. “This is what you wanted, huh?” He spoke lowly, a small smirk forming on his lips. “So needy for me. Would’ve let me fuck you in front of all those people back there, practically shaking just from my hand on your thigh.”

You whimpered, turned on beyond belief by this new side of Spencer. His smirk widened at your reaction to his words, pressing his body against yours, his hardness pressing into you. 

“Feel that? Feel what you do to me?” He growled. “Let me show you how I deal with pretty little whores like you.” He stepped away from you, eyes hungrily raking over your body as he began to unbuckle his belt. You just stood there, watching his hands as your mind flashed back to all the times you’d imagined this happening. Somehow this was even better than your wildest imagination had been able to conjure.

“What are you waiting for? Get on your knees” He spat out. The words shot straight to your core, and without hesitation you dropped to your knees in front of him. You watched as he pulled the belt from its loops, but frowned in confusion when he didn’t discard it. He walked around behind you, grabbing each of your wrists and pulling them together. Oh. When he was sure the belt wasn’t too tight, he whispered in your ear how pretty you looked tied up for him, your whimper at the words causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

He returned to the front of you, leaning down to toy with your bottom lip. “Show me you deserve to suck my cock, princess.” He instructed, slipping his thumb into your mouth. You moaned around his finger at that, and instinctively began sucking on the digit. You hollowed your cheeks around it, running your tongue along the length of his thumb before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the tip. He must have approved of your demonstration, because he removed his thumb, pulling down the clothing restricting him in one motion. 

Your eyes widened at his size, his smirk growing when you leaned forward instinctively to take him into your mouth. When he grabbed your hair to stop you, you looked up at him in confusion. 

“Good girls ask for permission.” Your eyes fluttered shut at that, wanting nothing more than to be good for him. 

“Please, let me suck you off, I want you in my mouth,” you begged. He seemed pleased, his hand still in your hair pulling you forward. When your lips wrapped around his cock the hand on your head pushed you down roughly, making you take all of him into your mouth, the tip pressing hard against the back of your throat. You moaned through the gag, your panties likely soaked by now from your arousal at his dominance. 

As he began to fuck your throat, you wrapped your lips around him tightly, timing your breaths so you wouldn’t have to stop for air. Words of praise mixed with degradation fell from his lips as he worked your mouth on him. Tears pricked at your eyes at the feeling of him against your throat, spilling over as he continued his ruthless pace. 

When he pulled you off of him, a dark smile appeared on Spencer’s face at your disheveled state. He pulled you up so you were standing before him, hands still bound behind your back. He stepped back to admire you.

“Look at you, such a mess for me. What do you want, pretty girl?” He asked, voice still commanding but much softer now, genuinely checking in with you.

“I want you, please, need it so bad,” you practically moaned. He moved forward to meet your mouth with his, one hand coming to rest around your throat while the other gripped your hair, fully in control of your movements. He pulled your hair back, breaking the kiss as he tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“Jump.” He commanded. You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your legs around him as he walked you over to the sink, setting you down on the cold porcelain. His mouth rejoined with yours the second you felt the bowl of the sink digging into you. As Spencer’s hands roamed your body, he lost patience with your dress, pulling it down so your tits spilled out of the top. You moaned as he took one nipple into his mouth, a skilled hand toying with the other. His other hand lowered to the hem of your dress, pushing it up to gain full access to you.

Spencer moaned against your chest as he felt the dampness of your panties, soaked all the way through before he had even started to pleasure you. His fingers ran up and down over the wet fabric, applying pressure over your clit that sent your eyes rolling back. You made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact when he withdrew his hand, but were quickly silenced by a hand over your mouth.

“You’ll take what I give you, slut.” Spencer gritted out, tearing your panties off with the last word. His hand came up to your entrance, teasing you as his fingers ran up and down your slit. Gathering your wetness, he moved up to your clit, rubbing circles that left you moaning uncontrollably into his hand. “Can you snap for me, baby?” He asked. You were confused, but you did anyway. “Good girl. That’s your safeword for when you can’t talk.”

Before you could read too much into the statement, he plunged a finger deep into you, causing you to arch your back into him. Your moans still muffled by his hand, he set a brutal pace, adding another finger when he felt you start to clench around him. Tightening his hand over your mouth and nose, he cut off your breath as you approached your peak, your eyes glazing over with pleasure. The high of the lack of oxygen along with the haze that came with this level of submission left you fully pliant, his to play with how he wanted.

Right as your lungs began to burn, your orgasm shook your body, and Spencer let go at that exact moment. The relief of oxygen once again flooding your lungs added on to the euphoria that overtook you, your body shaking as you came down from your high. 

You didn’t have much time to recover, as you were brought back to reality with the sensation of the tip of Spencer’s cock teasing your slit. The overstimulation shook you, but with every second your need to feel him inside of you grew stronger. Your whimpers turned into pleas, and in your desperate state you didn’t realize what you were saying until it was too late.

“What was that?” Spencer asked, withdrawing completely.

“I-I’m sorry, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I’ll never-” you were interrupted by an unexpected demand.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say. It. Again.” Spencer gritted out, his eyes darkening with each word.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You said shakily.

A look of satisfaction came over Spencer’s face as he slammed into you without warning, setting a rough pace. You began to chant his new title, and his hand came up to choke you, fingers pressing into your carotid arteries just beneath your jaw. He wasn’t putting any pressure on your windpipe, but your lightheadedness from the reduced blood flow made it feel harder to breathe, the feeling of being owned by the man you loved only intensifying your pleasure. 

Spencer towered over you as he continued his assault, his other hand coming up to muffle your moans by allowing you to suck on his fingers. When he withdrew them to pay attention to your body elsewhere, he was confused to see you stick out your tongue. When the wave of understanding washed over him, he couldn’t hold back his smile. Bringing his hand up to trace your cheek, he looked at you lovingly before spitting in your mouth, watching in awe as you eagerly swallowed and met him with an innocent smile that contrasted beautifully with your actions. 

As you began to feel the knot in your stomach building again, Spencer increased his pace. Bringing one of his fingers to your clit, Spencer knew you were nearing the edge, and fast. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He ordered.

You obliged, Spencer’s kiss swallowing the moans spilling from your mouth. He followed soon after, sent into ecstasy by the image and sensation of you coming apart under him. As he filled you up, you felt a bliss that you’d never experienced before, using your lips to show him how he’d affected you as he fucked you through both of your orgasms. When you eventually parted, it was quiet for a moment. 

As Spencer helped you off the sink and removed the belt from your wrists, massaging the tender skin, you began to laugh. It started out as a small giggle, but it soon turned into a full belly laugh, bringing tears to your eyes. Spencer was taken aback at first, but son couldn’t help but join you. You both laughed until your stomachs hurt, and when you could finally speak again your first words were “we just had sex in a church bathroom.” 

Holding back another bout of laughter, Spencer responded, “I have to say, this wasn’t how I imagined tonight going.” He took a step towards you, arms lacing around your waist. “I’m not complaining, though.”

You pulled him down to meet him in a kiss, your teeth clacking as neither of you could hold back your smiles. When you broke apart, Spencer’s forehead stayed pressed against yours. “I love you,” he said quietly, “I have for a long time now. I just never thought you would feel the same way.”

You couldn’t hold back the happy tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.  Wordlessly, you pulled him into a hug, your bodies coming together like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally been connected. You stayed there for a while, just feeling each other breathe. 

In a few minutes, you’d sneak out the back door of the church. In a few minutes, you’d leave the room with no need for lies to excuse your shared affection. In a few minutes, you’d have to deal with the paperwork that Hotch would inevitably require. But for these last few minutes, all you had to do was hold each other. For now, you were just two people in love, and that was enough.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 9

First

Previous

It was kind of weird how quickly they got acclimated to civilian life.

Sure, Marinette often came out of the day with way too much energy, but they could burn off most of it by sparring. A ten to twenty minute session a day (excluding warm ups and cool downs, which added another thirty minutes or so) was enough to maintain their physiques and get rid of the uncomfortable energy that came with the sudden loss of constant danger in their lives.

(Not that this Gotham wasn’t dangerous, but it was… markedly less so. The Rogues Gallery didn’t exist in this world, what with Batman not existing, so the only thing that they really had to fear was mob activities and the occasional mugging. As long as they kept their noses clean and never stopped to tell a person the time, there was no reason for them to be scared.)

Other than that… it was almost too easy to get used to the new life that they lived.

Marinette woke up first in the mornings for work and would take care of Damian while she got ready. Tim had baby duty for the nine hours a day she was at work and commuting, so it was the least she could do.

And, really, he wasn’t all that difficult now that she was starting to get the hang of the whole baby thing.

Damian was trying to mimic her -- anticipatory socialization, she was pretty sure it was called (Or was it imprinting? Observational learning? Damn it, her psych major was not coming through for her right then). She found it cute and it was completely normal so she was perfectly fine encouraging it: she had gotten him mini versions of all of her makeup brushes.

One time, though, this backfired on her: he had dipped one of the cheap makeup brushes she’d gotten him into her makeup when she wasn’t looking and applied it to his face.

Marinette glanced down -- he had been quiet for too long, never a good thing -- and gasped. “Dami, you can’t whitewash yourself!”

Damian looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.

She tried not to pout because he might take it wrong. Why must her best jokes always come to her when no one was around to hear?

“Don’t touch the powder stuff, please. It's not for babies, it's for grown ups.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his brush. She gently took it from him and worked at getting the makeup out.

When she gave it back to him he still seemed a little sad.

She sighed and gave him a short hug. “I’m not mad. I promise. It’s just… not your color!”

(The real reason was that makeup is very expensive, but kids don’t really understand money so she needed an excuse.)

Damian was still a little pouty. She didn’t know what to do. Damn. She supposed that served her right. She shouldn't have dared to think that she was getting the hang of having the whole ‘having a baby’ thing.

She sighed and looked down at him for a few moments, thinking. He was sitting in the high chair they kept him in when both of them were too busy to hold him. Usually he would be swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler -- probably because he was a toddler -- but now he was remarkably still, green eyes wide as he looked up at her.

She glanced at the time. Damian had woken her up early that morning, so she had extra time to get ready…

Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the internet.

… hm. Makeup could be toxic to babies. Good to know.

She grabbed one of her makeup wipes and scrubbed it from his face. She’d make sure to tell Tim so he could look out for any rashes the kid might get.

Then, she pulled out a comb and started brushing the tiny curls on Damian’s head. There wasn’t much, so it was mostly just dragging against his scalp, but the kid seemed pleased so she kept doing that for a few minutes.

At one point, he tried to take the comb from her. She allowed it, figuring he wanted to try and brush his own hair, but then he reached for her.

She leaned down to take him out of the chair, she was mostly done getting ready anyways, but instead he started trying to brush her hair.

… oh.

She felt, strangely, like crying. Her kid -- sorry, this kid -- was just so cute.

… but she didn’t want to mess up her hair...

He made a vague whining sound and she was weak.

She could always fix her hair on the train or something, she supposed.

She hesitantly leaned down so he could brush her hair. “Fuck it? I guess?”

“Fuck it,” Damian said, giving a short nod.

She groaned internally. “I’m actually going to have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”

“Fuck it!” Damian said again, louder this time.

Her lips twitched. “You’re so right, Dami. Who cares about a few little swears?”

“I do,” said Tim, who was apparently standing in the doorway.

She yelped. She probably would have flinched away if Damian hadn’t managed to make a giant knot in her hair in the few seconds that she had let him touch it.

She turned and sent Tim a weak smile. “You’re up early.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please stop teaching him swears.”

“I mean… it’s kind of funny, though.”

“It’s not.”

Marinette groaned overdramatically and turned to look at Damian. “He’s such a stick in the mud, amiright?”

“Sti-in-mu,” Damian said, nodding.

Tim huffed. “I’m starting to think he likes you better.”

“As he should,” Marinette said. She picked up the baby and nuzzled her nose against his. “Who’s a smart baby? You are!”

Damian giggled and tried to nuzzle her back.

~

Tim hummed as he went around the apartment, sweeping the floors. He and Marinette had come to a kind of unspoken agreement: he would do the cleaning, and she would do the cooking. It was only fair, since Tim’s standards for cleanliness were higher than hers and she was the only one out of the three people there that was physically capable of cooking an edible meal.

(Yes, he was aware that he was comparing his cooking skills to that of a baby. It was accurate, okay?)

Damian crawled along after him. He was trying to help, Tim was pretty sure, swatting the floor behind where Tim was cleaning...

Tim smiled. Maybe he should get the kid some fake cleaning supplies like Marinette had done with all of her makeup brushes. Would he like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He found the grocery list and wrote it down.

When he turned back to where he had left Damian -- which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be doing, because the kid was surprisingly fast when it came to trying to get himself killed -- and found the kid…

Holy shit.

He was walking.

Tim watched with a bright smile as Damian struggled to his feet and took a few steps towards him.

It didn’t last long. Damian had only really managed about three steps before he fell back to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. But…

Tim made a slightly embarrassing squealing noise in the back of his throat and leaned down, scooping the baby up in his arms and hugging him close. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Look at you! Walking! Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

Damian was blinked up at him in wide-eyed confusion.

Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head and refused to pull back until he had calmed down a little.

He smiled down at his younger brother, who looked delighted at the attention but also very confused as to what was going on.

He looked around until he found Kaalki, who had been on his phone doing… horse things? God things? Who cares?

“Please tell me you took a video of that.”

“Nope. I did get a picture of you kissing his forehead, though.”

Tim huffed a little. “Delete that.”

“Too late. Already sent it to Marinette.”

Even this wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

And Tim knew that the fact that Damian was walking had almost nothing to do with him, but he was proud, damn it. Or maybe the better way of saying it was that he was happy for the kid? He didn’t know, he had always been terrible with emotions. It was a good emotion, though, that much he was sure of.

He kissed Damian’s forehead again and smiled when the baby giggled at him and reached out, smushing his cheeks in his hands.

“Hello,” Tim struggled to say with the baby hands pressing in on his face.

“Nano,” Damian said.

“Close enough,” he said. “Want to watch some TV to celebrate?”

Damian nodded vigorously. Tim wondered, vaguely, if the kid understood what he was saying or if he just kind of gave answers when he knew that Marinette and Tim were asking him things.

Didn't matter. Tim would put on that one weird show with the talking cat that Damian liked and they could watch that until Marinette got home.

And, when she did, she practically ran over. She didn’t even take off her shoes, a sure sign that she was excited.

Damian looked away from the TV and smiled. “Mar-ree.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open for a second… and then curled into a bright smile.

“You’re so… cute!” She cooed. “Yes! Hi! Good to see you, Dami!”

Tim pouted, slightly jealous.

She seemed to notice because she stuck her tongue out at him. “You got to see his first steps and I didn’t. I deserve this.”

He disagreed. The pout on his face remained until Damian saw and twisted around in his lap, leaning up and wrapping his arms around his neck in a kind of hug. Because it was kind of hard to stay sad when he was doing that.

He hugged the kid back for a few moments and then drew back, planting a kiss on his nose.

Marinette hesitated.

“Can I… have him for a few minutes? I want to see him walk.”

Tim considered this.

Then he smiled. “Only if I can take a video.”

“I would have made you do it, anyways,” she said.

Tim chuckled softly and handed the baby over so they could take the video.

~

She slipped into the apartment after a long day of work.

Tim was fluffing the pillows, apparently out of apartment to clean.

Damian looked up from the pillow he was hitting at the sound of the door clicking closed, and he seemed to light up. He grabbed Tim’s hand with one hand for his attention and pointed at her excitedly with the other.

“Nano! Yanzur! Mar-ree!”

“Yeah, that’s Mari,” Tim agreed.

Marinette flexed her feet now that they were out of the god-forsaken heels that she had been wearing.

“Hi, Dami. How was your day?” She asked.

Damian didn’t understand the question and certainly didn’t know enough words to respond, but he seemed sated by the acknowledgement of his existence. He slowly slid off of the couch and started his way over to her.

Marinette smiled faintly, amused. She looked over at Tim while she waited for him to get to her.

“So… he told you to look at me, that I get… but what is a ‘Nano’?”

“That’s what he’s calling me now, I think,” Tim said, slightly flushed.

She blinked. “That… isn’t even close to your name.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Her lips twitched. “Maybe he’s calling you short.”

Tim threw the pillow he had been fluffing at her.

She let it hit her -- it was a pillow, it wasn’t like it would hurt -- and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t blame me! I’m but an innocent bystander in this! He’s the one that did it!”

Damian tugged on the fabric of her shirt. She looked down, a grin still on her face. He made grabby hands and she obliged with ease, picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his.

Then, her eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Tell me, Dami, is Tim short?”

Damian looked between the two of them. Marinette was nodding and Tim was shaking his head vigorously.

“... shor!”

Marinette burst into a fit of giggles while Tim groaned.

“I hate you.”

Her amusement didn’t die down in the slightest. “Oh, if you hate me, then I guess I’m only making food for Dami and I. Hope you didn’t eat all the leftovers for lunch today...”

“Wait, Mari, let’s talk about this --.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[high-lady-of-earth]

Court of Nightmares

Azriel x Reader Oneshot

Summary: You and Azriel must go down to the Court of Nightmares. Afterwards, you find out that Az is a little insecure about his scars. This incorporates a prompt I received from @spaghettinoode1234

Hope you enjoy:)

You were the newest addition to the inner circle. You were a high fae, formerly a human, who had been Made during the war with Hybern.

You had a tenuous relationship with society after being alone for years in Hybern, so your residence had become the House of the Wind, which you actually enjoyed, unlike the others. Nesta had been glad to let you live with her and Cassian.

It was once again time for the Solstice and with it came presents. You had to buy presents for Feyre, Rhys, Elain, Mor, Armen, and Azriel. Nesta and Cassian were away on a mission. But with the solstice, came another, darker thing. The visit to the Court of Nightmares.

You were a sort of jammer when it came to magic. Your powers functioned to block the magic of others. With tensions rising in the Hewn City, Rhys wanted you and Azriel to pay Kier the annual visit.

Mor had informed you that Azriel wanted to go tonight, so you had to get your shopping out of the way today because solstice was tomorrow. Clad in a pair of loose pants and a long sleeved mesh top, you bundled up in a fur coat and winnowed to the Palace of Threads and Jewels.

Surveying the vendors, you looked for gifts for your friends. Rhys provided you with more money than you needed, so cost wasn’t an issue. You already had a rough idea of what you wanted to get for everyone. For Feyre and Rhysand, you wanted to find something for Nyx.

For Elain, you had seen a cart that sold rare flowers from the continent. They were roses, but enhanced with magic to sparkle in the daylight. Elain was working hard in the garden’s of Feyre and Rhys’ new house, and you knew they would look perfect on a trellis next to a fountain.

Mor was the easiest to shop for. You described an outfit to a tailor you wanted made and you were waiting for it to be finished. The ensemble consisted of a blouse, cropped to where the ribs ended, covered in thousands of glass beads. The skirt was the prettiest pink color with a slit up the side and an embroidered border made of glass beads at the top and bottom. Perhaps the most striking was the shawl, which drew on Eastern styles and was covered in the most beautiful embroidery and rhinestones. You had truly outdone yourself.

Armen was even easier. You had walked into Velaris’ most expensive jewelry store and had immediately found a something for Amren. It was a delicate necklace with a large stone in the middle. It was a red stone that changed color with the light, shifting between pink, red, and orange hues. You asked the lady what the stone was and learned that legend said it was a single scale from a dragon, given to the jeweler’s ancestor many thousands of years ago. The jeweler had decided to part with it suddenly after the war.

The last gift was for Azriel. You had absolutely no idea what to get him. He had saved your life, and you were head over heels for him, but it seemed as though there was a deep sadness to him. Mor had told Azriel that she preferred females, but he didn’t take it too well. He was still healing and you didn’t want to push him. Thus, you had no idea what was considered an appropriate gift.

You walked through the carts aimlessly, when suddenly an idea came to your mind. From experience, you knew that Azriel’s hands got ice cold. He couldn’t put on gloves because of his siphons. You would have someone make leather gloves lined with fur with an opening for his siphons. You asked a tailor to make the gloves and then started wandering again, looking for baby items.

You came across a cart selling baby jewelry and immediately found what you wanted to give Feyre and Rhys. It was a circlet, made of diamonds and onyx that represented the night court. It was beautiful and expertly crafted. The woman selling it told you it was one of a kind. She had not made any others to sell. You paid the woman in gold coins and gathered the rest of your presents. Then, you winnowed back to the House of Wind.

When you winnowed into the living room, you were startled by Azriel’s presence. He was sitting in chair, shrouded by darkness, looking at your intently. He held a box in his hands, which you knew contained the clothes you would have to wear.

“Time to go already?” You asked him.

“Indeed it is, Y/n.” He murmured. You loved the way Azriel’s voice was deep and smooth when he talked to you, making it almost sensual.

Azriel got up from the chair and banished his shadows to the edge of the room. You could now see his lean form without the darkness of the shadows. Azriel wore his Illyrian fighting leathers as well as his siphons. However, he had decided to forgo some of his armor, displaying enticing planes of his skin on his abdomen and back. You imagined how the muscles in his back would ripple as he walked.

Azriel approached you and gave you the box. He told you that he had brought Cerridwen and Nuala to help you get ready and that he would be waiting here, in the living room. You nodded and walked to your bedroom. Inside, were Cerridwen and Nuala with a steaming bath. They helped you strip off your clothes and then scrubbed your skin raw, rubbing in scented oils.

Once they had dried you off, they brought out your outfit. It was a midnight blue gauzy dress that was more conservative than Feyre’s Court of Nightmares outfit. You had to admit, the dress didn’t look bad at all. It had a plunging neckline that went down to the waist and two slits up the side of the dress that went up to your hips, but the opaque midnight fabric was overlaid with a translucent tulle blue fabric. Your legs were covered. Cerridwen put the dress on you and then Nuala sat you down to do your hair.

She blew it out, straightening it to get rid of the frizz, then she curled the edges. In the front, she grabbed some hair on each side and braided a thin strand, which she clipped in the back using a silver hair clip inlaid with midnight blue gems. Then, Nuala grabbed loose stones and threaded them into your hair.

Next, Cerridwen and Nuala worked on your makeup. They stayed simple, doing a smokey eye, eyeliner, and mascara for your eyes and a mauve berry lip gloss for your lips. They finished by dusting a silver shimmery powder over your cheeks. Cerridwen handed you a pair of silver strappy heels, which you put on and walked back to the living room.

Azriel looked up at you and your eyes met. For a split second, you thought you saw heat in his eyes, but it went away and you thought you might have imagined it.

“I’m giving you your solstice gift early, Y/n.” Azriel said, bringing out another large velvet box. He opened it to reveal several pieces of midnight blue jewelry, all the same color of his siphons.

“They’re all so beautiful.” You whispered to Azriel, looking up at him. He moved around to the back of you and helped you put on the necklace.

“They are nothing compared to you.” Azriel said. Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t respond. You put on the dangling earrings and bracelets and ring.

“I’m ready to go.” You told Azriel. He stood behind you and put an arm around your waist, getting ready to fly you there.

“You remember the drill, right? You sit on my lap and tell me what people are thinking. Block their magic if you think they are a threat.”

“Yup. The whole Daemati drill.”

Azriel’s arm tightened around your waist and the two of you suddenly traveled through the fabric of space and time itself. The world whooshed around you and you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t get dizzy. Then, almost as suddenly as you disappeared, the throne room of the Hewn City materialized around you.

Azriel had winnowed the two of you onto the single throne on the dais, Feyre’s throne absent since it was only Azriel presiding over the court today. Rhysand had even give Azriel permission to sit on the throne. You had been positioned on top of Azriel’s strong thighs, the thin fabric of your dress allowing you to feel his heat even through his thick Illyrian leathers.

Kier stood in front of the throne, along with about fifty other people. The room was dark, only a few strategically-placed fae lights provided light. This, however, suited Azriel because his shadows could run rampant.

“Welcome to the Hewn City, General.” Kier said in a pleasant tone that undoubtedly was laced with venom underneath. Nobody here wanted to bow to the beautiful male she perched on top of. They disregarded the Illyrian heritage that made him so powerful. So awe-inspiring.

Azriel gave Kier a bored look as if to say get on with it. Kier flicked his glance to you and paused. Azriel’s arm moved around your waist and stopped so that his fingers grazed your hip.

“Who, if I may ask, is this?” Kier asked. You swallowed some fear. Mor’s father had taken an interest in you — not a good sign. You stilled and became stiff against Azriel. His other hand snaked around to rest on top of your thigh. A mark of ownership clear to Kier and the rest of the court.

“She isn’t anyone special. Just a new one to grace my arm today.” Azriel said with cold steel in his voice. You knew Azriel’s words were lies for the court, but it still stung to be called a nobody. The others looked like they believed Azriel, but Kier didn’t. He silently noted how Azriel’s hand had moved to your thigh, almost like a warning.

You knew that Kier wasn’t fooled by your pathetic act and could tell something else was going on here. You cursed inside your head — you desperately needed to do something. You used your power to push a little at the dark sleek walls of Azriel’s mental defenses. He noted your presence and let you in.

“Kier isn’t buying the act.” You said inside his head. “We need to be more convincing.”

You pulled out of Azriel’s mind as his hand, the one on your waist, moved to the neckline of your gown. He began to toy with it, the only indication that he had understood your words.

You could feel Azriel’s callused fingers through the flimsy fabric of your dress. His hand moved over your right breast, and you sucked in a breath as his fingers grazed over your chest.

“You’re doing great, Y/n.” Azriel whispered in your ear. The hand on your thigh inched closer and closer to your core, and you felt yourself flush with embarrassment. You were frozen in place, watching Kier, who’s expression slackened as he undoubtedly scented your very real arousal, and along with it, banished any doubts about you being a threat.

Inwardly, you were mortified, but you didn’t let it show. Azriel’s fingers finally reached your inner thigh, where they played with the fabric of your dress.

“So, Kier, how goes the operations down here?” Azriel asked in his deadly voice. You didn’t hear Kier’s response because Azriel’s hand had suddenly began to rub circles through your dress. You couldn’t concentrate on anything and you felt Azriel stiffen behind you.

You went back into Azriel’s mind. “Everyone is good. Nobody’s plotting anything.” You said. Azriel gave a slight nod.

“Kier, you may go. I’m done with you for today.” Azriel said, dismissing him from the throne room. The hall bustled with activity as other members of the Hewn City moved around. You felt Azriel’s lips on your ear before he began to speak, his fingers once again teasing you through your dress.

“Y/n, I can barely concentrate on everyone’s words. Your scent is overpowering and it’s getting difficult to fight my own instincts. I should fly you back to the House of Wind.” He stated in a husky voice.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll stay with you. Don’t fight it, Azriel.” You said.

“I won’t be able to control myself, Y/n.” He replied. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as Azriel said that. You already had your answer though. In response to him, you moved one of your hands on top of Azriel’s, the one playing with the neckline of your dress. You closed your fingers over his hand and gently moved it to your heart, which was beating furiously in your chest.

You felt the world darken around you as shadows enclosed yours and Azriel’s bodies. The world spun for a few seconds, but it mercifully stopped as you arrived in the House of Wind. Azriel’s winnowing sometimes made you dizzy.

You were so close to Azriel that your chests were almost touching. Your gaze moved from his eyes to his lips and you could palpably feel the room go warmer. Instinctively, you knew that Azriel’s own eyes had moved down to your lips too. It would be so easy to lean forward an inch and press your mouth against his.

You closed your eyes as the tension between you two simmered and waited for the searing kiss Azriel would place on your lips. But you were left with a gust of brisk, cool air instead. You opened your eyes, but only to see that Azriel had turned away from you and started waking. You felt the anger rise up in you as you took a step after him and grabbed his shoulder.

“You do not get to pull that stunt down there and then ignore me, Azriel.” You huffed. He didn’t even turn around.

“Was it true? Am I just some eye candy that you brought along? Do you not even care about how that made me feel?” You questioned. You saw Azriel bristle, and a part of you was satisfied that he responded.

“Of course you mean something to me, Y/n. That’s why we can’t.” He whispered.

You stepped in front of Azriel and placed your hands on your hips.

“I don’t see how refraining from kissing me shows that you care about me.” You pointed out. Azriel looked away from you, towards the floor.

“I-I’m not a good guy, Y/n. You deserve someone who’s better than I am. Someone who is just a perfect and beautiful as you are.” He said. In the corner of your eyes, you saw Azriel tuck his hands into his pockets.

You quickly reached your hands into his pockets and curled your fingers around his hand. Then, you brought out his hands.

“You know that being perfect doesn’t matter to me. Your scars are beautiful, Azriel. If you don’t believe me about that, then at least believe that they give you character.” You replied.

Azriel looked unsure, so you brought his hands to you face and gently set your lips on his palms, tracing the scar tissue with kisses.

“I think you’re handsome and beautiful and perfect— scars and all.” You whispered.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Old Money

In which Sherlock tells you something you’ve wanted to hear for a long time. Or, the one where reader reads auras and as always with Sherlock, things are never as they seem. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

Cursing under your breath at the weather, you pushed the door to 221b open and found solace in the warmth of the building. You didn’t think you’d ever get use to the dreary London winters. Today had been terribly long and as much as you wanted to be in your bed watching Iron Man with last night’s reheated takeaway, Sherlock had texted you saying he needed your help with some experiment and John just wasn’t capable of helping him. You almost said no but the thought of passing up time with Sherlock was unbearable, even if you were just a guinea pig for him to test on. ‘Yeah”, you thought to yourself, ‘I’m down bad’. Doing your best to shake off the snow and fatigue, you made your way to the stairs but stopped at the bottom when you heard a soft melody coming from the second floor. Tilting your head to the side, you furrowed your brows and tried to hone in on the sound. It didn’t sound like a violin so it couldn’t be Sherlock playing. It wasn’t often that he cared to listen to music besides his own so it must be part of his experiment, you thought. You carried on, moments later finding yourself in the doorway when you noticed it.

It was like you were seeing the world through rose colored glasses. Everything was cast in a soft pink glow that made it all seem so delicate and precious that you knew you had to commit this feeling to memory in the chance that nothing in your life brought this shade to you again. Sherlock stood with his back towards you, arms taut behind his back with his hands folded neatly. He gazed out at the busy London street beneath his home and seemed lost in a trance of his own. Music was playing from his laptop and it really brought everything together. You wondered what he would say if he could see it, if he could see how he made the world look for you. You wondered what he must’ve been feeling to project it as beautifully as this. Dragging your eyes away from the skull on the mantle that was illuminated by the pink in a way that almost seemed romantic, you looked back at the man of your every hour.

He was absolutely perfect and that was something you had never been more sure of. You let yourself lean against the door frame to admire him completely. You knew you didn’t look at your other friends like that and while that should have scared you, it didn’t. You loved Sherlock for what he was, everything he was, and if he never returned any affection for you— you would still love him the same. You had the time of your life fighting dragons with him and you could only hope you expressed that to him in a way he could understand. The corner of Sherlock’s lips twitched as he spoke, bringing you back to him. It seemed that was something you did for each other often. “You’re staring, you know. If you stared any harder I’m afraid I’d feel it in my chest.” He was still looking out the window and you hadn’t been sure prior if he knew you were there at all. If it was anyone else, they would have missed the humor in his words. Luckily for you, you could hear him smiling. You were sure it was as lovely as it sounded.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t. “What did you need help with?”

Sherlock finally turned to face you, fingers playing with the cuffs of his sleeve as he made to roll them up. He walked towards the kitchen and you followed, shrugging your coat off onto the back of John’s chair. “I need to ask you something. And you must be honest with me or it will be for naught.” He leaned against the dining table, one handing holding his elbow up and the other brought up to his lips. He was studying you in the way he thought was less obvious than pyramiding his fingers but you were well aware of the detective’s tells.

You moved to lean against the counter across from him. The tips of your shoes were almost touching. “Okay, shoot.”

Shifting under the weight of his suddenly intense stare, you followed as his eyes moved from your head down as if you were wearing the answer he was looking for. While he was searching, you had happened to notice that the pink that seemed to envelop everything in his flat wasn’t touching him. Hell, your white scrub top looked like it had gotten mixed in with the reds in the wash. But there Sherlock was, unaffected by the light he was supposedly giving off. How strange, you thought.

Before you could fully register what was happening, Sherlock had stepped into your space and left you pinned between him and the kitchen counter. He was still looking at you like that and you could feel blush rise up your neck and onto your cheeks. That seemed to have caught his eye as he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear to get a better view.

“Why is it that whenever I call for you... you never deny me?”  Eyes still fixated on your cheek, he brought a hand up and brushed the back of his fingers along your jaw. His other arm still rested on the countertop next to you and his legs on either side of yours. 

Your eyes widened at his question. You had no way of explaining why in a way that would both satisfy him and protect you. You stayed silent as he tilted your jaw back with his knuckles and moved to cup your cheek with his palm. He moved to do the same on the other side, taking his time as if the act itself was sacred. His lips parted into a silent ‘oh’ as if he was drinking in your movement and analyzing your every reaction.

“Sherlock,” you croaked, not sure if it came out as whine, plea, or prayer. It was all too much- his hands on your face holding you close to him, your knees knocking together, and if you moved just a little closer you were sure your noses would touch. “Y/N, why?” He urged. He was going to have your answer whether you thought you were capable of giving it to him or not. The air was so thick you thought you were going to choke. “Why do you always come when I call?” His breath was fanning your lips and you had to swallow the involuntary moan that nearly slipped out. You brought your hands to his wrists and held onto him, initially to feel him but you ended up using him to hold yourself steady. “I love you.” You murmured, eyes closed. You couldn’t see his reaction. You squeezed his wrists as you spoke and hoped he understood your silent apology. You were going to ruin your friendship and you were so sorry. “I always come when you call for me because I love you. I love you so much it hurts my head.” Like a faucet, the words slipped through your mouth and dug you deeper and deeper into a hole you never wanted to be in. You closed your eyes tighter than before and tried to keep the oncoming tears at bay. “I love you in the morning when we’ve been at Bart’s all night looking into microscopes and even when my eyes are sore and I’m exhausted, I see you and I know I love you. I love you when I’m scared because you’re chasing some criminal down the streets of London and you have no idea if they have a GUN and I love you even more when come back to me and tell me that ‘I’m stupid for worrying’ because you always outsmart them. I love you when you let me make you tea, or you ask me to cook for you, because I love taking care of you-“ Before you really made him uncomfortable, you forced yourself to stop. Taking in a deep breath and moving your head up to look at him once more, you searched his face for some sort of response. You bared your heart out and you only hoped that he’d still allow you to be friends even after knowing how you truly felt about him. Moments had passed and you still stood there, with his hands still on your cheeks and his eyes roaming your face for something that he still hadn’t found. You needed him to say something. To let you apologize, to tell you that it could be forgotten, that you didn’t ruin everything. “Sherlock?” You whispered, hoping to bring him back to you. “Please say something. Anything.” Your heart was racing and the tears had stopped but you knew it wouldn’t take much for them to start again. You didn’t mean to ruin this. Sherlock blinked and it almost looked like he had returned to his body after being somewhere far away. His hands never left you as he moved them from your cheeks to lock them in your hair. He lips ghosted your cheek as the moved towards your ear and just as he opened his mouth to finally respond- BZZZZZZT. BZZZZZT. BZZZZZT. You pulled back from him in confusion, trying to make sense of what just happened. He was staring at you so intensely you thought he was looking straight into your soul. “What did you just say?” He opened his mouth again and started to speak but all that came out was-

BZZZZZZT. BZZZZZZZT. BZZZZZT.

Your eyes shot open and you pushed yourself up as you looked around your dark apartment trying to make sense of what just happened. There was no glow, you weren’t on Baker street, you weren’t with Sherlock, and you hadn’t ruined everything. Your breathing was labored and you had felt so much emotional whiplash from that dream that you thought about checking to see if this one was a dream, too. You looked to your nightstand where your phone had been vibrating non-stop and went to reach for it.

“You weren’t answering my texts.” Before you could even say hello, Sherlock’s voice rang without missing a beat. You pulled your phone back to check the time. “Sherlock, it’s 3:18 in the morning. I was sleeping.” Your voice was still ladened with sleep and you weren’t even sure that you trusted yourself to speak with the real detective since it didn’t go so well with the dream one.

“Nevermind that. I need you to meet me at Bart’s. There’s been a murder and Molly can get us a look at the body before she does her paperwork if we get there now.” Sherlock sounded like he had been wide awake, and you could faintly hear him shrugging on his jacket in the background.

You thought about your dream and how you had been so afraid that you had lost everything by confessing. You were ready to beg for it to be forgotten and thrown under the bridge so that you would never have to go a day missing these calls. In Sherlock’s own way, he was telling you how much he needed you. The more you thought about it, he could have easily called John who was a floor above him or even Lestrade, who could have cut a lot of corners in getting him the information and access he needed for the case. But he called you. You glanced at the clock. You had work at 8:00, but if you and Sherlock got there by 4:30 you would more than likely be out by 7:00 and you could grab coffee with Sherlock as he walked you to your shift.

“Well?” He insisted. You could tell he was growing impatient, but you swore he had sounded hopeful and whether that was the sleep deprivation talking or the love sickness, you had decided right then. Who were you to keep the brilliant Sherlock Holmes waiting?

“I’m on my way.” Click.