#time to crack out my poor struggling laptop

[astramachina]

when Word is the only fucker who let's me save script templates

[bobbycapnash]

Cherry Tree

I was listening to Hozier and Work Song came on and next thing I knew my laptop is out and I'm writing. I hope you enjoy. ☺️

Bobby Nash x Reader

Warnings: Smut and fluff, age gap? First time writing full blown smut so I hope it’s okay.

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There's nothing sweeter than my baby / I'd never want once from the cherry tree

The only sound that filled the dark lit bedroom was the rustle of sheets and lips meeting intently. Bobby's calloused hands ran up your back as he pulled you in, rolling over slightly so he could hover over you and deepen the kiss.

It was somewhere around 1 am when he woke you, kissing along your shoulder and squeezing your hips to pull you from your slumber. His shift hadn't gone well, you could tell the minute he came home that night. The lines in his face, his tired eyes and quiet demeanor gave it away.

Dinner had been an almost silent event, and it wasn't until you were both cleaning the dishes he finally talked, opening up about a poor child whose mother was making him sick for money. As much as he had seen through the years, the rescues involving children still got to him.

You both showered and headed to bed early, but you could tell he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, not with everything on his mind. You’d finally fallen asleep after a few hours, but it wasn’t long before he had you awake again.

His kisses had started out soft, his eyes asking if this was okay, but your smile and pull on his shirt gave him reassurance. He needed to release some stress and tire himself out, and you were always willing to help.

That was how you found yourself pinned beneath him, leg hooked around his waist as he kissed you fervently, hand sliding under his t-shirt you were wearing and teeth nibbling at your lower lip.

Your hips pushed up into his and brushed his already hard bulge, his quiet moan muffled as he marked your neck. You shivered and whimpered slightly at the friction, tingles running up your spine at the stretch you knew was to come.

His sat up and finally discarded your shirt, taking in your bare chest with a hungry gaze before pulling his own shirt off, your eyes taking him in with equal lust. He cracked a smile before leaning back in, meeting your lips with a hum as his fingers played with the waistband of your sweats, pulling them down with your panties as your tongues met.

You blindly kicked them off and laughed faintly against his lips as you struggled, Bobby grinning and helping you undress, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder before moving down your body, hands gently but firmly pushing your legs apart as he settled between them.

You laid back down and instinctively slipped a hand into his hair, lip caught between your teeth as he peppered kisses on your plush inner thighs. Usually he would tease you more, have you begging for his mouth, but he didn’t waste any time. His tongue swiped over your core, collecting your already dripping arousal on his tongue before latching onto your clit, a groan leaving your mouth at the sensation.

His hot tongue probed eagerly at your entrance, his arms hooking around your thighs to hold you to him as you squirmed and arched off the bed, clawing briefly at his hair.

“Christ, Bobby- oh god, please-“ You broke off in a shaky moan as your toes curled, looking down to meet his cheeky gaze and biting hard on your lip, thighs clenching ever so slightly around his head as his tongue teased your clit relentlessly.

“Please, Bobby, I need you.” Your words earned you a muffled moan against your core, hips jerking at the sensation. He pulled away with a smile and crawled back over you, kissing you hard as he blindly pushed his sweats and briefs down, working them off as your tongue explored his mouth.

You moaned lightly at the taste of yourself on his tongue and ran your hand over his chest, fingers brushing over his toned stomach before grabbing his cock, thumb running over his leaking tip before starting to slowly stroke him.

He inhaled sharply and pulled back from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he looked at you, eyes bright. “Y/N-.. Fuck, I need you.” You grinned at his words and nodded quickly, his smile matching yours as he positioned himself between your legs, replacing your hands with his own as his thick head ran over your folds.

You spread your legs further apart and bit your lip in anticipation, jaw going slack as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock sliding into you. He kept his eyes on your slick folds, unable to look away as he buried himself deep, tip practically kissing your cervix.

“God, you’re always so tight.” He bit his lip and looked up into your eyes, smiling at the eagerness he saw on your face. He leaned down over you and rested a forearm by your head, his other hand keeping your hips in place as he slowly started to thrust, giving you a moment to relax around him.

Your walls clenched around his thick shaft, moans and whimpers escaping as he moved, your legs a vice around his waist as you buried your face into his neck. His picked up the pace and it wasn’t long before he was practically pounding into you, the room filled with the lewd wetness of your cunt and the slap of skin, his deep groans and pants muffled in your shoulder.

Your nails dragged down his back as your moans left mixed with his, your legs spread wide again to fit him deeper. He lifted his head and looked down at you with glassy eyes, sweaty forehead resting against yours.

“That’s it, baby.. Taking me so well, so tight around me.” You blushed at his words and whimpered as his tip brushed that sweet spot inside you, a smirk forming on his face as he bullied deeper into you, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“F-Fuck Bobby, right there.. I’m so close, so-“ You choked on your groan as you felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles as he kisses your chest, hips moving at a steady pace as he mumbled.

“Cum. That’s it, baby, I’ve got you. Let go.” Your body shivered at his words and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, covering his cock as you came undone, practically crying out in pleasure.

He watched you with a smile and fucked into you harder as you came undone, nails digging into your plush hips as he groaned deeply, eyes closing and head falling into your shoulder, bottoming out completely as his orgasm rushed into him.

You whimpered weakly as you felt him fill you to the brim, panting and going limp as he eased out of you. He rolled over and laid beside you, both of your heavy breathing filling the quiet.

It wasn’t long before he rolled over and pulled you into him, kissing your cheeks and forehead as he mumbled. “Sorry for waking you.”

You happily snuggled into him and let out a quiet laugh, looking at him and cupping his cheek. “Anytime, baby.” He matched your grin and pulled the comforter over both of you, his arms secure around you as you laid your head on his chest, a content smile on your face as both of you finally got some sleep.

*****************************************

I hope you like it, it’s been in my drafts for a minute. ☺️

[murumokirby360]

My first ever Android Smartphone - Busted (Cherry Mobile Jelly) [feat. my Paper Dolls]

DeviantART version → [CLICK ME!]

Hello, August... 🏫🎒 It's been a rough and depressing month for me from nothing to earn funds for myself, to struggling with my life staying at home. 😟😞 Although I do occasionally go outside to get some fresh air when the sun is bright, it remains the same. 😔 I'm still stuck on my mom's slow-performance laptop, and I can't make item reviews because of the aforementioned laptop. 👩💻 Meanwhile, I'm still browsing some job openings, though the only problem was the "lack of trustworthy". I did apply once and I was going to go anyway, however, my mom investigated the details of where the venue at for a schedule, and it turns out that the job that I applied for was a sham... Yeah, I dodged the bullet on going there owning to my flashbacks of what happened in 2019. *Sigh* So much for that... 😟 I wish this type of fraud job would be ended by the time the government and authorities caught red-handed on fake application jobs. Right now, I've already applied for a job by submitting a resume to legit hiring via email, and to this day nobody answered my call. I'm still a helper for my parents' small rug business, although they didn't give me a raise, but small treats and food. Also, I'm selling my scrap computer parts, unfortunately, nobody seemed to be interested in my items... Bummer. 😔

[I want a end my life... But, I refused to kill myself. Not yet... 😟😞]

Should I keep posting and sharing my items on tumblr? 🤔 I'm still thinking about it, but for now this could be my last item... As we hit the first "Ber" month (September 📆), I need to take a break from posting it until my custom PC desktop brought back to life with a brand new GPU Card. 🖥️🔧

Anyway, let's head back to my last item (before I go *semi* hiatus):

• What I have here is my first ever cheap Android Smartphone after I graduated from vocational college [Computer Programing] in 2014. 👨‍🎓🏫💻 This here is the "Cherry Mobile Jelly". 🤖📱 Actually, it's now simply called "Cherry" which we'll get to that later. Nonetheless, I bought this cheap and small smartphone for ₱ 2,299 💵 from a local trustworthy cellular phone store at the mall, I should it picked the blue color because I loved that color for life 💙, although it is out of stock so I guess I'll settle with green anyway. 🟩📱🤷‍♀️ (After all, green signifies an android phone, right? 🟩🤖📲 Nonetheless...) As for the specs of this phone, it is pretty low-profile standard considering that this is a budget-friendly smartphone. Here, go see it by click here → [CLICK ME! #1]. Unfortunately, as you can see, my first cheap smartphone ended in 2015 due to poor quality, as I accidentally fell off my phone numerous times causing it to crack the touch screen (not to mention, the battery phone had bloated.), and my Jelly phone ended its life. It was only a matter of time before my old phone was replaced by the outdated "Samsung Galaxy S Duos 2" [GT-S7582] (which was also decommissioned somewhere in 2019). As for the so-called "Cherry" brand, they're still producing smartphones albeit a small ranges because they've already expanded to daily electronic appliances (e.g. slim smart TV, washing machine, air purifier, etc...). Pls, click here to see → [CLICK ME! #2]. One more thing, the only feature really I missed from using the old Cherry Mobile Jelly is the ability to watch TV by raising the mini antenna and opening the TV app, as you've seen on my snapshot. 📺📲😊

• When it comes to comparison with my current Tecno Spark 20 Pro [CLICK ME!] smartphone, well... You noticed the BIG difference. 📱📲 To be honest, I missed holding a small Android smartphone, as holding it could be a very advantage (which is like holding an old MP4 player) over a tall and bulky smartphone, like my aforementioned Tecno mobile brand. 😊 And surprisingly, they're still producing small smartphones albeit in ✌"Made in China"✌ and they're using a vanilla yet recent Android Operating System, unlike Samsung, Huawei, Oppo, Xiaomi, and other giant smartphone brands with their state-of-the-art features and current running Android OS. Maybe someday I'll get my hands on the small Android phone for a nostalgic sake? Who knows? 🤷‍♀️ For now, though, I guess I'll stick with the taller smartphones. And as for my first ever owned cheap Android phone, it's already a relic of its time. Time for you to return to the memorabilia box. 🙂

Well, that's all for now. If you want to see my previous topic, then please → [CLICK ME!].

Tagged: @bryan360, @shadowredfeline, @leapant, @lordromulus90, @coda-archive, @sammirthebear2k4, @alexander1301

[tommyspeakycap]

biggest mistake

mason made a mistake months ago. he's determined as ever to make things right.

At first, you thought avoiding the places that he might be was doing what was best for both of you to save hurt on either side. You never ever wanted to hurt him, but it became apparent that he wasn't struggling enough with the break up to feel any pain upon seeing you. When you walk into a bar with his friends who were once yours friends and he’s sitting there, laughing with his arm around a long legged brunette, head tipped back at whatever had been said. Instead of letting him see you, you just turned and walked back out the door.

Now it was fully your benefit, hiding from him. You didn't want to see him with another woman, arms tight around her or pressing kisses to her cheek like he used to do with you. You didn't want to see him, completely fine from something that was tearing you apart more each and every day.

People kept telling you she was just a fling to help him get over you, but he certainly seemed a lot more than happy to crack on with his life without you in it while you struggle to even find your footing without him by your side. A lot of your heart had been debating going home, finding somewhere to live back in home so you wouldn't have to be faced with him everywhere you felt like you did living in the city that he brought you to.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Your head snaps around in surprise, eyes landing on the concerned face of your best friend. Unaware of how long you had been spaced out, you shrug your shoulders and shake you head to try to bring you back to reality a little bit. "Yeah," you mumble, "I'm fine."

John frowns despite your answer. "You don't look fine." He counters, a little harshly in the way that only best friends can really manage to get spot on. "In fact you look awful, no offence. You look really ill. Have you been sleeping? Eating?"

His concern is evident, intensified only by the way that you avoid his eyes at the question and seem to drift off back into your own mind. The brunette isn't sure what you're thinking about and honestly if he asked, you wouldn't know what to say because you don't ever really know what it is that is occupying so much of your mind. "Been feeling quite sick," you mutter, shrugging the question off as you try to turn back to the uni work on your laptop.

"What kind of sick?" He presses, making you furrow your brows and shrug once again. "I dunno Stones?" You grumble, "Like I don't have any appetite, everything I eat seems to come back up because I'm so sad and anxious because I thought I was going to be with that man for the rest of my life and he cheated on me, left me and moved on already, kind of sick." You bleat, tears wetting your eyes despite your desire to sound harsh.

“I’m sorry love,” he comforts, patting your knee gently, “I really wish there was something i could do to help you. Please?”

You just shake your head. “Just need some time to myself, if that’s okay?” You mumble. Your best friend nods, unable to think of anything else to say or any way to comfort you. You’ve been in absolute pieces since you found out about Mason with that other girl and now to see that he’s still with her is just all the more painful. It’s clear she was the one he loved and it was actually you who was the one who never mattered to him.

He does leave your little apartment - albeit begrudgingly. That little apartment that’s completely bare because you only moved in two weeks ago after living with John in Manchester for two months post finding a woman in the bed you shared at home with your boyfriend of the past three years. But poor John leaves feeling almost as hurt as you are, chest aching at the thought of you laying in bed distraught.

Part of you wanted to know if Mason had told any of them the truth. You wanted to know if his mother and sister knew that you had caught him cheating or if they still thought of him as their perfect Mason. Would he have lied? Did they hate you? You couldn't know, you got rid of your phone that night and took up a new number a week later, so you never got any of those old texts and Mason had no way to reach you. You wonder what those friends think, the ones you met through him and thought had really actually been your friends as opposed to only people who put up with you because you were his girlfriend. Maybe he told them you cheated on him or maybe he asked they not to. Maybe they never liked you.

It was pure personal torture every minute of your waking hours.

~~~~~

"Up and at 'em!"

Your eyes peel open quickly, leaving you startled and discombobulated as you attempt to tug your duvet back up your body only to find its being pulled in the opposite direction. "It's final day, (y/n). Up!" Someone chants, pulling open your curtains and letting the light stream in much to your very dismay.

"What the fuck," you mumble groggily, sleep coating your voice as you sling your arm over your face to make an attempt at replicating the darkness provided by your blackout curtains. The crease of your elbow creates mild cover, but nothing like what you had before and now without your duvet, you know there’s no way you’re getting back to sleep. “Leave me be.” You grumble tiredly.

“Not a chance,” the voice chides, “It’s final day and we are going.” At that, you finally actually open your eyes, craning your neck to see who had infiltrated your home. Lauren is standing at the foot of your bed with her hands on her hips, one holding onto what looks like a white England shirt. “Aha!” You snort, rolling back over onto your front. “Never in a million years.”

The sound of another pair of shoes approaching makes your eyebrows furrow against your pillow. “My brothers an idiot, but this is one of the biggest games of his career and I know you don’t actually to miss this.” Mason’s sisters voice comes, making you shoot up to a seated position in your bed. “No, but i really do.” You lament. “And how did you two even get in here?” You cock an eyebrow as you swing your legs over the side of your bed and plant your feet into your slippers to shuffle out your room with Lauren and Jas behind you.

“You left a spare key under the mat (y/n), you’re as predictable as they come.” Lauren shrugs, but you know for a fact John would have told Declan that and Declan would have told her about where you keep your spare key in the event that you accidentally lock yourself (which you often do) while going to take your rubbish down.

Mason’s sister had gotten back in touch with you recently, hoping she had left you an alright amount of time to calm down after the breakup to get back in contact and while you were thankful for the support she had given to you, she couldn’t be any more wrong about you wanting to go to this game. “Now come on, we bought you a shirt. Dec offered to send one but figured you’d prefer this.” Lauren offers, holding out the shirt to you. “Shower and get dressed. We can have lunch and then-”

“No.” You deadpan, offering a false, snippy smile while you throw closed the door of your fridge. “Come on (y/n).” Jas tries, picking the shirt up off the chair you’d discarded it over. “No.” You repeat. “I don’t want to see him at all, he won’t want to see me either. It’s really not worth it. And i won’t wear that either, we’re not together. I really appreciate you guys for thinking of me but i really don’t want this and i’m not just being bashful.” You sigh, feeling their eyes burning into you as you pour out your orange juice into a glass.

“Fine.” Jas says, “Don’t come for Mason, but come and wear that shirt.” She tries, her voice as convincing as she can get it. “I already-“

“Just look it it will you!”

You whip around finally, looking at her holding out the white shirt. It wasn’t Mason’s England number and it wasn’t his surname that was decorated in red across the back. It was Stones and it was the number 5 branded across there.

“He’s been like your brother since you were five.” Jas says, “And he won’t say it because he knows that you’re still in agony about Mason, but he really really wants you there. Mason said he hasn’t stopped talking about you all week, he’s constantly on Mason’s back about what he did to you and i know you don’t want to hear it but he really wants to talk to you about it. If you’d give him the chance?” She begs. Her eyes that look so much like Mason’s are genuinely pleading with you, and somewhere deep in your heart you feel a warmth just thinking about John defending you and standing up for you even and especially when you aren’t there. It’s just John.

John who put you up in his house, made sure you were eating properly and held you through that first two months of the absolute worst heartbreak you had ever known. John who had helped you move in all day. John who had driven to London at every opportunity to make sure you are alright.

You owed nothing to Mason, but you owe the absolute world to John.

That’s exactly how you ended up the stands with that England shirt on, hugging all those people you haven’t seen in so long and sending John a text with a picture of your view to surprise him with that fact you actually came. His happiness even through text was confirmation that you had made the right decision. John really was like your older brother.

It was when you spotted Mason that you were contemplating the decision. You don’t know if he saw you, but the second he was no longer hidden by the tunnel, he was all that you could see in an arena full of tens of thousands of people. It was like everything else around you had become a blur and your eyes could solely and only focus on him for the entire game.

And then they lost and if your heart wasn’t broken before (and it most certainly was), then broken didn’t cover the feeling you had. Because despite it all, despite the woman he fucked in your bed and and the stupidity he had in not chasing after you when you left him; you still belonged wholly and fully to him. That’s why you’ve never recovered. It’s why you still sleep half the day and refuse fo see anyone who was once in that part of your life. Everybody knows exactly how you still feel about him, everybody. You knew this very thing would happen when you laid eyes on him again and that’s why you were intent to stay away from him as long as possible.

Life is truly never really in your favour, though.

“Thought i might find you here.”

Your heart suddenly lurches up, slamming into your ribcage and making you lose your breath for the moment simply at the sound of his voice. It was so familiar yet so, so different.

So welcomed.

You turn to look at him, eventually patting the red seat next to you. “Finally got past bodyguard Stonesy, then?” You joke awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers the way Mason knows you do when you’re nervous. He wants so desperately to reach out and cup your hands in his to stop them from shaking the way they do right now. He wishes he was still the one able to soothe you. “Not easy,” Mason jests back, that same level of static nervousness ever present in his tone as it was yours. “But i don’t think he could stand up right now even if he wanted to, legs are dead.” He tries to lighten the mood, but neither of you actually laugh, just two empty people with two empty grins.

Silence falls between the two empty hearts, lips pressed in firm lines with neither wanting to take the chance of the next words. They dance on the tip of your tongue, your heart wanting you to spill every little detail of the pain he caused you while simultaneously begging for him to take it away as your mind battled with rational thought to keep quiet, keep reserved, give him nothing. Let him talk to you first.

“I’m so sorry for what i did to you, (y/n).”

His voice is full of emotions that you can’t even begin to pick out. He says it like a confession, like one he’s been holding onto for a very long time desperate to get off his chest to relieve the weight that’s been suffocating him since the day you walked out the door. His second worst mistake was kissing that girl, taking her back to the home he shared with you and kissing her on the bed you shared and then his biggest mistake, but the worst one he ever made was not chasing after you. Not running out into the street, not persisting and forcing the two of you to work this out.

He’d had an earful from John, over and over and over again. About how stupid he had been, but how he never lost his chance if he just goes after you. John knows you better than anyone, so the fact that he actually did allow Mason to come out here and be within five feet of you after how he broke you meant that he really had to try. Mason is still so in love with you and the reason he did what he did was pure stupidity, pure egotistical level stupidity that he can’t even believe he achieved.

“I have no words for it,” he admits, shaking his head. “What i did was disgusting, i hurt you in a way i never ever wanted to do. And i know-” he hangs his head, shaking it shame as he takes a deep breath to collect himself. “I’m still in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the day i met you and i’ve been in love with you every day since. I love you every second of every minute of every day. I love you when i wake up in the morning and i love you when i go to sleep. I love you so much i almost don’t even want you to take me back because i did the worst thing to you that a person could ever do. But i’m here, begging you and i will get down on my knees, but i am begging you to please give me another chance. I will do whatever it takes, every day for the rest of my life to prove myself to you. Please.”

His eyes are full of tears when they finally look back to you. Your heart thunders in your chest in tears slip down over your cheeks. Those shaky hands ride up, cupping his face and smoothing your thumbs over his cheeks to swipe off the tears.

Your voice is shaky, but your words are sure when you say, “Mason, I still love you too.” And your lips crash onto his. The moment spent holding onto each other for dear life is one that only lasts a few moments before the bubble is popped by the voice of a loud Barnsley boy with one eyebrow cocked and his strong arms crossed over his chest.

“Happy for you mate!” He calls down, words aimed at Mason. “But if you ever hurt her again, I’ll come after you.”

Mason will certainly heed that warning, but he never intends to do anything but made you happy ever, ever again in his life.

[08279]

Anon said: Ugh, ew, I’m so sorry you had to deal with that stuff. For a prompt... one that would be adorable is All Might encouraging Izuku? Like, we know the poor kid struggles with self esteem... but I bet All Might can help with that!

Toshinori had been watching Izuku struggle with his statistics homework.

This was always troubling to Toshinori. Izuku had low self-esteem in most instances, but academically he was rather strong. When he struggled with it, however, it was as if he lost his last bit of grip and he would begin to spiral.

Toshinori tapped around on his computer for a while before sighing heavily.

Izuku didn’t make any indication that he’d hear Toshinori from his spot on the ground, back against the sofa and work strewn about the coffee table.

Toshinori frowned and reached a socked foot out to poke his successor, “Hey.”

Izuku turned and blinked, “Huh?” He blinked a few times and straightened his back which let off a machine-gun fire of cracking.

“My computer’s fighting me again,” Toshinori pouted.

Izuku smiled and let out a light laugh. It cut through the air that had staled in the room while the occupants had remained still for so long. Still and busy and not-happy with their tasks. Izuku’s laugh cut through it like a knife, like an opened window letting in wind and sunshine and fresh air.

“Maybe you should stop trying to fight it, All Might,” Izuku said as he hopped onto the couch next to Toshinori. He leaned against his hero and looked over the computer screen.

“I don’t know what happened,” Toshinori lied, “I...may have been pressing a lot of buttons while it was frozen, but I didn’t think it would do all of this! My printer is disconnected, my little bar at the bottom is on the top, and I can’t hear anything!”

Izuku laughed that laugh again and took the laptop from Toshinori, “Alright, alright, hold on, let me look.” He balanced the laptop on his criss-crossed legs and then it was Toshinori’s turn to lean against his hero and look over the computer screen.

He’d changed the settings as best as he could, making it hard enough that Izuku would have to use a bit of thinking and wouldn’t expect Toshinori to have done it on purpose. For all Izuku knew, Toshinori was completely inept when it came to technology. Toshinori didn’t mind, he often used it to his advantage. For example, when his protege was feeling a little down and needed an ego boost by helping the #1 Hero and Symbol of Peace™ solve a relatively simple problem.

“How in the world,” Izuku muttered.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Toshinori was wrapped around Izuku by then. His arm was draped over the boy’s shoulder, his head resting gently atop Izuku’s curls. Izuku’s knee was laid on top of Toshinori’s leg.

“Well I fixed your taskbar, but your output audio was completely disconnected.” Izuku opened a video where All Might was fighting some villain he didn’t bother remembering. The sound of battle poured from the speakers and Toshinori laughed.

“My goodness, young Midoriya! You fixed that so quickly!” Toshinori pulled Izuku close in a side-hug and Izuku rolled his eyes.

“I still have to fix the printer,” he said. He stood and took the laptop to the printer where he set it down and began to tap on the printer.

Toshinori always worried about including the printer in his make-Izuku-feel-more-confident schemes. Printers never cooperated with him and if the printer truly began troubling Izuku, Toshinori would throw it out the window.

Suddenly, a mechanical sound came from the printer. Toshinori and Izuku both froze for a moment. Then the printer made another sound as it began taking in some paper from the tray.

“Wow!” Toshinori exclaimed. He jumped up from the sofa and rushed over to Izuku who beamed up at his teacher.

“How did you do that?” Toshinori asked.

Izuku turned the laptop to him, “Well, the printer is connected to this wifi, but you were on this one. Whenever you want to print something, you have to connect to the same wifi as the printer,” Izuku glanced back up at Toshinori to see a look of confusion, “Or I can just set it so your laptop automatically connects to the same wifi.”

Toshinori laughed, “That would be much preferred, my boy.”

Izuku smiled and clicked around on the computer before stepping back, “Well, I think that’s everything!”

“Thank you very much, young Midoriya! You’ve been of the utmost help! I would have been lost without you,” Toshinori swiped his hand through Izuku’s curls and he preened under the attention.

“I’m happy to help!” Izuku said, rather heroically.

He turned back to the coffee table where his homework lay. The smile that had developed over the twenty minutes with Toshinori slowly slipped away.

No, no, no! Toshinori thought.

“Uh, young Midoriya, I’m also having trouble with—um,” Toshinori glanced around his humble apartment for something that Izuku was good at and his eyes landed on a file at his desk, “Cataloging the newest batch of heroes!”

Izuku turned and cocked his head, “With what?”

“Cataloging the newest batch of heroes, of course!” Toshinori steered Izuku to his desk, “As the #1 hero, I have to keep on top of all the new heroes I might run into on the field!”

This was only half true. He got a list of graduates and their quirks from Nedzu every year so he could see what new quirks were available to call in for villain fights. Izuku didn’t need to know that, of course.

“My mind isn’t what it used to be, though. If it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could help me?”

Izuku’s grin lit up the apartment.

[stratiotis-nth]

“Dean, just go book a massage already.” Sam griped as Dean let out another groan, his muscle roller brutally pressing over the knots in his shoulder. “Campus offers sessions at the health center.”

In all honesty, Dean had been trying to do everything except go get a massage. He didn’t like the idea of strange people touching him, and it certainly didn’t help that he’d seen a lot of erotic massage porn in his day. He didn’t want to get a goddamn boner in the middle of the session and get stuck in an awkward predicament with some poor girl just making minimum wage.

“I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, wincing again as the roller bumped over the aching knot he had had since he was a teenager.

“Your appointment is on Friday at 2.” Sam replied flatly. Dean turned to stare at him, incredulous as Sam showed him the confirmation page on his laptop. He scowled.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

——————

Dean mentally cursed Sam as he sat in the relax room in nothing but a fluffy towel around his hips, anxiously waiting for the masseuse to come get him (despite the room’s literal purpose being to relax). He had tried to cancel his appointment, but Sam had done something to it so the cancellation page was guarded by a passcode. He had clearly gone lengths to get Dean’s muscles loosen up, but he also suspected this was payback for every time Sam had been forced out of their apartment so Dean could hook up with whatever chick he happened to woo at the bar.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean jerked his head up, startled by the low pitch of the voice. Holy fucking shitbags, was he getting rubbed up by a dude? He had been expecting some hot chick with curvy hips and big tits with soft hands that could melt him to butter—

He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head.

You’re confusing reality with porn again.

Dean nearly choked on his words, his anxiety only increased when he realized what was about to happen.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracked at the end. He only just started taking in the guy’s features and felt his shoulders stiffen even more—fuck. This guy was gorgeous. Not only did he have the voice of a goddamn erotic storyteller, but he looked the part too. Glossy black hair that was unfairly messy in the most attractive way (Dean’s horny mind unhelpfully suggested his hair looked like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked), a strong jawline darkened by a five o clock shadow that was so defined Dean felt the strangest urge to bite it. His lips were a little chapped, but they were plush and pink—

All train of thought came to a screeching halt when their eyes met. Jesus Christ, did this guy inject the fucking ocean into his eyeballs? No one has eyes that blue—Dean could make out the color from across the room. They shown bright and soft, a shocking contrast from the sharp defined features of a young man in his prime.

“If you’ll come with me, we can start your session.” The guy said. Dean nearly stumbled on his goddamn feet as he stood up. He had never had a problem with guys before, so why was this one throwing him off kilter?

It’s just because he’s gonna have his hands all over you in a minute. Dean reasoned to himself, anything to stop the feeling of panic fluttering in his chest. He silently followed the guy into one of the rooms, once again distracted by how fucking good the guy smelled. Maybe it was just the aromatherapy mentioned on the center’s website, but this guy smelled deeper, like almond extract and honey mixed with pine and campfires. Woodsy but sweet and Dean felt his shoulders relaxing involuntarily—until the sharp scent of lavender hit his nose and the guy’s scent was wiped out. The lavender immediately brought him back to the present, and he snapped out of his daze to realize the guy was standing patiently by the massage table—right. Dean was supposed to lay down on it.

“Have you ever had a massage here before?” The guy asked as Dean laid down and self consciously adjusted the towel now unwound from his waist and spread out on his pelvis.

“N-No.” Dean managed in a somewhat level voice.

“Well, welcome.” The guy gave him a small smile. Somehow, it made him feel better. “I’m just going to go through the standard procedure you ordered before we begin, alright?”

“Kay.” Dean squeaked, immediately making up for the embarrassing noise with a low grunt as he cleared his throat.

The guy started to calmly inform Dean of the places he would be putting his hands, all while pouring sharply sweet smelling oil on them. While he talked, Dean’s gaze somehow latched themselves onto the now-shiny hands that were about to be on him. They were nice hands—really nice hands. The knuckles were defined and his fingers were slender and strong. Dean could see the veins and tendons rolling under tan skin as he worked the oil around.

“—is that alright?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the dude’s hands and back to that too blue gaze.

“Yep.” He said, all without really hearing a word the guy had said. It was an automatic response, one that the panicking part of Dean was screaming to take back.

“Your form says your problems areas are your shoulders and upper thighs.” The guy said casually. Dean felt the tips of his ears burn—his thighs were just fine, Sam knew that.

Fuck. Sam had done it on purpose, hadn’t he? To fuck up Dean’s world in cruel retaliation.

“Please turn on your back so we can begin.”

Dean tensed up the moment he was in position and the guy’s warm, slick hands touched his shoulders. His masseuse didn’t seem fazed, because he immediately went to work, strong fingers pressing into his skin as they work down his upper shoulders.

It took him a moment, when he felt Dean relaxing under his ministrations, to really begin. Dean bit back a groan as the hands suddenly became brutal, zeroing in on the knots and forcing them down with accurate strength. Dean tried to breath through the agonizing pain as he felt his muscles get pinched between strong fingers and pulled on the harsh rub downwards.

The guy worked diligently even though he had to know how much Dean was struggling. His body was both encouraging and protesting his actions, because while the knots hurt, Dean found himself floundering whenever the hands disappeared from his skin for more oil.

He felt himself sinking into the cushy table, melting like wax under this guy’s hands. As the pressure of fingers stayed on Dean’s upper shoulder and neck, there wasn’t even a buzz of arousal that he had expected. Porn lied to him, clearly, because this was perfectly okay and clinical—

And unmanly whimper escaped Dean’s clamped lips as he felt the hands slid downward without warning and suddenly there was warmth shooting down his pelvis—oh no…

The hands never stopped, traveling further down his spine and sides, pausing here and there to work out kinks. Dean did his best not to squirm, to think of disgusting things if only to dispel the chubby he probably had. The hands were nearly at his hips, pressing on either side of his tailbone and jesus fucking christ surely the towel was covering him up?

The hands disappeared, and immediately, Dean despised the loss. All his panicking vanished, replaced by a yearning to feel the touch again. He nearly jumped when the hands suddenly pressed into the back of his thighs, just below the crease of his ass. Another spike of hot arousal shot down his spine, and Dean sincerely prayed he wouldn’t be asked to turn over.

But jesus, this guy was working magic. He found knots that Dean didn’t even know he had, nearly making him cry when he worked out a particularly harsh one in his calf.

He was there for nearly an hour, fighting between states of arousal and panic in complete silence while this poor (but very hot) guy did his job in total blissful ignorance of Dean’s internal war.

“If there are any areas on your front you would like me to work on—“

“No!” Dean said a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Just—“ While panicking, his shoulders had tensed up again. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to leave just yet. “Can you work on my shoulders a little more? I’m always tensing them.”

“Of course.” Came a rumbling reply, and those glorious hands were back on his shoulders, carefully pressing out the knots trying to form again. Dean immediately melted again, his shoulders slumping against the pressure.

He thought that would be the end of it. Dean had gone to the massage like Sam wanted (maybe he was thinking about going back, because he hadn’t felt that relaxed and loose in years), and now Dean could get back to classes and the garage. And if maybe he jerked off to a massage porn video imagining his masseuse instead of the faceless guy in the flick, if maybe Dean started having wet dreams about him basically every night, if maybe Dean was starting to question is already questionable sexuality all because this guy gave him a massage, it was no one’s business but his. Not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again anyway, because how could he go back now that he’s jerked off to the guy? That’s just rude.

So imagine his shock, terror, and panic when he walked into the first day of his tech class to see Mr. Massage sitting at a nearby work table, talking quietly with the professor. Mr. Magic Hands is Castiel Novak, Dean’s TA…and his lab partner for the year.

[cuddlepilefics]

Sick at Work

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregivers: 2basco

Prompt @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Changbin had caught a small cold a few days ago. It wasn't really that much of a bother to him, mostly just a slightly runny nose along with a faint scratchiness in his throat. He had made sure to take hot showers every day and to stay hydrated. However, as days passed, the rapper couldn't help but feel progressively worse. When he woke up this morning, his head felt heavy with congestion and his hearing was starting to sound muffled. His head was aching from the pressure but he forced himself out of bed to join his group for their schedule. As he was slowly becoming more awake, he noticed the irritated itch in his nose that became harder to ignore by the minute. Feeling a bit chilled, Changbin decided to put on one of his thickest hoodies. Right when he pulled it over his head, the tickle in his nose became unbearable. Unable to see with clothing covering his face, he pitched forwards, sneezing. Bumping his had on the door of his closet in the process, Changbin barely managed to suppress a curse before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Getting ready, Changbin's morning routine was frequently interrupted by his urge to sneeze. He had barely been awake for half an hour, yet he had already sneezed more than he had done in the past few days. Simply running his sleeve under his nose was enough to set him off again and the rapper was starting to dread going to work today. He didn't feel sick enough to stay at the dorm but he was so annoyingly sneezy, which would be really bothering, considering that 3racha wanted to work on some stuff in the studio and recording was certainly not going to go smoothly with him sneezing every few seconds. When Changbin was ready to head out, he met Chan in the kitchen, making coffee. Changbin got himself a cup too, hoping it would clear the fog in his head a bit. "How are you feeling today?", Chan asked, taking in his dongsaeng's tired face. Changbin shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee before replying: "Let's just put it this way, you're gonna get tired of saying 'bless you' reeeaal fast." – "That bad?", the leader frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. The younger shook his head with a sniffle, turning aside to sneeze immediately after. "Ndo, jus' really sneezy", the rapper forced out, scrubbing at his reddening nose with the cuff of his sleeve, only triggering another sneeze. Raising his eyebrow at Changbin, Chan questioned: "Are you sure you can work through this? You know, it's always fine to take a breather when you're sick." – "I'm sure. Don't even really feel sick. My nose is just so sensitive, it's annoying", the younger pouted, so his hyung decided to drop the topic.

Not much later, Jisung joined the two and they headed to the studio together. Changbin shivered lightly on the way there as the weather had gotten colder recently and the wind was picking up. His poor nose was already raw from him constantly scrubbing at it but it seemed like the only way to satisfy the annoying tickle. By the time they made it to the studio, he had already gone through an entire travel pack of tissues and had to go to the restroom to stuff his pockets with toilet paper. "You alright? You've taken a while", Chan asked worriedly when Changbin finally joined them. The truth was, Changbin had had a bad sneezing fit while at the restroom. Since he didn't want his friends to witness that, he stayed there to wait it out, blowing his nose a few times in hopes of getting rid of the congested feeling in his sinuses before washing his hands and joining them. Changbin nodded, already bringing his sleeve up to his face again, sniffling: "I-I'm fine, jus – jus' needed to h-hESSH! Huh - hEGSHU! Just needed to sneeze and blow by ndose." The other two blessed him and nodded in understanding before starting to work on some lyrics.

While Chan and Jisung seemed to be having a good time, really getting some lyrics down, Changbin was struggling. He couldn't focus on anything really. To him it seemed like his head was filled with cotton, making it impossible to grasp a solid thought. It also didn't help that he kept turning away to sneeze, which resulted in him being distracted from what he was doing again. The only thing that he remained aware of the entire time was his itchy nose and how painfully raw the skin around it had become. Chan had offered him a few more times to go home and rest but Changbin kept resisting. He wasn't that sick, right? Soon they had enough lyrics to start recording and the leader started to set up the microphone, while Changbin was beyond frustrated with himself. Neither had he been able to come up with any useful lyrics, nor would he be able to really record anything because his voice sounded so pathetically stuffy. Jisung would probably be the one recording the lines, while Chan went straight to editing them. Changbin was left to give the younger advice but other than that, all he could do was beat himself up for not really contributing anything to their work. That didn't mean he'd go home though.

Jisung was just about to start recording the first line, when Changbin held up his hand, signaling for him to wait. The younger looked at him curiously, watching his hyung's eyes flutter shut, mouth hanging slightly agape. "I-I nh-heed to sneeze", Changbin panted, breath hitching uncontrollably. "Yeah, I think the whole world knows that by now", Jisung teased. Eyes watering, the older twisted to the side roughly: "hESH! KGSH! N'gsCH! *sniff* sorry." – "Bless you", Chan sighed, studying his dongsaeng's face to figure out if it was safe for Jisung to start recording now. They went ahead with their recording but it was a slow process, frequently interrupted by Changbin's sneezes. Though it was disturbing their work, Chan and Jisung were mainly just worried for their friend. He couldn't possibly feel alright while sneezing that much. His nose was bright pink by now and his face looked blank and tired, almost as though he was asleep in his chair but his eyes were open, indicating that the rapper was indeed awake. Though his eyes were open, they looked distant, holding a sickly gloss. Changbin didn't look well at all but he had refused to go home earlier.

Changbin himself was mainly frustrated. Sure, he felt miserable but overall, he was frustrated with himself. He wasn't contributing anything to their work as a group, instead holding his friends back with his frequent sniffles. Going home didn't seem like an option though. He wasn't that sick and certainly wouldn't milk a cold just to get out of work. "Bin, seriously, just go home. You can't tell me you feel well because your sneezing is contradicting that", Chan sighed, turning away from his laptop. Jisung agreed: "You look awful and tired. Please get some rest." Changbin bit his lip, feeling guilty for holding his friends back. He was convinced they were annoyed at him at this point and he couldn't blame them but it still hurt him that they were trying to get rid of him. "Yah! Stop bossing me around!", he snapped, his eyes going unfocused immediately after before he turned to the side to sneeze. The other two were taken aback at their friend's sudden outburst. His face showed clear anger, the watery look in his eyes the only thing that kept him from being intimidating. He had been rather harsh when telling them off earlier too. Whenever they'd tell him to take a break, his demeanor would suddenly turn cold.

"Alright, I won't be telling you what to do anymore. You're an adult, decide for yourself. Make yourself miserable, I don't care", Chan stated coldly. He and Jisung then continued working, barely paying attention to Changbin. "Aish, we've been working for a while already. We should really eat something, shouldn't we?", the leader contemplated. He and Jisung then started a longer discussion about food, Changbin however was barely listening to them. He was trying to hold back his tears, his hyung's words having stung more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't even tell why his emotions were so all over the place today. The next thing he knew was Jisung leaving the studio. "Where's he going?", he muttered confused, squinting after the younger with watering eyes. Keeping his face clear of any emotion, Chan turned to him and replied: "If you had listened, you'd know that Sungie's getting us snacks." Mainly, Chan wanted to be alone with his dongsaneg for a moment, hoping the boy would crack and admit what was going on. He also had a plan in case that didn't work. Going on his phone, he texted Jisung instructions for when he returned. He wanted the younger to sneak up to Changbin from behind and feel his forehead. Him running a fever would be the only logical explanation for his temper Chan could give.

Heading out, Jisung went to the closest convenient store and raided the snack aisle. He felt his phone buzz and read Chan's message, nodding to himself as he had already had a similar suspicion. Changbin wasn't usually that easy to anger, so it would only make sense. Remembering his hyung's irritated pink nose, Jisung also decided to pick up some tissues. He hoped they'd be a bit gentler on Changbin's raw skin than the toilet paper he had been using over the past few hours. Jisung was quick to check out but tried to take his time walking back. Maybe Chan was talking Changbin into going home and he didn't want to interrupt and have their friend pull his guards back up. What he didn't know was that Chan was very far from talking Changbin into anything. He had given his dongsaeng the chance to tell him what was wrong multiple times already and now waited for Changbin to take the opportunity and speak up. That didn't happen though, so the Aussie really relied on Jisung and the back-up to his plan to work out. He heard the door open quietly but Changbin was too out of it to really pay attention to anything. To top that off, his hearing had become even more muffled from the congestion in his head, so he didn't hear Jisung slowly walking up behind him. Then there was suddenly a light, cool touch on his forehead and Changbin couldn't help but sigh in relief as it soothed the headache he had had all day. "Your skin's as hot as your temper", Jisung commented before removing his hand and plopping into his seat. Changbin didn't react to that at all, not even able to process what his dongsaeng had said.

When there was no reaction, Chan turned his chair to him and gave the younger a soft look, frowning: "You heard Jisung? You're running a fever." – "Oh", was all Changbin had to say to that. "Come on, mate. I can understand that you're frustrated but we're not bossing you around to be mean. We're genuinely worried 'bout you and your temperature is only more reason for us to take you home", the leader said with a comforting smile. That was what finally cracked Changbin. Soon the first tear rolled, then the next. Sniffling quietly, he pulled his sleeve over his hand to dry them but brushed against his nose in the process. "KGSH! h-hGSHHU! *sniff*" Trying to clean himself up, he pulled out some more crumpled toilet paper but Jisung was quick to hand him a tissue. "You're really not feeling yourself today, huh? Is that why you were so worked up?", Chan asked calmly, resting his hand on Changbin's shoulder. The younger nodded, rasping: "I'b sorry. It was so frustrati'g because I couldn't focus a'd was just so useless. Didn't thigk it was that bad." – "It's alright, but why don't you try talking to us next time?", Jisung smiled, brushing the older's hair back and holding his water bottle up to Changbin's forehead, since he had obviously enjoyed the cool touch earlier. While Changbin closed his eyes and relaxed, Chan was already shutting his laptop off and packing their things up. When everything was ready for them to leave, the leader patted Changbin's arm, humming: "Let's get you home. I bet a hot shower and an early bedtime sound nice right now." – "Really dice", the younger agreed, allowing Chan and Jisung to pull him up and take him home. 

[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

[blueposthings]

Little Informant (pt. 2)

Warnings: Violence, blood, language

Words: 2.1k+

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

You had taken your time in getting back home, the fifteen minute walk turned to two hours when you decided to take a stroll around town. It was late, too late for a frail girl like you to be roaming the streets of New York all by yourself. But you had to clear your mind. Besides, with your self-defense skills along with the trusty butterfly knife you always had with you at all times, you were pretty confident.

However, when you finally arrived back at your apartment, you had noticed several things out of place; the dust on the right side of the door frame, two feet above the floor, had a gap, you were sure you hadn’t touched it; the nail of one of the panels on the creaky floorboard was slanted, someone had tripped on it.

There was an intruder in your house.

You slowly grabbed your knife from your jacket pocket before reaching for your keys, intentionally shaking it in your fingers. You turned your keys and opened the door with your left hand, the knife on your right, ready to fight. When no one ambushed you, you crouched down like you were going to untie your shoes when in fact you reached for the gun you had stored below the shoe cabinet.

You replaced the knife in your hold with the handgun, holding it firmly with both of your hands before peeking out from the corner of your doorway. Sure enough, stood a man about six feet tall dressed in all black in your poor excuse of a kitchen, you noticed he was holding a pistol of his own in one hand and a framed picture of you and your father in the other.

“You do look like him, you know?” He said, acknowledging your presence.

“Who are you?” You had your gun trained on him. Your gaze unwavering, despite your heart trying to beat out of your ribcage.

“You can consider me an old family friend.” The man placed the frame back to the countertop as he turned to you.

“Why are you here?” You stood your ground at the front doorway as he approached you slowly, his gun in hand.

“When you opened that laptop, it sent a signal to us. We thought Rumlow had come back from the dead so I offered to go.” He said, ever so casually. “Then I found these photos and, I gotta say, I’m quite surprised. I never took your father as- well, a father.”

He was only a few feet in front of you now, your gun pointed straight to his chest. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“If you’re anything like Brock, you could be a great asset to us, Y/N-”

“How do you know my name?”

“Perhaps, you might want to consider joining us? Your father would be proud.”

“I’m not an asset,” you gritted out. “And I’m nothing like him.”

This perked your intruder’s attention, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Oh?”

You realized then that you might have spilled something you shouldn’t have. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, your hands struggling to keep your weapon steady.

“Do tell me, Y/N. What did you do with the information from that laptop?” His tone was now much sharper, accusing.

You searched your brain to try and find a believable lie, something that wouldn’t put your life in danger. In your moment of silence, the man in front of you grew impatient and furious.

“Where were you just now?”

“None of your business.” You finally said, your voice giving you away with a crack.

“What a shame.” The man sighed, bowing his head to the floor for a second. “I hope Brock’s gonna forgive me for this one.” Then he raised his gun at you, with anger in his eyes.

Time seemed to slow down when you pulled your trigger. However, the man managed to avoid it at the last second, the bullet only hitting his shoulder. The force pushed him back and he let go of his gun, his good hand holding his wound.

“Little shit.” He cursed before charging at you.

You re-aimed your gun, but due to the close distance between the two of you, he successfully pushed it away. He used his whole body weight to knock you back to the wall, resulting in you losing your grip of the pistol in your hand. You grabbed your knife from your pocket, forcing the butt to his head, making him groan as he stumbled ever so slightly. You pushed him back by the injured shoulder, your thumb digging in to the bullet wound. You then kneed him in the stomach, your dominant hand twirling open the knife and stabbing him in the back. You pushed his body off of you with all your might and tried to make a run for it.

You only managed to get a couple of steps away when he grabbed your foot. You tripped and fell face first to the floor. You groaned, your head was spinning and you could feel blood oozing from your nose. The intruder dragged himself up with his good arm while you tried to collect yourself. You still had the knife in your hand so you tried to land another stab to his leg, but he blocked it, grabbing your hand and twisting it so you’d drop the weapon. But what you lack in size and power, you made up with agility -when he yanked your arm up, you used the momentum to help you jump up and straddle his neck with your two legs, your arms holding him in a choke hold. He tried to get you off but between the bullet and the stab wound, he was already losing a lot of blood. He stumbled around, crashing through your coffee table and one of your bookshelves. At one point he went close enough to the TV stand where you had an old glass vase on top. You grabbed the vase and swung it to his face, it broke and he fell unconscious with you below him. You were sure you must have heard a crack, but with the adrenaline numbing your pain you couldn't tell if it was his bone or yours.

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

When you noticed he wasn’t moving, you took a second to collect your breath. Eventually, you pushed him off and got up, grabbing your knife and both guns before running off.

“And we believe the kid?” Clint crossed his arms. He stared at the back of his teammate’s head, almost seeing the cogs in his skull turning.

“Yes, I know she was telling the truth.” Steve said, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. “I could feel it.”

“No offense, Cap. But when it comes to the sake of the planet’s security, I would rather not go on gut feeling.”

“Have you considered maybe this is just your guilt speaking?” Natasha chimed into the conversation from the other side of the table.

Steve was silent for a moment. “It’s not,” he finally said, although it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

“As much as I hate to say this, but I think the oldman’s right,” Tony sat back down on the closest chair to the front of the room. “I don’t think she was lying, at least not about this.”

“I say, it is better to be safe than sorry.” Vision spoke up, his gaze not leaving the files displayed on the holograms.

“He’s got a point. We have this information- the location of everything. Why don’t we go see for ourselves.” Rhodes added.

When no one interjected, the room took it as an agreement. Tony was about to tell FRIDAY to display the closest base that they could locate when the A.I. had another idea.

“Tony, there has been a 911 call from the address you told me to look out for.”

This got the man on his feet. “When?”

“Just a few seconds ago. The neighbors reported hearing gunshots and loud crashes. The police are on their way, they should arrive in eight to ten minutes.”

“We can get there in two.”

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

They got to your apartment in exactly eighty four seconds. Tony, along with Steve, Clint, Sam and Natasha rushed past some of your curious neighbors and arrived in front of your door. Your keys were still in the door knob when Natasha pushed the door open. Obviously the first thing they noticed was the situation of your living room. And the unconscious man on the floor.

Clint approached the bleeding man, checking for a pulse. “He’s alive, barely.”

Natasha tossed him a pair of handcuffs and the archer gathered the unknown man’s hands before securing him. She then entered a nearby closet in an unsuccessful attempt of finding the apartment’s owner.

The rest of them looked around the ransacked apartment trying to get an idea of what happened or who this man was. Steve picked up one of the photographs that was shattered on the floor, the one your intruder was looking at earlier. There was a pit forming in his stomach as he processed what he was seeing. You’d taken the photograph at your middle school father-daughter dance. He was always at work, but that day he had taken a day off to attend the event for you, even took you shopping to get a nice pastel pink dress and a tie for him to match. You grinned in that photo, unintentionally showing off your braces; your father had his hand around your frame, a gentle yet charismatic smile adorning his lips.

Sam went further to the apartment, ending up in your room. He took in the decorations -or rather lack thereof. Your walls contrasted those of the living room, aside from one old poster of a band Sam didn’t recognize, there was only a bed in the centre of the room. He stepped out of the room and entered another. There was more personality, more life, in this room. Ironic really, seeing as it was your late father’s. There were pictures of him and you on his bedside table, among other things. His bed was unmade but dusty. He spotted a glimmer beyond the papers strewn across the floor. Curiosity led him to picking it up; it was a dog tag. He pocketed it before appearing back to the rest, shaking his head.

“Hey kid!” Tony hollered. “It’s Tony! With The Avengers?”

Silence.

Suddenly the front door re-opened with a force. The five heroes immediately got to a fighting stance.

“NYPD! Put your hands where I can see ‘em!”

The team sighed, half in relief and half disappointment. Upon realizing that the Avengers themselves were in front of them, the police officers lowered their weapon with faces full of questions.

“With all due respect,” one of them spoke nervously, “what are you guys doing here?”

“Our jurisdiction.” Tony snarked with sarcasm before going back to looking around the room.

“That man needs medical help.” Natasha stepped up to the officer, pointing at the body on the ground. “We don’t know who he is yet but we assume he’s bad so keep an eye on him.”

Steve rested his shield on his arm before picking up one of the framed pictures that looked the most recent before giving it to a different officer. “Look for this girl, she might be in danger. And injured.” It was one your father had taken of you only a few months before you last saw him, you had grown a little since then but Steve thought it should do.

“There might be no need for that,” Tony called. “One of the security cams across the street spotted a girl running away from this building, must be her.”

Steve nodded. “Let’s go.” And with that they were off, leaving the police to take care of the crime scene and culprit while they search for you with the guidance of FRIDAY.

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

You finally decided you couldn’t run any further; your chest was heaving, your head was spinning, your back was killing you, and you’re pretty sure the man had sprained your arm. You stopped at an empty alley, a good block away from your building. You let your body slide down the wall to the concrete below you in exhaustion. You lifted your shirt up to see a purple bruise starting to form on your upper stomach. You raised your hand to wipe off the blood staining your face but only ended up spreading the red liquid everywhere before you limped, your muscles giving out. You sighed, turning your brain trying to find out how you were going to get out of this one.

Then you felt a presence to your left. Your instincts kicked in, grabbing the gun you had carried and aiming it to the figure.

“Wow, hey. Put that down.” The figure said, three more people emerging behind him. “It’s me.”

God damn the Avengers. You thought, lowering the gun in your hand. You let your head lull back to the wall behind you.

You heard a metal clink from your other side. “You’ll manage, huh?”

You couldn’t find the energy in you to return the attitude.

Tag list: @iamthescarlettwitch @sincerely-kizzy @ineedmorefanfics @moonyinthestars

I know this is very much long overdue, i hope you'll still enjoy it regardless xx

[malereader-inserts]

Christmas Cheer

Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Avengers & Male!Reader Summary: Everyone is spreading the Christmas Cheer Word Count: 1291 A/n: Sorry about unable to post, my laptop still hasn’t been fixed.

Merry Christmas from England :)

New York City.

Its the place you want to be for the holidays, the snow is unbelievably pretty and the decoration always stands out the best than last years. Growing up in New York, Christmas still takes your breath away, if you weren’t feeling the Christmas cheer then doing into downtown New York and you’ll find all the cheer you need.

Still, it was the first time you wouldn’t be spending Christmas with your family. You had lived in the Avengers Base, like many others, and your parents were on holiday for once.

All their kids were out of the house and your parents figured it was back to exploring the world, making the most of their lives. You were fine with it, you like seeing the messages in the family group chat to see your mother busting out her moves on the dance floor at the cruise and it’s always a crack to see your dad on the FlowRider. Your siblings were married with kids or spending their Christmas with their significant other’s family.

Meaning, it was the first time you would be spending Christmas with the team.

You consider them a second family, so you weren’t bothered about spending Christmas with them. The only struggle you had was buying gifts for them, there was a lot more of them than you immediate family, so budgeting was a little harder this year - but, luckily, you planned ahead and started buying gifts at mid-October. 

Peter and his aunt were coming to the base as well to celebrate Christmas. Tony couldn’t have a Christmas by himself with his wife and daughter - Morgan was begging to see her uncles and aunts. Clint decided to bring his family along to the base as well, more like Laura had pestered him about it.

It was a packed household, but, it warmed your heart. The Christmas tree was big enough to have presents under the tree. You put it up the moment it hit December 1st, everyone came in the morning to see you tangled in tinsels.

You remember Sam complaining the loudest that you should have waited for everyone to be up so he could help. He loves doing the decorating the tree. 

Obviously, there was a loud argument on who should put the star on the top, eventually, it was picked that you should do it. You like admiring the tree from time to time. 

The Christmas activities were highly forced by Steve, only because everyone seemed to agree to spend Christmas with each other. So, of course, there was a gingerbread house competition. Everyone knew that everyone in the team was competitive, but you’ve never seen such fury between Bucky and Steve, as Steve was betrayed by Bucky, who loudly teamed up with Tony.

Steve gasped, dramatically, and yanked Banner to be his partner, the poor man was sputtering excuses as you looked at him sympathetically. You had banned Natasha and Clint being in a team together as Clint grumbled and teamed with Wanda as you teamed with Peter, Natasha pulling Sam by the ear to get their spot to join the competition. 

Vision and Rhodey were the judges since they were the most likely not to be biased. Concluding, Tony and Bucky the winner as you and Peter came third, with a sulky second place of Steve and Banner. 

Of course, it had snowed, so there was a snowball fight. This was started by Bruce, surprisingly. He had picked up snow and clumped it into a ball. He was supposed to hit Clint, missed and hit Natasha. 

The silence was deafening when it had happened. 

It was all good when she hastily picked up a clump to throw back at the scientist, who was sure he was dead for. 

You can’t remember the last time you had a snowball fight, it had been years really. It was great fun, especially with a gang of superheroes. No one was backing down in the fight, it had only stopped when Nick Fury came to visit and he was hit in the face with a stray snowball.

No one knows who threw it. 

(It was Rhodey.)

When that stopped everyone seem to try and play it off as if they weren’t having a snowball fight. You, Peter and Wanda did a few snow angels and inevitable - seeing that Clint had declared a competition on the best snow sculpture, with no teaming up. 

You were doing the judging this time with Bucky by your side, he liked shouting insults towards Steve to overthrow his game. You weren’t surprised that Tony had built his own Iron Man suit with snow. You were surprised to see that Natasha built Spongebob, you were unaware she knew what that was, she doesn’t seem the type to enjoy a cartoon. 

“Does it have to be a grand thing?” You asked as you watched everyone build such great sculptures, taking up the front of the base, luckily they were located in the middle of nowhere.

“Where’s the fun of not doing it ENORMOUS!” 

The winner was Bruce with his sculpture of a massive cat, Clint was sulking when he wasn’t even declared second or third.

“Clint, you built a giant dick, you could have put some detail on it!”

“Go suck some dick, Wilson.”

(Clint was bitter that Sam took second - he built the head of a falcon.)

Christmas has most definitely been the best time of the year. How could possibly forget everyone having a movie week of Christmas movies? Don’t forget a highly toxic argument that rise among the team which was the best Christmas movie.

“It’s clearly Home Alone,” Peter spoke loudly as Banner scoffed.

“No, it’s The Grinch.”

“Okay, just because Hulk is green and so is the Grinch-” 

“Steve!” You called him out as Natasha was busy howling in the background, her side was hurting from laughing too hard.

“I’m just saying Elf is a great movie.”

“Of course you would say that, childish!” Bucky called him out.

“Oh, what do think is the best one then Bucks?”

“It’s a wonderful life,” Bucky said as if it was obvious.

“The guy was going to kill himself, how is that the best Christmas movie?!” Tony argued, “Come on, guys, it’s Polar Express!”

“Actually, it’s Die Hard.”

“CLINT SHUT UP!” Everyone shouted as he started to crack up again.

“(Y/n), what do you think is the best Christmas movie.”

You put your hands up, “I am not getting involved with this...”

“You suck, man,” Sam announced, with a smirk on his face, “Krampus.”

“That is a horror film,” Rhodey pointed out, looking at Sam as if he was insane.

“A Christmas horror film,” Sam says, hands out with a bright smile.

“I would like to watch that,” Thor piped up, his hand up to talk.

You raised an eyebrow, “For once, Thor had been so quiet that I forgot you were here.”

The argument lasted for a while, but everyone had seemed to forget about it or at least, sweep it under the rug as Christmas was nearing closer. It was lovely to see everyone in a Christmas cheer, wearing lovely and ugly sweaters.

(Bucky had taped a mirror onto his sweater with a note cello taped to the jumper saying “Ugly.” - Tony did not take it well.)

You admired the tree, a few nights before Christmas, excited to open gifts. Though, upon inspection, perhaps you have to be the parent to be holding a black bin bag and collecting everyone’s wrapping present this year.

[nsheetee]

mocha | jeno

pairing: basketball player!jeno x barista!reader genre: coffee shop au | fluff, slight angst summary: you tutor star basketball player jeno when you realize he’s spending late nights studying in the cafe you work at.

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this is a part of the moonlight cafe series — please read the preface before continuing reading

he walks as if he’s in a hurry, not minding the jingling bell on the door above him and sits down at a booth in the corner of the cafe

he has a baseball cap on, and a hoodie over that; you can’t recognize who he is at all

waiting a few moments, you glance over at his table again

he has several textbooks and his laptop out, promptly putting his airpods in his ears and beginning his homework

you just write him off as any other student that comes in here at night, the only difference with him is that he doesn’t order a coffee with an unhealthy amount of espresso shots in it

you don’t mind him, but it is a bit worrying when he spends the whole night switching between laying his head down on the table and softly thumping it against the wood, and staring blankly between his laptop and textbook

when he leaves that night at 3am, you send a silent wish after him that whatever he was studying for goes in his favor 

but surprisingly, he shows up the next night as well

it’s saturday night, the evening rush ended a while ago, and the mysterious guy is once again sitting in his spot at the back corner of the cafe

he looks even more frazzled than the night before, yet he doesn’t order anything and continues to diligently work throughout the whole night

this goes on for weeks, and you begin to worry for this poor boy’s sleep schedule

but even more so, you’re curious about who he is, since he never orders anything and always has a hood or a hat on

one night, your curiosity is quenched

“who’s that?” taeil asks you; he’s normally not at the store this late, but forgot to complete taking inventory this morning and came back tonight to finish it up

he nods his head towards your mystery guy, who has slumped over his textbooks and looks to be peacefully sleeping on the table

“not sure. he always comes in and studies for almost the whole night, never orders anything, though.” you shrug at your boss and he frowns

“go give him a mocha, or something. on the house- he looks like he needs to wake up.” taeil turns back to his clipboard and you nod

carrying over a hot mocha to the intriguing character in the corner of the cafe, your heart thumps in suspense

you’ll finally be able to learn who the mystery man is, something you’ve been wondering since day one

you set the mocha down on the table carefully and sit across from him, shaking his arm to wake him up

the guy jerks out of his sleep, a flashcard sticking to his face as he looks around the cafe with lidded eyes

“sorry!” you grimace, holding out your hands in front of you “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to wake you up. my boss told me to give you this mocha on the house, and to make sure you’re okay.” the guy unsticks the flashcard from his face, and your mouth drops when you realize who the mystery man is

“lee jeno?” you ask, and his sleepy eyes widen when you recognize him

“...no? I think you have me mistaken for someone else...” he clears his throat, looking around the cafe to see if anyone has their attention turned to you two

you would believe him, if he isn’t the most well known face on campus

he’s not only the college’s basketball star who has his face plastered on every basketball-related event at the school and is dating the head cheerleader, but also the guy who sits a few rows in front of you in your calculus class

“I'm 90% sure you’re lee jeno.” you state, and he seems too tired to argue with you about his identity

“okay, yes, that’s me. can you please not tell anyone that I'm here.”

“tell what? that you, a college student, studies?” you tilt your head and cross your arms as you wait for his response

“yeah,” he becomes shy, playing with his airpods that fell out of his ears during his nap, “to be honest, I'm in a calculus class this semester and I don’t understand one bit of it. that’s why I'm here every weekend night.” he explains, not meeting your gaze yet

all of a sudden, it hits you-

he doesn’t know who you are

although your calculus class has almost 100 people in it, you would think he would’ve at least seen you walking past him every monday, wednesday, and friday to your seat behind him

but you’re not surprised that he’s struggling or that he hasn’t noticed you, since you always see him talking with his basketball friends instead of paying attention 

“I can tutor you.” you shrug, and he raises his eyebrows, finally making eye contact, “I work every weekend night, and I took that class last semester.”

you don’t feel guilty about lying

if jeno doesn’t recognize you, then maybe it should stay that way

what he doesn't know won’t hurt thim

“wouldn’t that keep you away from your job...” 

“it calms down after midnight around here, and I usually get bored during that time. what do you say?”

he agrees, and pretty soon you’re tutoring basketball star lee jeno

you thought that keeping your identity secret when you walk into class would be difficult, but jeno is always too busy fooling around with his friends before class starts that it’s easy to sneak past him

jeno comes in after midnight on weekends, you tutor him for about an hour (or until he understands the homework) and then he leaves to get some precious sleep 

jeno might be forever thankful for you

the way you explain things makes sense to him, much more sense than any office hours or ta hours that he has been to

it’s a win-win situation for you both: you can count these hours every night as “volunteer work” and jeno soon comes back to the cafe with his midterm exam, a solid B+ labeled across the top

“good job,” you chime when you see his grade from his phone

a text message notification pops up, and although you don’t read it, you definitely saw the word “party”

“maybe we can skip the study session tonight? you’ve been doing much better lately, and it’s friday night. I bet you want to get out and go to a party, or something.” you suggest, giving jeno a perfect excuse to leave you for the night and join his friends

“nah,” jeno shrugs as he takes back his phone, “I'd much rather hang out with you.”

your heart thuds at his words and you try your hardest to control your facial expression- to somehow bite back the heat threatening to rise to your cheeks

it’s been like this for the past few weeks, ever since you saw this new side to jeno

before tutoring him, he was only the basketball player who loudly fooled around with his friends before class and seemed like he didn’t care about anything else other than basketball

but since you started to get to know him, it’s safe to say you severely misjudged him

he’s probably the most boyish guy you’ve ever met, who cracks jokes that most would cringe at but have you clutching your stomach and wheezing with laughter 

the more time he spent around you, the more comfortable he became, and the more he could tell you his feelings

like how nervous he was for the exam or how scared he was for last week’s game

or how he’s determined to drink the mocha you make him every time he comes to the cafe, as an apology for all the nights he hogged a table and didn’t buy anything

he snuck into your heart, through the spaces between your ribs and planted himself there, unwilling to leave

but you know your feelings aren’t acceptable

he has a girlfriend, a very pretty and popular one that you’re almost sure he won’t leave for little old you

“seriously,” jeno notices your change in tone, “you can go out. you don’t have to stay here.”

“I'm being serious, too. let’s start on the next chapter, since you took this class last semester you’ll know how to do the equations for the next part, right?” jeno is already pulling out his textbook and his papers, determined to start working

your heart races, now for a different reason

although you’re good at calculus, you’re not that good to understand the next chapter yet

“uh...” you trail off, trying to find an excuse, “why do you even want to do math homework right now?” you ask, and jeno suddenly gets quiet

“it’s not really about math anymore, it’s about the person who’s teaching it to me...” he mumbles, but you hear him clearly

your heart is in your throat and your hands clam up from nerves

this is wrong

he has a girlfriend

his life is very different and separate from yours

this is so wrong

“we can’t.” you shake your head, and jeno’s nervous glances at you turns into a heartsick and longing look, “I- I actually haven’t taken this class. I'm taking it... right now.” you admit, the weight on your shoulders being lifted

“what?” he frowns

he doesn’t look good with a frown, his round glasses move with his face

he looks more like a confused puppy than the killer basketball player everyone knows and loves

“I'm in your class, jeno. I sit three rows behind you. I walk past you everyday to my seat.” you roll your eyes lightly

jeno just keeps getting more and more confused with every sentence

“how? how did I not notice you-”

“because you’re too busy messing around with your bros.” you roll your eyes harder this time, but when your gaze lands back on jeno, you immediately start to regret the forcefulness of your words

he looks hurt, and now angry

“so, you lied to me?” jeno looks as if the gears in his brain are running at full capacity, “what did you want from me then? some tickets to the game, maybe my phone number to sell online?” he spits out, embarrassment from you not returning his feelings fueling his harsh words

“do I look like I would do that? you know I'm not that kind of person.”

“forget it. maybe I will go to that party...” he trails off as he packs up his bag

“you act different with your friends than you do with me. you’re just trying to fit into a mold. I called you out on it and you’re mad about it.”

“no. I act different with you because I like you. liked.” he corrects himself, standing up out of the booth

your heart pinches with hurt at his words

there’s nothing like the bitterness of being so close to what you wanted, and then taking 10 steps back because you weren’t aware of how close you were to getting it

“you forgot your drink.” you say bitterly, intent on having the last word

he tucks his airpods into his ears and fixes his hood, “I hate mochas.”

the next night, the basketball team loses their first game of the season

it’s hard not to hear about it, considering the basketball team (and lee jeno) are the pride of the college

but a few more nights pass, and the team loses another game

and then they lose again, keeping them from going to regionals 

even taeyong and taeil talk about it, and you couldn’t look away when they showed you the viral video of jeno’s cheerleader girlfriend breaking up with him in the middle of the court after the last game

although you haven’t talked to him since the fight, you still felt sorry for him

you felt bad, and a bit guilty

jeno hasn’t shown up to calculus since the loss, and his seat is eventually taken by one of his ex-friends 

within a month, jeno turned from the campus’ golden boy to a nobody

and it didn’t matter to you

you haven’t physically seen him since the fight, making you worried about him

is he okay? physically and mentally? is he eating or sleeping? 

part of you hates that you still have feelings for him, and the other part doesn’t care 

you just want to know if he’s okay

and then one very early saturday morning, he walks into the cafe for the very first time since you fought 

the jingle of the bells above him comfort him, they chime a good luck to him as he steps up to the counter where you’re ducked down into the pastry display case 

“I'll be with you in one moment.” you say, tired dripping from your tone, and jeno realizes you’re in the last hour of your shift

“it’s no problem.” your rustling stops at the familiar voice, and your head pops up from behind the counter

lee jeno stands in front of you, his hoodie and baseball hat on, round glasses perched on his nose and his fringe tickling his eyes

“jeno.” you say, as if making sure it’s actually him and that he’s really here

“no, I think you might’ve mistaken me for someone else.” you and jeno both can’t help but let out a small laugh as you unexpectedly reenact the first time you met

“what are you doing here?” you ask, fully standing up and meeting him at the cash register

“well, I was hoping to get a mocha.” 

“I thought you hate mochas.” jeno stares at you and you stare back, unwilling to move until he says something first

jeno reaches out over the cash register, his strong but gentle fingers grazing over your forehead to fix some hair that was out of place due to your movements during restocking

you subconsciously lean into his touch, and jeno brings his hand down into yours, pulling you away from the cash register and sitting down in a chair at the counter

his hands hold yours over the counter, and the fact that you haven’t pulled away gives him hope that he’s not too late

“I grew to love them because of you. I've been craving them for the past month,” he laughs sourly, “but no one makes them the way you do.”

your heart trembles at his words, and it takes everything in you to not forgive him in an instant

“I'll make you one.” you say, untangling your hands from his and moving to the espresso machine 

jeno watches as you make his new favorite drink, and then place it before him as you sit down in a chair next to him

“I’m sorry.” is the first thing he says after you face him once again, “you were right. I was trying to fit into the mold of what the people around me wanted. the only time I could actually be myself is when I'm around you.” 

“I'm sorry, too. this isn’t all your fault, I shouldn’t have lied to you.” jeno scoots closer, tiredness tying you together and the moonlight from outside allowing you to enjoy the company of each other

“my calculus grade is low again. I might need your big brain to help me.”

“okay, but I'll need payment this time.”

“how much?”

“one kiss.”

“one kiss for every correct problem on the final exam?”

“deal.”

jeno smiles softly, his eyes scrunching as smile lines crease his face like tangled bedsheets in the early morning

he leans in, and you kiss with only the moonlight as a witness

jeno loves the way your mouth tastes like the bitter espresso that keeps him awake, but your lips are as sweet as the mocha that he has grown to love

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 6

Title: I Loved Him… Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.     

In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 

Masterlist 

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter six

     Spencer slowly walked into Eric's house. He had been here so many times in the past. Back when they were in university together they spent most of their time here, rather than studying in the overcrowded campus library, or Spencer's way too small single dorm room. But all the times he'd been here, he never once in his life thought he would ever be here as a profiler instead of a friend. 

     Being here again, it was strange, almost like he was in a dream. Like he was floating and couldn't get his feet back on the ground. As he slowly wandered through the small bungalow there were constant reminders of the fact that he and Eric had been as close as they were. Pictures on the walls of the two of them graduating, the entire collectors edition of the Sherlock series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he'd bought him for his twenty eighth birthday, the awful matching ugly christmas sweater they had bought for one of the few parties they had been invited too, Spencer still had his and wore it every christmas. Everywhere he looked it seemed Eric had tried to keep him close even when they were far apart. It made him hurt even more that he hadn't seen Eric in over a year, that every time he tried to make plans with Spencer for a visit he had to call it off, most of the time because of work. He always thought there would be more time, now he knew he should have never taken any of it for granted.

     As he continued to wander through, he searched for something, anything, that might help them understand exactly what was going on here, or at the very least lead them to the killer. But there was nothing. The place was as pristine as it always was, Eric was always as much of a neat freak as Spencer was, and not a single thing was out of place. There had been no struggle here, so Eric had been taken and killed somewhere else, and Spencer didn't think they would be finding anything helpful in his house. Which made him all the more frustrated. 

     "Hey, kid, come here!"

     Spencer followed Derek's voice from Eric's bedroom to the pantry in the kitchen. Derek was in the far back corner of the pantry, standing on a small step ladder digging around on the top shelf. "Did you find something?"

     "Yeah," he grunted, passing a few boxes down to Spencer and making more space on the top shelf, then Spencer saw it. 

     "How did you even find that? Who thinks to look for a safe in the pantry?"

     "I wasn't really looking for anything up here," he explained, passing him more boxes of food, "but when I came in just to check it out, I noticed that most of the stuff in here hasn't even been touched. There's dust on most of the boxes of food, except right here the dust had been disturbed. So I looked and found the safe. Now, we can either wait for someone to come and break this open, or we can try to figure out the code on our own. Six digits, kid, what do you got?"

     Spencer thought for a moment, then said, "Try his birthday, November second, seventy-eight."

     "Nothing," Derek shook his head, "got another?"

     "May fourteenth, eighty-four, the day his parents were killed."

     He shook his head again, "Still nothing."

     "Okay," Spencer searched his memory again for another important date in Eric's life, "maybe November tenth, ninety-six, that's the day he was released from foster care."

     "Nope."

     "September seventh, ninety-seven, his first day at Caltech."

     "Not that either, kid," Derek sighed and turned away from the safe towards Spencer, "anything else?"

     "Maybe, one second," he quickly dug out his phone, dialing a number and putting it on speaker.

     "Office of the all and powerful Oz, speak your wish and it shall be granted."

     "Garcia, we need your help," he moved closer to Derek on the ladder, lifting the phone more towards him, "we're trying to crack a safe in Eric's house, six digits, can you tell us what his real birth date was."

     "Sure, sure, honey… that would be June twenty-first, seventy-three."

     "... He was eight years older than me…" Spencer whispered to himself as Derek tried the new date and…

     "Not that either. Any other important dates in Mason Maddox's life, baby girl?"

     She typed for a few seconds before answering, "Maybe January eighteenth, ninety-seven? That's the day he made his new identity as Eric Watts."

     "Nope," he sighed then turned to Spencer again, who was now just aimlessly staring at the floor, "maybe we should just wait for someone to come bust it open. Reid? Hey, kid, you still with me?"

     Spencer closed his eyes as his heart sank to his stomach. It was obvious. "Try October twelfth, eighty-one."

     There was a minute of tense silence, no one really wanting to breach this wall, but Derek said anyways, "That's your birthday."

     "Yeah," he breathed, still not looking up from the floor, "try it."

     Derek turned back to the safe, slowly inputting the six digits of Spencer's birthday, and turned the dial one last time. Spencer shut his eyes tight at the click that signaled they had cracked the code, and tried not to let the stinging in his eyes spill over into the sobs he could feel sneaking up on him. 

     "Why your-"

     "He never missed a single one," he said, a little distantly, "called me every year we weren't together."

     Derek just turned his head away again, not sure what he could say to help, and started digging through the safe. 

     "What's inside?"

     "Woah…" Spencer finally looked up at that, a mixture of curious and worried crossing him.

     "What?"

     "Kid, I dunno if-"

     "Just tell me what it is, Morgan!" He was getting a little short, he wanted everyone to stop treating him like he was fragile and just let him work the case. 

     "Alright," Derek sighed, but handed Spencer the file he had just been looking at, "but I don't know if it's a good idea." Spencer looked down at the file in his hands, hesitating. "Reid, it's still closed, so if you don't want to open it you don't have to. You can just hand it back to me."

     He took a deep breath, contemplated what he really wanted to do and weighed all the outcomes in his mind, before looking up at Derek with a slight nod and opened the file. He instantly felt sick, betrayed, angry, he wanted to lash out but he kept flipping through. Inside were pictures upon pictures of brutal murders. Full eight by eleven sized photos of multiple different women being tortured, stabbed, bleeding. Pictures of the dump sites, pictures of these women before they were taken and after they were killed. 

     He could not believe what he was looking at, he didn't know why Eric would have these things locked up in a secret safe. Well, he did, but it was something he didn't want to have to admit, something he didn't want to have to accept. 

     He looked up at Derek once more, not able to say anything, then dropped the phone and file in his hand and ran out of the house. Derek didn't even have a chance to say anything or try to stop him before he was out of the pantry and gone. 

     He sighed, got down from the ladder, and grabbed up the file and phone Reid had dropped. Penelope was still on the line. "What happened?! Is our boy okay? What's in the file?! Oh god, Derek, tell me what's in the file."

     "Our boy's not doing too well, baby girl," he started, gathering the photos and closed the file, "and according to the pictures we found in the file, it looks like Eric was a part of some very brutal murders."

     "Oh… oh my god, poor Reid, oh…"

     "Yeah, and I don't think there's much more we can do aside from just letting him work through it, and being here when he needs us. And breaking this case I'm sure will help too." He reached up inside the safe and pulled out something else. "Speaking of which, there's a laptop in here, baby girl. If I start it up do you think you can connect and unlock it? Start digging through his files?"

     "Yes, absolutely."

     "Alright," he stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, "you get that started and I've gotta make another call."

     "I will call you back when I'm in."

     Once she hung up, Derek dialed another number, not sure if he'd get an answer, but the call was answered immediately. "Reid?!"

     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

     "Yeah, that's the reason why I'm calling," he hesitated a second, thinking back on what Rossi had said earlier, then said, "I think… I think I need you down here."

     "Why? Is everything alright?"

     Derek turned and looked to where Spencer had run out the back door. Hopefully David was right and this wasn't what he was worried it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "He's not here." Hotch holstered his gun and turned to David who was doing the same. "If he is finished with his revenge list, he could be anywhere by now."

     David nodded his agreement, "Let's get the officers and rip this place apart. Maybe we can find some hint as to where he may have gone."

     They started heading outside to retrieve more officers when Aaron's phone started ringing in his pocket. He dug it out and upon seeing the caller ID answered immediately. "Reid?!" 

     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

     "Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling." Then Derek hesitated and Aaron's stomach dropped to the floor. He had been worried the moment Spencer's name flashed on his phone, he had told him to call if he needed anything, and then even more worried when it was Derek's voice he was met with instead of Spencer's. And now, he was sure there was something wrong. "I think… I think I need you down here."

     "Why?" He was sure the panic in his voice was evident to a profiler like Derek, but he couldn't care to mask it right now, "Is everything alright?"

     "It's Reid-"

     "I'm on my way."

     He slammed his phone shut, and without even a single word between them, both Aaron and David ran for the car. 

     With the sirens blasting, the lights on, and Aaron driving with the gas pedal practically floored, they made it to Eric's house in less than ten minutes. Aaron parked and jumped out of the car as fast as he could, taking the porch steps in two bounds, and was skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he saw Derek. 

     He looked up from where he was sitting at the laptop at the kitchen counter and said, "He's out back," and Aaron was gone before he could say much more. 

     David strolled in soon after, joining Derek in the empty bar stool at the counter, and Derek turned to him with a still skeptical look. 

     "It's all good, Morgan, just let Aaron handle this." Derek just turned back to the laptop, still not satisfied with the lack of information he was getting. "What did you find that freaked the kid out so much?'

     He slid the file across the counter to him, not taking his eyes off the screen, "We found a safe hidden in the pantry and broke in. The first thing that kind of freaked him out was that the code for the safe was his birthday. Then I found that and this laptop inside. I told him he didn't have to look, but he did."

     "He wants to see this through," David nodded to himself, knowing he would probably do the same as Spencer in his case, then flipped open the file. He instantly recoiled at the sight of some of the pictures in the file as he filtered through, then sighed and closed it. "I can see why this freaked him out. It looks like Eric, or rather Mason Maddox, was involved in some very dark murders."

     Derek nodded, running a hand down his face and turning to David, "I feel bad for him. He thought he knew this guy, obviously felt a little something for him, and all those years he's been murdering people behind Spencer's back. I can't even imagine being in that position, especially as a profiler. The kid's probably beating himself up over this."

     "You're probably right, though none of that is his fault. From the outside Eric seemed like a completely normal man." He then turned his attention to the laptop in front of Derek. "And what about this?"

     "Nothing yet, but Garcia's working on it. Hopefully she can get it unlocked, there might be something on it to help us find Prince."

     David sighed, looking out the back door where the two agents had disappeared, "I hope you're right, for the kids sake, he at least deserves the closure."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron ran out the back door as fast as he could looking for Spencer, but he was not in eyesight, so he bounded down the porch steps and into the backyard. Halfway across the lawn he heard the undeniable sounds of retching coming from behind the shed and ran to it. 

     Spencer was there, hunched over the bushes, heaving. Aaron hurried to him, wrapping one arm around his stomach while the other alternated between running fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. He helped him through it waiting until the heaving stopped and his legs gave out, and he let Spencer lean back against him as he softly lowered them to the ground. 

     Aaron leaned them against the shed, holding Spencer against his side while he clung to him and sobbed. But he didn't say anything, didn't ask what they had found that had upset him, he just waited. He let Spencer cry as long as he needed to, with his face buried deep in Aaron's shoulder, and held him tightly until he felt he was ready to talk. 

     "He killed people," he whispered, so quiet Aaron almost didn't catch it, before he lifted his head slightly, "Morgan found a safe and… there were pictures inside."

     "Pictures of what?"

     "Women, so many women," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "he tortured and killed them, and I never knew."

     Aaron pulled Spencer close again, tucking him back into his neck, and running his fingers through his hair again. "You couldn't have known. Some of these people fit so well into society outside of their crimes, we would never know."

     "I could have stopped him."

     "It's not your fault," he turned his face to nose at the top of Spencer's head, "there was nothing you could have done."

     He was quiet for another moment before whispering into his neck, "I feel so betrayed," and his sobs wracked up again.

     "Hey," Aaron soothed, turning to wrap his other arm around him, "I know this is hard, and it's going to be for a while, but know that I am always here for you, and I will never betray you. No matter what, you will always have me."

     He didn't say anything, just dug himself impossibly deeper into Aaron, and they stayed like that until then sun was starting to set and Spencer's sobs had finally died down. 

     Aaron was eventually able to get Spencer off the ground and guide him towards the house. Once inside, he asked Derek to take Spencer out to the cars and wait for them there. And without a word of argument after seeing the state of his friend, he grabbed up the laptop and left with Spencer under his arm. 

     Aaron watched them until they were out the front door then turned to David. "They found proof that Eric was killing people?"

     He handed the file to Aaron who quickly looked through it, then closed it with a sigh. His heart bled for Spencer and ached to hold him again, tell him it was going to be okay, so he decided to hurry this along so he could try and do just that. "And the laptop Morgan took?"

     "He found it in a safe along with that file. He's hoping Garcia can unlock it."

     He nodded, then motioned for David to follow him out, "Let's all head back to the hotel for the night. I'm sure Prentis and JJ will have information to share with us as well, but we'll deal with all that back at the station tomorrow. Call them from the car?"

     "Can do," David said, walking out with him, "and what about the kid? How's he doing?"

     Aaron shook his head, "Not well, but can you blame him?"

     "Not at all. He's actually held it together longer than most people would have," he turned to Aaron then, "you need to stick close to him, he's going to need you more now then before."

     They were at the cars then, Aaron not even giving Derek the chance to argue, led Spencer to the passenger seat of his car then hopped in the drivers side. David guided a quite irate looking Derek to the other car, then both cars left the driveway heading for the hotel. Spencer didn't do much more the whole ride then look out the window, but Aaron held his hand the entire ride back. He needed Spencer to know that no matter what happened with this case, or how much worse it may get, he was not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     They arrived at the hotel and went straight to their rooms. They didn't even bother stopping to see if Emily and JJ had arrived yet, Aaron had already decided whatever they had found could wait for tomorrow. His main concern right now was making sure Spencer was okay. 

     When they reached the hallway where their two rooms were side by side, Derek wasted no time in wrapping a protective arm around Spencer and sharply turning him towards their room. His key card was out before he even reached the door, and without a step of hesitation, the door was open and he was ushering Spencer inside. 

     Aaron stepped towards the door but Derek had placed himself firmly between him and Spencer, holding the door. "I'll make sure he gets some sleep, good night guys."

     And with that firm dismissal, Derek closed the door. Despite the fact that Spencer's eyes never left Aaron's the whole time, and the fact that Aaron so desperately wanted to break the door down and take Spencer back, he couldn't. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that there might possibly be something there, something between them, especially when they hadn't even had the chance to figure it out on their own yet. Not to mention that he didn't want to put any more stress on Spencer than he already had with this case, so he just resolved himself to turn around and head for his own room. 

     He all but stormed inside and then just stood, stock still, in the middle of the room with one hand over his face. All he wanted to do was get to Spencer, make sure he was okay and that he had the comfort he needed, but he couldn't do that with Derek as protective as he was. So all he could really do right now was sit in his room and stew. 

     David on the other hand, had plans of his own. He marched in after Aaron, going straight to his own bed and grabbing his go bag. He quickly packed his few belongings he had spread throughout the room, and walked past Aaron to the door. 

     "Where are you going?" Aaron asked as he turned back to face him. 

     "You two are killing me," he shook his head with the smallest hint of a grin, "so trust me on this one. You'll both thank me later."

     Without any more explanation than that, he opened the door. And as he was halfway out he stopped, turned back, and said, "Also, I fully and wholeheartedly expect to be the first person invited to this wedding."

     Aaron couldn't help but smile and even blush a little as David left. And if he let himself indulge in the thought of that while he stood there and waited, then that would be his own little secret. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching with horror as the young genius paced the room with an almost frantic sense. His movements were jolted and his fingers were taping wildly on the sides of his arms as he moved. And Derek, for all that he knew about Spencer, had no idea how to help him right now. 

     A sudden knock on the door had Derek up and moving, cautious as to not touch or disturb whatever trance Spencer was in, and he opened the door to find David. "Hey, Rossi," he looked down, eyeing the go bag in David's hand then back up with a raised brow, "Something happen? We going somewhere?"

     "Not we, just the kid." He walked in past a still very confused Derek and grabbed Spencer's go bag from under his bed, handing it to him. "Up and attem, kid, let's go. The boss is waiting for you."

     He had finally stopped his manic pacing and was now racing through the room to gather his things, not even giving a second thought to Derek as he tried several times to stop him. So instead, Derek turned on David, "What exactly is going on here?!"

     "We're switching rooms," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

     Derek huffed, shoulders tense, "I can see that, Rossi, but why? What's wrong with this one? Why can't he stay with me?"

     "Aaron just wants to keep an eye on him, that's all," he tried to ease Derek's mind, but it didn't work. 

     So as Spencer came out of the bathroom, his now full go bag in hand and heading for the door, he stopped him and said, "Reid, are you sure Hotch isn't giving you a hard time?"

     "I'm fine, Morgan, I promise." And he was out of his grasp and heading for the door.

     "Kid, you're good with this?! You can stay here you know, I can keep an eye on you too without-" But he was gone, the door closing behind him as he practically ran down the hall. Derek just shook his head and turned back to David. "He really doesn't need to babysit him like this. Reid is fine, he'll be okay. I know this is a rough case for him, it would be for anyone in his situation, but he's got all of us to help him through this. Hotch does not need to keep him on a tight leash and make him feel like he's incapable. And I can make sure Reid's okay just as well as Hotch can."

     "I know, Derek, I know you can, but it's not about that. Any of it," he tried to answer as calmly as he could in an attempt to being down Derek's anger, raising both hands to his shoulders, "just let it be, alright, it's not what you think."

     "Rossi-"

     "Let it go, Derek," he smiled and gave Derek's shoulders a squeeze, "it's nothing bad, Hotch is not giving Spencer a hard time, and he does not think Spencer is incapable of doing his job. The kid's fine, just let him be with Aaron right now."

     "Not like I have much say anyways. The kid's already gone," he said, nodding towards the door, "is it me?"

     Dave couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, patting Derek's cheek lightly as he replied, "It most definitely is not you."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Since Dave had left, Aaron had also picked up a frantic pacing of his room. And when finally a knock came at the door, he rushed over to open it and let Spencer in. 

     He was standing in the doorway, go bag in his arms and looking anxious, worried, maybe even a little scared. All of which had Aaron concerned. He wanted to ease Spencer, not make it worse. 

     "I…" He started, looking down at his shuffling feet as he spoke, "Are you okay with this? Cuz if not I can-"

     "I would prefer it this way, actually."

     "Good," that brought a small smile to Spencer's lips, the first one Aaron had seen since the start of this case, "me too."

     He walked past Aaron and inside the room, taking up the bed that was still made on the left. He quickly grabbed his pjs from his bag along with his toiletries, and excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Aaron followed suit after Spencer was finished, and when he came out, he hesitated at the edge of his bed for a moment. 

     He stood and stared at Spencer, Spencer staring right back. It was clear they both had something to say, but neither was sure if it would be okay to say it, worried the other would react in a way that might make things worse. So Aaron just turned away and broke the gaze, getting into bed.

     They both said goodnight and Aaron reached between them to turn off the bedside lamp. He turned over, making every effort to try and sleep, but every thought on his mind went to Spencer, every part of his body itched to touch him and hold him like he had earlier. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him, make sure Spencer knew that no matter what Aaron was here and he was not going anywhere. And what the hell, maybe David was right, he wouldn't know anything unless he asked.

     "Hey, Reid," he turned back over and sat up, seeing Spencer was already in the same position as him, "I know today's been hard for you, so… so if you-" And before he could even finish his sentence, Spencer was up and out of his bed. 

     Aaron moved back and held the blankets up for Spencer to shuffle under beside him. Spencer had planned on leaving some space between them, not wanting to just barge into Aaron's personal space, and just happy to be in the same bed as him, but Aaron reached over and pulled him against his chest before he could. And Spencer wasn't going to complain or protest. 

     Aaron laid on his back, tucking Spencer tight against him, his head under his chin and Aaron's arms wrapped tightly around him. Spencer sunk into the warmth and comfort of Aaron's body, digging his nose into his neck and breathing in the smell that was only Aaron, that smell that Spencer found the most comforting thing in the world, and he finally felt himself relaxing for the first time since they landed in California. 

     They laid like that for some time, just content being together. Aaron ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, whispering to him over and over again the same thing, until he finally heard Spencer's breathing even out and he knew he was asleep. And once more, before he fell asleep himself, he whispered right against Spencer's ear, "I've got you, and I promise I will never let you go."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Lots of Hotch and Reid together in this chapter! Let me know what you think <3

[yoon-kooks]

The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio​ for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game. 

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

[untitledtheunknown]

Not my best work, but ya know trying. Umbra torture porn, just him solo jacking it to Execution Time and some of his own archives.

Words - 2267

Not super graphic, but normal blood and suffering would expect him to be into. I am full of regret, so enjoy.

For most the screams would have been ear splitting, the sight too much to take in, but for some this was their fantasy. For Umbra, it was welcoming company now, the normal names popping up in chat, clipping moments, discussing the details. The screams continued as the electric volts shot through the victim, their head snapping back as their spine arched. Straining against the restraints on the chair holding them in place.

Umbra is sat propped up in some dark corner of a run down motel, blood smears on the wall and used needles shoved under the mattress. Some place you stay to hide for the night or die, a place where nobody recognizes names and has never seen faces. The internet is solid though and that's all he really needed.

Laptop screen illuminating the darkness, image of the fried body reflected in his black eyes. Chat continued to scroll, eddies being passed around on bets, messages on how the eyes popped, begging the cameras to be moved closer. Umbra shifted on the filthy mattress taking in the smoking form of the dead man before him. Part of the thrill, knowing that could be him, could be any one of the pervs in chat. He loved it, watching the filth who got caught be killed, survival of the fittest, and the fit sat laughing at it.

The screen goes black as the next execution is queued up. A quick section on the criminal, what state they're out of, and method of execution. Lethal injection. Chat sparks up immediately with links to place bets on the time, money being thrown around to switch out the vials. Arguments starting that they should just use bleach, an internal cleaning for the damned. Umbra can't help but smirk at some of the messages flying through, people so deep into the BD addictions they were no different than him. Wanting to witness torture, suffering, felt morally right because these were criminals. He knew they couldn't separate reality from their fiction though, that this was all content and nothing more. A few may be just as twisted as him, enjoying it for what it was. As he began to learn though it was all just an addiction now, another chase for a different type of high, the line between morals skewed and erased. Was all just content, entertainment, nobody was in the wrong here.

He sits in silence, metal fingers tapping across the keyboard on the laptop. Sending messages back to a small group engaged in more graphic types of execution. The screen eventually comes back and a woman is standing in front of the camera. Final rites are being performed, whatever follows for the legal course. Everything is muted, but he can tell by the look the woman doesn't care. No remorse, no fear, she's accepted her fate and just wants to get it over with. She moved back to sit in the execution seat, leaned back and arms bound to the armrests. Umbra watches intently, head tilted to the side playing with a ring weaved into his dreadlocks. He can see the furrowed brow, the annoyance on the woman's face. The doctor comes up and injects the needle and she spits in his face. Chat lights up with people laughing, emotes and money flying bye, both cheering her on as one of them and chanting for her death.

She looks dead into the camera after that, waiting for her death to come. Something washes over him at that glare. It mimics his own, a reflection he's seen in the mirror so many times. He smirked back at the screen, pushing the laptop to the side, adjusting himself on the bed. Watching as the injection is given, his hand moving to grope himself through his pants.

Free hand running up his side to the exposed vent, metallic fingers dancing across where synthetic flesh meets metal. Fingers slipping in and his system lights up, hud display flashing a warning that he quickly dismisses. He knew his limits, how far he could push his system before it went critical. The first jolt has him rolling his head back, squeezing his cock through his pants. Had been too long since he found pleasure, the sensation feeling almost foreign.

He watched with interest, intent, imagining what the prisoner was feeling. He could see the rage in her eyes, not about her death but that she had been caught to begin with. She was a fighter, and this was a pathetic way out. Only riled him up more. Could tell the moment the poison hit her system, the veins jolting out, the sudden attack to her body. He sunk further into the filthy mattress, groping at his stiffening cock. Free hand running along his body, under the torn tank-top and along his torso. Metal fingers catching at the splits of skin where the metal peaks through, metal bones shifting just beneath the flesh, body responding to the touch.

Doesn’t take long for the woman to succumb to the poison in her system, final moments of struggle leaving her body, fading out as she goes slack in the seat against her restraints. It's all too quick he thinks, there’s nothing involved in this method, it's just a glimpse and then everything is over. Finds himself siding with the chat, should have used bleach or some acid, given a real show for the money they’re throwing around.

Doesn’t take long and the next stream is up, another hanging, but the scene has him perked up. Prisoner has blood on his forehead and the guard has a busted nose, another bastard with some type of fight to the very end. Everything is harsh with how they move him, the positioning, they tighten the noose too tight around the convict’s neck and he knows where this is going. They’re going to make his last moments hell, make the poor gonk suffer to his death.

Anticipating he can feel his cock twitch under his grip, straining up against his pants. Final rites are given and Umbra is pulling himself out, kicking his pants off to the side of the bed and letting his legs fall open. Stroking slowly as he watches for the drop. When it does he’s not disappointed, the eager twitch in his palm as he squeezes his own grip. His free hand finding the ends of his dreads wrapped around his neck, tightening them to the scene. Neck only cracked, convict very much alive swinging as dead weight as its up to suffocation to take him. Body jolting in a natural display for survival as everyone simply watches and counts down the seconds.

His pace picks up on the strokes, chin lifted as a display of his own throat, dreads pulled tight to the resistance of metal. It's enough though, barely, he can feel the edge somewhere deep down and a faded high he’s chasing. Stroking himself to the dying heartbeat, to every twitch, to the look of pain and horror. Everyone is a tough bitch until death is consuming them, then the begging starts, the tears, the pleads. Oh how he loves it, how he wishes he could hear their thoughts, the bastards pleading to be spared.

Doesn’t take long for him to get into the motions, hips jerking up to meet his strokes. He’s seen enough people hung he knows how it all goes, but when the vendetta is met where it becomes personal- makes it all the much better. Hips jerking up as his hand squeezes down around the base, straining for friction, wanting so much more. What he wouldn’t give to have a warm body beneath him. Have his toy taking the brunt of his frustration, pent up rage and lust. The snapping of a neck has never sounded so good.

His cock twitched in his hand, a bead of precum dripping down from the head. Robotic fingers stretching to smear it down his shaft. Slow stroke up and teasing the head. Shifting as he watched the body twitch, the final moments of life dying out. His cock pulsing in his hand as he pulled tighter on the dreads around his neck. Felt teased at this point, executions were too quick. Nothing drawn out and truly painful. Feel the frustration boiling over in him. Pulling up a separate tab and plugging himself in, split screen of his own archives. Decades of interrogations, torture sessions, and murders. Attention flickering back to the execution page for what's to come.

Spitting into his hand he leaned back, laptop screen illuminating his face with footage and pictures of his own doing. The second screen comes back with another 3 women to be hung. Stroked himself slowly to the tears, the pleads, the bruises and blood. His grip tightened around himself as the nooses were secured around the women's necks.

A glimmer of a moment, where oddity would set in. That this was wrong, but the fixation of death is what always did him in. Those seconds where people would stand in the in-between. That's what he loved the most out of it, all he could get from these sites. Watching those like him, lessers to him, be met with such a fate, riled him. Watching others be tortured and murdered at his hand was only the next substitute to get him over.

Feelings were rare, he just needed to get off and be done. Transfixed though, dragging it out, choking himself, fingers slipping into his side vent and his hips bucked up into his fist. Jaw clenched tight as he steadied himself. Twisting his fist down his shaft, squeezing at the base and twisting at the swelling head. Warm metal against hot flesh, watching intently at every move on screen. The words meant nothing, but the silence he knew what was about to happen. The floor falling out and the last seconds of misery wiped away.

All dead within seconds, necks snapped and twisted around the ropes. Feet twitching as the body processes its over. Umbra lets out a long slow breath, grabbing his cock at the base and slapping it against his abdomen. Attention shifting to his own videos, the blood spurting out of open gashes, gurgling up from the throat. Desperate hands trying to fight him off, watching the last of their strength fade away, the life in their eyes go dull snuffing out, and their hands falling back to the ground.

Flicking to the next capture, the next memory, biting hard enough on his lip to draw blood. He remembers the man, a corpo in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trying to find his dealer and stumbling upon a monster feasting. A low moan escapes between parted lips and he doesn’t recognize it as his own. The sheer look of horror, the panicked scream and tumble as he tried to turn on heel and run. Blade sinking into the man’s ankle dragging him back into the mess. Then it's just blow after blow, blood spraying up with each pull of his fist. The point of submission came too quickly and he had backed off.

Umbra groaned as he watched the scene, the man spitting up blood from busted teeth and broken nose. The perfect façade broke as he laid there suffering on the floor. Long slow strokes speeding up, fisting at his cock as he watched, fingers again playing with the vents at his side. The electric racing through his body, making him arch back into it, hips stuttering up into his fist. Tongue flicking out smearing the blood from his lip, only making it all feel so much more real.

See himself climb on top of the corpo blood coated hands running along his beaten face. The soft hush and broken whimper, grasping him with such care, thumbs stroking over bloody cheeks before pushing them into his eyes. Screams engulfing the room, and Umbra can’t stifle the moan that wracks through him. Watching himself pull back to admire the scene, blood running from the eye sockets, mumbled pleas to be let go. Was no fight to begin with, but the man made such a pretty image. Watching him slowly bleed, removing the knife from his ankle and slicing a clean line across his chest. Only drawing a whimper but soon the front of the shirt stains red, and another gash joins it.

He’s close then, such a simple action, a simple kill and it's got him spiraling over. He watches as the knife comes up, the pathetic cry for it to end, and then it's over. Knife plunged deep into his chest, twisted and ripped back out. Throwing his head back as his cock strains and pulses, stroking himself over the edge. Moan leads to a choked off scream as he cums, body shaking with the climax. Ropes of cum spilling onto his abdomen and up to his chest. Stroking the last of it out up to a squeeze on the swollen head. Wiping what ends up on his hand onto the mattress and just falling back onto the bed. Slapping the laptop closed, over the whole thing.

Lays there in silence for several minutes, staring up at the ceiling. Part of him really hates himself, not so much for getting off but only being able to at his own work. Yet only able to think of that corpo, if it wasn't for the heat of the moment, would have dragged it out. Such a waste of a pretty face. Then the smile cracks, that dangerous laugh, and he’s floating. He’s got another.

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 39 Pt 2

“Liam, Finn, bath or shower please.” He said as he walked past them to stand outside her office door. He waited until the twins were in the other room before tapping on the door. It had suddenly become very quiet in there. “Sildie?” He opened the door further and the sight broke his heart. She sat on the floor slumped against the bookshelf full of her brothers books. Broken, he thought, this had broken something inside her, crushed her. He crouched in front of her, those silent tears tracking down her cheeks, eyes vacantly staring ahead like he wasn’t even there. Those eyes of ice blue focused on him as his knuckles brushed the tears away. “Come back to me love, don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“She took it.” She sobbed, those sobs that made no sound, just jerked her body relentlessly.

“I know love, I’m sorry.”

“It shouldn’t matter it’s just a stupid charm, but it does matter. It was mine, from Quinn, and she took it.” Even her voice sounded broken, defeated.

“Who were you yelling at on the phone?” He asked carefully.

“Public prosecutor. I’ll owe him an apology tomorrow, but I can’t really seem to find a fuck to give right now.” This wasn’t like her, he thought, to lash out like this.

“Why were you yelling at him?” He asked trying to get a handle of what was going on.

“She’s being arraigned tonight and I told him to deny bail. He didn’t like it when I told him how to do his job and didn’t give a shit about his opinion.”

“She’s going to get bail isn’t she?” He felt his gut plummet.

“Highly likely even though she’s a fucking flight risk.” She spat. “She’ll worm her way out of this too no doubt.”

“How could she when they caught her right there?” He struggled to keep his temper under control and his voice even.

“Two words. Prove. It.” She held up a finger at a time to emphasize her words. “She was just sitting in her car. Unless they find evidence on her or in the car she’ll walk for that. I’m hoping her hands are covered in red paint, or there’s at least some on her that they can match to the car, or a fingerprint. Fucking anything at this point. The drugs they found on the other hand...”

“Drugs they found?” He cut in, eyebrow shooting up.

“A substantial amount packed ready for a long drive, probably to a buyer. If they can prove it was going over the border they can get her on trafficking. The kicker is they’ll cut her a deal to get the buyer and she’ll walk.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He snapped. She could see his fury get the better of him for a moment before he reeled it back in.

“I wish I was.” Her voice barely there.

“Leon said they’d charge her with everything he could to keep her locked up.” He continued and he felt his anger surge forward and banked it, hard. No, he thought, he couldn’t be angry at Sildie, none of this was her fault, but damn he wanted to rage at someone. Now he understood why she’d done exactly that at the poor souls on the other end of the phone.

“He did, I was yelling at Leon earlier about that too.” She sighed, she was so fucking tired now the adrenaline had crashed. “The vandalism charges will stick, but that will only carry a fine, the restraining orders will bite her in the ass because I had the kids with me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know where or if Elias fits into all this, Dana’s family. I’m tired Gustaf, and I’m just so fucking done.”

“You call Elsa?” He asked gently.

“She was my first call.” Scrubbing a hand over her face she stood, not able to keep still anymore. “Those violations carry a heavier punch, but it may not be enough if the prosecution decides to go after whoever she’s moving drugs for. Apparently the safety of our family means fuck all when catching a drug runner is on the table. It’ll come down to which judge we end up with and how the prosecutor goes after her.”

“What a fucking mess.” He sighed getting to his feet to stand in front of her, fingers combing through her hair.

“That’s a fucking understatement.” She snorted.

“What’s going on love? There’s something deeper here.” He asked softly. She stared at him, that flash of irritation in her eyes her only warning, don’t push. “Talk to me, please. It’s not like you to just lose your shit like this at people.” He was concerned. He’d take it if she raged at him, at least she wouldn’t be bottling it up.

“I’m reconsidering my current career path. As in today made me so angry and sick at the system I swore an oath to uphold, I’m reconsidering my career as a lawyer.” Which was the truth. She was going to watch Ana slide on so much shit it had her questioning her own ethics, her own identity as an attorney.

He expected a bombshell, but not quite one of this magnitude. “Sildie.” He breathed softly.

“How can I uphold the law when it turns around and screws you? Sure, I knew this sort of thing happened well before I passed the bar, but today just kicked me in the fucking teeth with it.” She was gutted, felt as if her whole existence was somehow all a lie. “Nothing I do is fucking good enough to keep her away from us, from the kids.” She started to wind up again and he let her, she needed to be heard and get it out of her system. “I couldn’t even keep Elias away. She fucking told him where we’d moved to. He was knocking on our door.” She gestured the space between them. “Our door Gustaf, not my old apartment door which is listed on the restraining order. Our home.” Her voice cracked and it broke his heart in two. “She fucking sent him here to hurt me to get to you, to accomplish...” She wheezed a breath and sucked it in. “I just can’t do this anymore.” She keened. “I can’t keep throwing everything I have at it and...” Her breath wheezed as she focused on not passing out.

“Breathe love.” He said tenderly. “Had this been someone else would it be the same outcome?” He asked urging her to come closer, to seek the comfort she knew he’d give her.

“Yes.” She choked, trying to regulate her breathing.

“You’re a good lawyer Sildie, don’t let her win by throwing that away and second guessing who you are.” He tugged her into his arms, felt the hesitation, as if her presence would somehow taint him, hurt him. “Together.” He murmured as his arms wrapped around her, cocooning her into him. “Breathe love.” He kissed her temple and lingered. “Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry I lost my shit earlier.” She mumbled into his chest, steadier breaths relaxing her shoulders. The warmth of him, his scent soothing the raw edges of her fury that still simmered.

“You had every right to lose it.” He kissed her temple as she held onto him, the soft knock at the door causing her to tense.

“The twins are in bed ready for a story.” Brendan said softly. “Apparently I don’t cut it.” He chuckled and Sildie snorted a laugh.

“You do just fine love.” She said and pulled away from Gustaf to hug the teen. “Thanks for taking care of them today in the parking lot.” The kid shrugged as if to say no big deal.

“Come on B, let’s go read some Harry.” Gustaf sighed as he headed out, squeezing Sildie’s shoulder as he walked past. He knew there was more to this conversation.

She watched them go and breathed out slowly, she was beat to hell and riding on that seething hatred she didn’t know she could ever feel more acutely. It had hit her hard, but she knew it had hit Gustaf harder, he’d buried it for her but it was there, a rage so volatile she wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it if he let it loose. Maybe the trip away would give them both time and space to hash it out. Sitting at her desk she emailed Lindstrom to engage his services, she had to prepare for that fight if it came, whether it was her or Gustaf in the hot seat, she’d be ready, because she just knew Ana would find some way to turn this around even if it was just to twist the knife in Gustaf a little more. And if she followed what her gut instinct was telling her, Ana would use Elias to do it. She would use him to inflict as much pain on Gustaf as she could. “How are you going to do it though?” She muttered under her breath. “That’s the sixty four million dollar question.”

He got the twins settled and sat with Brendan to ease his own mind more than anything. The kids were safe, he reassured himself, Lily tucked into bed fast asleep, the twins, B, all safe. He went into more detail with Brendan about Ana, the cliff notes version. The kids quite “that’s fucked up” making him chuckle before he agreed with the teen.

Lighting some candles in the bathroom he filled the tub, they both needed to soak and relax, Sildie more so. She was starting to distance herself, not just from him, but the kids too, and that wasn’t a good sign. With the bath full he found her in her office furiously typing, her voice as she spoke barely held restraint of the fury still simmering.

“Thanks, yes I’ll send those through as soon as I get them processed.” She hung up and ignored him, plowing through her next task. She had closed her emotions and herself off to everyone.

“Sildie.”

“One sec, I just have to electronically file these and I’ll be done for the night.” Her voice was clipped, she was on the verge of tears yet that lawyer surfaced to contain the anger she was still riding. There’s my lawyer, he thought. Strong, wicked smart, and doesn’t take any crap. My goddess in the storm.

Once the paperwork was filed she sat back and blew out a breath, hands spread out in surrender at her laptop.

“Enough for tonight love.” He said gently and closed the laptop before holding his hand out for hers. “Let it be done now.” She eyed his hand and he waited, don’t shut me out love, he pleaded silently, please.

After a long pause, when she felt she could keep it together a moment longer, she took his hand. It was then she noticed the soft jazz playing in the living room drifting to her. He pulled her to her feet and tucked her in to dance, the gentle sway and strong arms holding her making her breath shudder out. “Let it out love.” His low timbre soothed her, the tears falling of their own volition. “It hit you hard didn’t it?” All she could do was nod through the soft sobs. “Me too, I was so worried she’d hurt you, hurt the kids.”

“You’re angry.” She said simply.

“I’m beyond angry.” He kissed her temple lingering, breathing in the scent of her hair, of her. “Livid comes close, murderous is closer still. I don’t think there are words invented yet to describe it.”

“I’m sorry I scared you when I phoned. I didn’t want to call you but knew you’d be pissed if I didn’t.” The sob escaping before she could contain it. “I wanted to protect you from it, protect that peace you’d found. She has no right to take that from you again.”

“Sildie I’m not angry with you love.” He said softly and held her tighter. “I’m glad you called me and yes I would have been pissed if you hadn’t. We do this together. Stronger together remember.” He hooked a finger under her chin and kissed her tenderly when her eyes met his. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I don’t know what to feel. I’m angry and sad and terrified all rolled into one.”

“Be all three, just don’t shut me out.” He kissed her gently.

“I’m not, I’m just... I’m trying not to completely fall apart.”

“My love.”

“I felt something break inside me today when I saw the car.” She sniffed, the tears flowing freely. “It’s one thing after another Gustaf and I just can’t keep dealing with more shit on top of everything else we’re trying to balance. This is hard enough with the kids, us, our careers.” He kissed her brow as she let it flood out of her.

“Breathe love.” He said gently as he heard the tell tale wheeze of her anxiety starting to gain the upper hand again. She did, his scent tangling around her senses and knocking her stress levels down a few notches. “Come with me, I have a bath ready for you, come and soak. No more thinking tonight, switch it off, we’re all safe. You’ve done everything you can love, and more.” She didn’t speak, just nodded her head and followed him. “It’s just a car.”

“But it was the car you bought me.” She said quietly. Turning to her he kissed her tenderly.

“And I’ll buy you another one if this one can’t be repaired. There are more precious things in life to me than that car Sildie, you and the kids for starters.” He kissed her brow. “You’re safe and unharmed, that’s all that matters.”

Once in the bathroom he helped her undress and made sure she was up to her neck in hot water before heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. The knock at the door had him grinding his teeth. “For fuck sake.” He swore and stormed over to see Leon on the screen. Unlocking the door he tried not to let his annoyance show.

“Not to be a complete asshole Leon, but we’re kind of wrung out from today.”

Leon held up his hand. “I understand I just wanted to drop this off.” In his hand was Sildie’s charm. “I tried to scrub off as much of the red paint from it, but I though she’d want it as soon as possible.”

Gustaf felt his emotions choke him and he really did feel like an asshole now. “Thank you.” He breathed. “You have no idea what this will mean to her.”

“She doing ok?” Leon asked gently.

Gustaf shook his head. “It broke her today. This was the last straw. She’s been trying to deal with the grief and move forward, put it all in its place. Then with Ana and Elias on top of it. She’s at her absolute limit of additional bullshit.”

“I get it. Anyway, I won’t keep you. Just wanted her to have it back straight away.” Leon said quickly. “I’ll get the hockey mask back as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate it, this will help.” He blew out a breath, the relief flooding him as he weighed the charm in his hand before clenching it in his fist.

“I’ll keep you posted, and let Sildie know I got her paperwork and I’ve filed it already, Lindstrom and Elsa sent me a ton of stuff too.” He said fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “She’ll know what I mean.” He added seeing Gustaf’s puzzled look.

“Thanks Leon.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

He looked at the charm in his hand, the bright blue ribbon stained an ugly reddish brown. Feeling that rage rise, he breathed and calmed his mind, he was better than this, Sildie deserved better from him. Locking the door he walked back to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, scraping at the paint on the silver Celtic knot, he’d get it cleaned and restrung for her, fix it up as best as he could.

The soft stroke of her arm had her eyes fluttering open, her mind for the most part blissfully blank, she was wiped.

“Tea for you love.” He said kneeling and placing the cup on the tiles. “Lavender and thyme.”

“You’re too good to me.” She smiled softly. “You coming in?”

“In a little bit. I need to go work the bag, clear my head.” He kissed her, those lips soft and sweet. “I’m not shutting you out, I’ll talk after, I just need to get it out, take the edge off.” He added and kissed her tenderly.

“Ok.” Her wet hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it before he turned his head and kissed her palm. “I love you, you’re stronger than her.”

“I know, so are you love.”

“Go do what you need to do, then come soak with me.” She said softly.

“If you’re not asleep by then.” He chuckled, that warm, sleepy smile on her face.

“But you like it when I’m all warm and soft and sleepy.” Her words slurring.

“I do.” He kissed her again and chuckled as she sighed and sank back up to her neck in the water. “I love you Sildie.”

“Love you too sweet man.” She mumbled.

Shutting the door to his workout room he breathed out a forced breath, shucked his clothes, and donned the shorts. Strapping on the gloves forcefully he let the afternoon flood in, fast and furious, he wanted to feel every ounce of that anger and rip it from his being. He struck hard and quick, the brutal punches landing so solidly that the shockwave rippled up his arms, bones and joints singing. As he unleashed, he brought the sight of Sildie’s face when he stepped out of the car into his mind, lost, shattered, broken.

“How fucking dare you.” He growled as he hammered the bag. “You want to come after me, then come after me you fucking coward ass bitch, but you don’t get to lash out at her. You don’t get to fuck with my woman or my kids.” His hiss fueled his rage, the burst of shackled fury ripping from him. He pounded the bag for nearly an hour, the extreme physical exertion cathartic. When his anxiety snuck up on him he dropped to his knees and sucked in a breath. “They’re safe, just breathe, it’s done now. It’s enough.” Leaning his forehead against the bag he let it roll off him, breathing through it. Stripping the gloves off he sat for meditation, that would help him more now, he needed to find that calm before he could help Sildie. There would be more tears tonight before they slept and he needed to be the man she deserved, the man she could lean on, depend on.

He smiled as he walked into their bathroom after checking on the kids. She was nearly asleep, eyes closed, drifting. After rinsing off in the shower, he drained out some of the water and refilled the tub, her eyes watching his every move.

“You look very comfortable there love.” He chuckled as he climbed in and sat at the other end of the tub so he could stretch out.

“Iyam.” Her smile was sleepy.

He reached out his ridiculously long arms and hit the button for the jets, her groan of pleasure made him laugh.

“I always forget about those and how good they feel.” She sighed. Pulling her feet into his lap those clever fingers rubbed her foot, thumbs digging into the arch. “If you stop, I may have to...” His low growled chuckle send a shiver of arousal through her. How did he do that to her, she wondered? How, after such a craptastic day could he make her feel like a queen, his queen, his goddess?

“Have to what love?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I don’t know, I can’t think.”

“Good, your not supposed, no more thinking.” His tone that low timbre she adored.

His hands were magic as they kneaded the stress from her feet, her calves, and worked their way up her thighs until he was sitting between them, her legs resting either side of his hips. “You’re nearly alsleep.” He smiled, his eyes finding hers as they fluttered open.

“I’m wiped.” She ran a finger along his jaw before leaning in and kissing him softly. “What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“Whenever we decide to leave. After today we’re not even packed. Let’s sleep and rest, we’ll go when we’re ready. There’s no timetable for the next week and a half.” He kissed her thoroughly, the soft moan making his cock twitch to attention.

“Are you ok?” She asked gently, she felt bad that she’d not checked in with him sooner, too busy having her own epic meltdown.

“I’m better now I’ve got my head around it.” He kissed her sweetly. “Better now that you’re relaxed, and soft, and warm.” Hands at her hips he pulled her into his lap, her legs wrapping around him. “How about you? You ok?” Her slight nod wasn’t all that convincing, but it was a start. “We can’t change what happened love, we can only do so much before it’s out of our hands and in the courts hands. And I know...” He kissed her quickly before she could reply. “I know that it bites you seven ways to Sunday that you can’t fix it, I know that you’re at your limit. But we can’t let her win.”

“I didn’t let her see my reaction, it was only after they took her away and you came that I fell to pieces.” Her voice barely a whisper, ashamed to admit she’d crumbled.

“That’s because you’re so much stronger and smarter than she is love.” He leaned forward and grabbed the charm he’d placed by her teacup when he’d come in. “Leon came over before I hit the bag.” Taking her hand in his he turned it over palm side up and placed the charm inside, closing her fingers over it. “He thought you’d want it back as soon as he could get it out of evidence.”

Opening her hand she saw the Celtic charm her brother gave her, stained with red paint, though someone had tried to clean it.

“When we get back I’ll have it professionally restored and restrung, but I thought you’d want it in the car with us for the trip.” He wiped the tears that fell without permission, the overwhelming relief that it wasn’t lost, a piece of Quinn still remained. “Where it belongs.”

“She took it out of spite.” Her voice was barely there as she stared at it.

“She took it to hurt you, to hurt the kids, and in turn, to hurt me. And it did, she knows I’m a sentimental fool, that I feel everything others feel. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that white hot fury, the barely contained rage.” She was the one person he could talk to about his demons and not feel judged. “A few years ago that scene would have ended every differently, more than likely with myself in cuffs for grievous bodily harm when I found her.” He brushed his knuckles down her cheek and kissed her tenderly. “It’s in me Sildie, to do that to another human being.”

“It’s in all of us love. Hell, I even thought about throwing down with her. It was your choice not to act on it, to be the stronger, better person.”

“I’m a better person because of you.” He kissed her again.

“You’re a better person because you choose to be, Gustaf. Giving into your demons is easier than fighting them.” Wet hands cupped his face as she claimed his mouth, devouring it slowly. “I’m proud of you love, for the man you’re trying to become. You work so hard at it, and I’ll protect that at all costs.”

“I love you.” He kissed her tenderly, only deepening it when her hands roamed his chest. “Leon said he’d filed the paperwork you sent?”

“Good, that’s good.” She said absently.

“And that would be why?”

“Complicated. I’m building the case against her and Elias if the link is there. It’s getting everyone on the same page, moving in the same direction. Pulling all the little details together to paint a picture. I’m just waiting for the epiphany. The last piece of the damn puzzle that links you, to Ana, to me, to the drugs, to Elias. Where your family fits in with Eija and Alex, Dana’s family. It’s there I just need to tug the right thread.”

“My wicked smart goddess.” He smiled. “Thank you for fighting for me, my family. You didn’t have to include them but you did, you’re keeping them safe too and that means the world to me Sildie, I don’t have the words.”

“Our family.” She corrected and he saw the steel flicker in her eyes. “They’re my family now too.” There’s my girl, he thought.

“Yes they are.” He let the soft kiss draw her in before claiming her mouth, tongue flicking, teasing, saying come play with me.

She felt him harden, his kiss stealing her thoughts and whisking them away to some unknown box in her mind, buried deep. She set the charm next to her teacup and turned back to him. Tender fingers roamed his chest, over every contour, every dip. His hands gently gripped her ass pulling her closer to slide his cock along her heat. He poised at her entrance, the soft gasp as his tip stretched her.

“You are my everything love.” He murmured, the gently thrust and pull of her hips as he sheathed himself in her soft silken walls.

“Gustaf.” She whimpered, his body pressed against her tightly.

“My Sildie.” He growled, his mouth teased hers as he rocked her hips against his, the deliberately slow movement erotic for both of them. “All mine.” His hands gripped her hips, moving her on and off him as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. They moved together, the slow rhythm, the heat of the bath, the jets bubbling around them, passion and love. Tonight was about compassion, the connection they had and strengthening it, nurturing it. Slipping a hand between them he stroked her clit, her cry into his mouth making him smile. “I love that sound.” He breathed, kissing her softly. “When you’re full with me, riding me.” He circled her clit, the torturous pace bringing her undone. “My goddess.”

“Gustaf, please.” She cried, the tears almost real as she was desperate for release, to feel anything other than the emotional rollercoaster from the day, her hands frantic over his body.

“Go over love, let me feel you.” He felt her peak and gently nipped at her throat as she tossed her head back offering it to him. Her cry as she came was music to his ears, that stunning body tensing around him before she exploded.

She held onto him tightly as her orgasm rocked her to her core, his cock feeling so thick as he continued to take her.“You’re turn.” She sighed, wanting nothing more than to feel him come.

“My Sildie.” He breathed. “My love.” His thrusts were deep and measured as he held her to him tightly, as she rocked in his lap. “Come for me love, take me with you.” It didn’t take much to tip her over the edge again with a soft cry. The clench of her pussy around his cock too much. He came hard, her mouth claiming his as they rode each other into oblivion.

He kissed her tenderly as they caught their breath. “Shall we dry off and go to bed?”

“Mmmmm.” She was so relaxed. “I think you fucked my bones to goo.” She chuckled.

“Took the edge off?” He grinned at her nod.

“I’m all sleepy and relaxed.”

“Good, that’s what we’re aiming for. Out you hop, my ass is almost asleep.” He chuckled and her smile against his lips lightened his heart, maybe the worst of the day was behind them. Fuck he hoped so.

He helped her to her feet, made sure she’d stepped out of the tub without slipping before he pulled the plug and got out himself. Wrapped in a large fluffy towel he drew her close and held her, drying her off. He took the teacups to the kitchen as she checked on the kids before they ended up in bed, all soft and warm.

He held her tenderly, the sudden need to feel her close overwhelming him. The day had finally caught up with him and he needed it to just find its own way out, he was exhausted from keeping his emotions contained. With her head on his chest those fingers moving in lazy patterns, the movement soothing and sensual, he let the tears slip free. “You’re my everything Sildie.” He said softly.

She craned her head back to see the silent tears she knew had started to fall, his lips kissing her brow and lingering. “You’re my everything too.” He had no words just looked at her, fingers raking through her hair to calm himself, willing the tears to stop. She brushed them away, her kiss soft and tender. “You’re enough for me.” She murmured and he nodded. “I won’t let her destroy what we have or what you’ve fought so hard for. I’ll help you find that peace again.”

“You already have love.” He kissed her tenderly. “You’re my home Sildie, you’re my peace.” His kiss seared her lips, all that love he held in his heart for her pouring out. “I love you.”

“I love you too sweet man.”

“We need sleep if we’re going to be up with the kids and drive to the cabin.” He chuckled wanting to get a grip on his emotions and her smile lit up his world.

“We do, but I liked our relaxation time. Or is that classed as playtime?” She giggled and his laugh eased her mind, he hadn’t completely spiraled.

“I liked it too, and I think playtime is more apt.” Squeezing her tight he kissed her again and pulled the covers over them both. “You staying there sprawled all over me?” He quipped.

“Yes. I’m comfy.”

“Me too.” His growl making her giggle again. “Sleep love.”

“You too.” She yawned, the bath time activities doing just what he’d hoped.

He felt her relax and a few breaths later plummet into sleep, complete exhaustion consuming her. “Sleep my love. It’ll look better in the morning with fresh eyes and a change of scenery.” He kissed her hair and breathed her in, refusing to let the events of the day rob him of any more of his hard earned peace. “She’s not worth the effort and I won’t let her win.” He needed to voice it, even if it was just for him to hear. “She doesn’t get to fuck with this.” With Sildie tucked in close he drifted before plunging into sleep with her.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb

[cuddlepilefics]

22.    Christmas Fair

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Bang Chan

Caregiver: 2racha

 Chan’s POV.:

Officially we were on break over the seasonal holidays but me being the workaholic I am, I wasn’t able to sit still and do nothing. That’s why I went to the studio to work on some new tracks. It was much more fun to compose stuff if you could just play around a bit with out the pressure of deadlines. I spent most of the day alone at the studio, losing track of time as I tried out new beats. My members were probably resting at the dorm or roaming the city. There was a small Christmas fair in the town center and my phone kept blowing up with begging texts, asking if we could all go there together. After replying that I’d love to go there tomorrow because I’m busy at the moment, I muted my phone to avoid distractions as far as possible. When I finally shut my computer off and bundled into my coat, preparing for the walk home, it was already very late in the evening. I skipped lunch and haven’t had dinner yet, so I decided to pick up a bite to eat on the walk home. I’d be passing by the fair anyways, why not get something from one of the food-stands there.

 Changbin’s POV.:

Chan had been at the studio all day. It was already getting late and one by one my members all went to bed. The only ones remaining in the living room were Jisung and me. We felt a little guilty because our leader was still working and we didn’t. After all, it’s 3racha that produces the songs for stray kids and 3racha also includes Jisung and me, not just Chan. That’s why we grabbed notepads and worked on some lyrics, hoping they’d be of use when Chan would present us the new tracks he was working on. We had both tried to call Chan numerous times over the past thirty minutes to convince him to come home but he never picked up. Then suddenly my phone rang. “Chan?” – “Yeah, hey. I saw you tried to call me?” – “Yeah, we wanted to ask you to come home. It’s getting late.” – “Ah, I’m already on the way back. Y’all already had dinner, right?” – “Hyung, it’s almost midnight. Everyone accept for 3racha is asleep already.” – “I’ll eat a bit on the way, so it might take a bit longer. Should be home in about twenty minutes.” – “Alright, take care, hyung.” – “See you.” And with that the call ended.

 Chan’s POV.:

I didn’t really enter the fair because I mostly just wanted to get home quick, but I found a food stand on the outer edge of the fair which sold fish cakes. I bought a fish cake and also picked up a small bag of roasted chestnuts to snack on while walking. I stuffed the bad of chestnuts into my pocket, feeling the heat through the fabric, so I’d have my hands free to eat the fish cake. The meal was perfect to warm me up on a chilly night like this. I finished the fish cake and munched two of the chestnuts before arriving home and unlocking the door. After kicking off my shoes, I made my way to the living room, where I sound Changbin and Jisung between scattered sheets of paper. “Hyung, you’re finally back”, the youngest 3racha member whisper-shouted. “You are aware that we are on Christmas break, right hyung?”, the older rapper scolded. “Aish, yes I am”, I said directed at both of them, “But hey, I brought you some roasted chestnuts to make up for not being home.” Changbin just rolled his eyes at my poor attempt to distract them, while Jisung happily accepted the bag from me, immediately nibbling on one nut. I have to admit, he had never looked like a squirrel more than he did right now. We both chuckled at our youngest before saying good night and getting ready for bed.

The evening seemed to fade out peacefully but the truth was that my belated dinner turned out to have been a mistake. Or at least my food choice had been a mistake. The fish cake wasn’t agreeing with me so well. I couldn’t remember whether there were hints of it being undercooked or if it tasted weird, I just knew that my stomach wasn’t too happy about it. It had started to hurt a few minutes after I arrived home. Slowly the pain increased into cramps, that felt like somebody was stabbing the upper area of my abdomen with a dull knife. I knew that I should just go to bed, everybody else was asleep already. Maybe I’d be able to just sleep it off.

My attempts to sleep the pain off, ended about ten minutes later when the pain had turned into nausea. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could because Changbin had just gone to bed and was probably not that deeply asleep yet. Slightly bent over with one arm around my middle and the other braced against the wall, I stumbled to the bathroom, flicking on the light. I did make it to the toilet but as soon as I had settled on my knees in front of it, the urge to throw up was gone. I pushed myself back up, groaning in frustration that I had gotten up unnecessarily but as soon as I was on my feet again, I immediately felt sick again. The cycle repeated itself a few times, till I decided to just stay in the bathroom whether I had to throw up in the end or not.

 Changbin’s POV.:

I hadn’t been asleep yet, when Chan left the room again. He was probably just going to the restroom, so I closed my eyes again, trying to go to sleep. When he still wasn’t back twenty minutes later, I suspected, he had snuck to the living room to continue working there on his laptop. It’s not like that had never happened before, so to me that was the most likely explanation for his disappearance. I was getting angry at our leader’s behavior, we were on Christmas break for duck’s sake, why couldn’t he just make use of the time he’s given to rest? Controlling my anger to not wake the younger Aussie in our room, I quietly pushed off the blanket and slipped out of the room, determined to drag our leader’s workaholic ass back to bed. When I got to the living room however, everything was dark. Now I really had no idea where my hyung could have gone. On the way back to my room, there was light shining through underneath the bathroom door.

I gently tapped my finger against the door, opening it when I heard a low “Yeah?”. Chan was resting with his back against the bathtub, looking up at me with dark circles under his eyes. “Hey, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”, I frowned, noticing the yellowish pallor of his cheeks. “Kinda stuck here”, he mumbled, closing his eyes. “How so?”, I asked, taking a seat opposite of him. “Dinner’s not sitting well. I’m ok, it just hurts right now but everytime I try to get up, I feel like I’m going to be sick”, he breathed. “Was it the chestnuts?”, my eyes widened, remembering that Jisung had finished almost the entire bag. The leader shook his head: “Fish cake” Ok, at least that made only one sick member. “What are you going to do now? Just stay here for the night?”, I questioned. “Probably”, he shrugged, muffling a burp into his fist. “I actually hope I’d just throw up. I’ll probably be fine once it’s out”, he admitted uncharacteristically shy. I sighed and got up.

 Chan’s POV.:

Changbin just left and I was glad he’d get the sleep he needed, even though I really didn’t want to be alone right now, it was still better that making one of my dongsaengs stay awake with me. I could handle myself, always have. Could I really? Another twist of my stomach made me doubt it as my mouth started to water. I shifted back onto my knees in anticipation, when the door cracked open once again. I didn’t turn to look at whoever came in, not even when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I got you a bottle of water. Maybe if you chug that down really fast it will make everything come out”, Changbin whispered, setting the bottle down next to me. “Thought you had gone back to bed”, I mumbled sheepishly, wrapping my arms tighter around my middle and gritting my teeth as I was hit with another cramp. “And left you here? Never!”, my dongsaeng gasped. I felt really fuzzy and warm at this comment but was soon brought back to reality when a wave of nausea washed over me. I decided to go along with Changbin’s idea and uncapped the water bottle. Raising it to my lips, the very first sip made it clear that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I struggled to swallow and it seemed like my mind was preventing me from putting anything else into my already upset stomach. Choking, I spat out the water that was still in my mouth, handing the bottle back. Luckily, the rapper got the hint and quickly took it from my hand. The coughing triggered a gag but that was it. “S-Sorry, c-can’t”, I forced out between clenched teeth, still hovering over the toilet. Changbin sighed and rubbed my back in soothing circles as I breathed heavily, on the edge of throwing up but not quite there. I could taste the fish cake, I could even feel it at the back of my throat but it just wouldn’t come out. Frustrated teeth make their way down my face and I didn’t even bother wiping the away, knowing there’d just be new ones.

 Jisung’s POV.:

I always needed some time to fall asleep. I heard shuffling in the hall and people talking in hushed voices but decided to stay in bed, if they don’t value their sleep, it’s their problem, not mine. Until I heard quiet sobs, that is. Startling at the different noise, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful to not wake the maknae I was sharing a room with. Padding down the hallway, I followed the noise, ending up in front of the bathroom door. I tapped the door twice as a warning, before carefully pushing it open and stepping in. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I found my other two 3racha members. “What’s going on?”, I yawned, squatting down next to them. With Chan seemingly unable to speak, Changbin answered for him, his hand never leaving the leader’s back: “Channie-hyung had a fish cake for dinner, which isn’t quite agreeing with him. He really needs to be sick but can’t. I tried to make him chug water but he can’t even get that down and I have no other idea what else to do.” Oh, that explains why our hyung is crying so hard. He must feel really bad if he’d voluntarily throw up. I chewed on my lips, thinking hard. The water would have been the first thing to come to my mind too but then I had a different idea. Grabbing a hair clip from the sink, I motioned for Changbin to switch positions with me. He nodded, watching me closely, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.

I knelt down behind my oldest hyung, clipping his bangs back in one swift motion. “Hyung, I’m going to hug you really tight, ok?”, I muttered into the leader’s ear. He nodded, removing his arms from his stomach, gripping onto the edge of the bathtub and toilet seat instead. I gently snaked my own arms around his middle, feeling his tense abs under my hands. “Just slap my arm if it hurts too bad or you want me to stop”, I warned before slowly tightening my arms around him, increasing the pressure I was putting on his stomach. At first nothing was happening, Chan only flinched a bit in pain, till he suddenly pithed forward in my hold, retching harshly. I could see his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself before retching again. This time, there was actually something coming up, although it wasn’t much. I closed my eyes, afraid the feeling of Chan’s stomach, contracting underneath my arms in combination with sight and smell, would send my own stomach over the edge. Instead, I just kept holding my hyung in a back hug, feeling every twitch of his muscles and following his movements when he jerked over the toilet bowl, trying to ignore the sounds of liquid hitting liquid. Every cough, gag or burp was amplified by the porcelain bowl, forcing me to grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, while trying to keep my grip steady. ‘Alright Sungie, just think of puppies, cute little puppies’ I told myself.

Changbin must have seen my face change color because he tapped my back before gently pushing me to the side and taking my place. I don’t usually get sympathy sick but that just now was really testing my limits. With a jerking motion of his head, he signaled for me to leave. His eyes told me that he got it handled and that I should flee as long as I still could. I nodded quickly, slipping out of the bathroom and closing the door between us. Shakily, I went to my room to get my phone and headphones to drown out the noise coming from the bathroom. Turning up the music, I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. While I waited for the water to boil, I fetched two peppermint teabags, dropping them into a teapot. I decided to make more than just one cup of tea because my own stomach was still doing flips too. I was still waiting, when my stomach tightened, forcing me to quickly lean over the sink. Luckily the weak gag brought nothing up but that was a close-call. I rested my forehead against the counter, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. I was able to get my bearings and straightened back up to pour the water over the teabags, taking the teapot along with three cups to the coffee table.

Soon, the pair emerged from the bathroom, Changbin supporting a sweaty Chan to the couch, before taking off to fetch a bucket, just in case. “Feeling better?”, I asked, anxiously playing with my fingers. “Yeah, thanks mate”, the oldest replied, voice hoarse from getting sick. He curled up on the couch, drawing his legs up a bit as he shivered. He must be pretty cold in his sweat-through shirt, so I pulled the woolen blanket we always keep in the living room from the back of the couch, covering his trembling form completely. Only barely catching the quiet “Thanks”, a small smile spread on my lips as Changbin returned, placing a bucket next to the couch. He guided me to the other couch where we could cuddle while keeping a close eye on our leader. Seems like we’re in for another 3racha all-nighter….