#toss in some glass animals for good measure

[impossible-rat-babies]

me gnawing on pollux like

[love-kurdt]

Don't Blame Me (byler): 1

word count: 5,630

warnings for this chapter: sexual content, alcohol withdrawal, MAJOR DEPRESSION. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

1.

All Mike could see from behind his closed eyelids were flashes of white, blue, and yellow. He groaned, the heat above him almost too much to bear. The shape of a crescent moon cut into his shoulder, branding the skin there. This was definitely going to draw blood, if it hadn’t already. A pang of electricity ran up Mike’s spine, and he reached out for dear life, attempting to grab something, some semblance of reality, if reality was even a concept anymore. The only thing that still grounded him was the sensation of teeth digging into his shoulder, and the vibrations of Will’s stifled moans on his skin. Mike’s hands gripped the sheets below him, and he bit his lip, trying his best to hold in his scream.

“Fuck!” Mike moaned, feeling himself tremble below Will, who continued to move until the very last millisecond of the third most powerful orgasm Mike had ever experienced. They both came down from their high together, muscles contracting, extremely out of breath, unbelievably sweaty, and so, so in love.

When Mike’s soul returned to his body, he opened his eyes to look up at Will, who stared back at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks. Will pulled out slowly– the worst part, in Mike’s opinion– and pulled the condom off, tossing it haphazardly across the room in the general direction of the garbage. With any other guy, Mike would have found that absolutely disgusting. But when Will did it, oh Lord, Mike could get turned on all over again by the most asinine, insane things like fucking flying condoms. Call him crazy, and he’d take it as a compliment.

“I’m gonna miss you while I’m gone,” Mike confessed as Will settled next to him, resting his head on Mike’s chest. They simultaneously exhaled, and Will tilted his head up to meet Mike’s eyes, his own still gleaming with remnants of lust.

“Me too. But listen, you’ve gotta go.”

“I know, I know,” Mike muttered, turning in place to nestle his face in Will’s fluffy hair, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend’s scalp and wishing he could make a candle out of it. Their legs tangled together between the navy sheets of their bed, and Mike ran his hand– the one that wasn’t trapped below Will’s body– over the hills and valleys of Will’s beautiful muscled arm. “But I just got you back!”

“And you’ll still have me…” Will began, smirk forming as he added, “and these guns…” causing Mike to cackle loudly into Will’s neck, laying a few extra kisses there for good measure, “when you come back. But first–”

“Rehab. Yeah.”

Will pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and wiping Mike’s cum off his torso before standing up. He stretched down to his right side, then to his left, and Mike watched in awe as Will’s back muscles flexed, eyes trailing down to his perfectly sculpted ass. Will returned to an upright position, glanced over at Mike, fucking winked, and walked out of their bedroom. Nope. He did not get to fucking wink like that and just leave. 

Mike scrambled to his feet and sneakily trailed behind Will down the hallway, hiding around the corner to watch Will grab a glass and turn on the faucet. Will raised the glass to his lips, and Mike watched as Will’s Adam’s apple moved up and down as he drank the water for a solid fifteen seconds. Will was clearly parched after exerting so much energy. Mike was a fucking animal, what could he say?

As Will lowered his glass beneath the faucet again, Mike crept across the floor and prepared to attack with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The loudness of the running water against the metal of the sink covered up any sounds Mike made as he tiptoed across the kitchen tile, sucked in a silent breath, and roughly wrapped his arms around Will’s waist from behind, causing him to choke on his water.

“Agh! Michael!” Will shrieked, slamming the half-empty glass onto the counter. Mike turned Will around in his grip and pushed him against the counter, kissing him sweetly. He could feel Will smile against his lips.

“I love you,” Mike told him.

“I love you too, asshole,” Will chuckled, his hands settling on Mike’s hips as if it were second nature.

Mike wiggled his eyebrows. “You love my asshole.” Will shook his head in disbelief at Mike’s crudeness, something he was still getting used to. He shoved his face into Mike’s bare chest, his nose bending to the side at the force.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Pretty sure Jesus isn’t here right now,” Mike retorted without missing a beat.

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck me.”

Will pulled back then, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I just did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And this is probably the last day you’re gonna get to until I’m out–” Mike couldn’t finish his sentence due to the fact that he was being picked up and thrown over Will’s shoulders like a ragdoll. He slapped Will’s ass with all the strength he had, but no luck. “What the hell! Put me down!”

“No can do, my love,” Will said, smacking Mike’s ass right back as he carried them back to their bedroom. “Like you said, you’re here now. Gotta take advantage.”

“Oh, my hero,” Mike feigned a swoon, but felt himself die a little bit at the thought of being separated from Will again. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the month. Will kept him alive.

Will let him down onto the mattress gently, but that didn’t last long as he was immediately licking into Mike’s mouth and pulling his hair so hard Mike thought he’d be bald by age thirty. He kissed back just as hard, gasping when Will flipped him around so he was on his hands and knees. He couldn’t even find the time to ask Will what he was doing before he felt hands spreading his cheeks, and he was done for. Mike’s loud moans filled the room, their impending time apart left to be dealt with later.

2.

For the first time in months, Will didn’t dream. His dreams were often vivid, comprised of mostly flashbacks of the Upside Down or some gory nightmare sequence chronicling Mike’s downfall into alcoholic despair. But when Will woke up the next morning, it wasn’t because he was startled awake, forced to catch his breath. He woke up easily, eyes fluttering open like one would hastily skim through pages in a book, holding their thumb down and letting the paper flip from one cover to another. He looked down slightly to see Mike’s face nestled into his shoulder, and he let out a quiet sigh as he watched the morning sunlight travel through the curtains of their bedroom and seep into his skin.

Will stayed still for a moment, savoring the rare serenity. He knew what lied ahead; today was Rehab Day™. In a few short hours, Mike would be picked up by Will’s parents and driven to spend three months in an outpatient program. Will had been dreading this moment since it had been established, but… the decision for Mike to go away had not been made lightly.

Mike stirred slightly, letting out a soft groan but didn’t wake. Will turned his head to study his face, so peaceful in sleep. It was hard to reconcile this version of Mike, the vulnerable, quiet boy nestled against him, with the version who had stumbled home a few weeks ago, reeking of booze and stumbling through the house. Will closed his eyes briefly, the memory vivid even now. Mike had come home and briskly walked through the house, locking himself in the bathroom. When Mike finally emerged, nearly an hour later, he couldn’t walk in a straight line.

Will poked his head in the door to observe the scene; he’d chugged an entire bottle of whiskey, which laid on its side in the sink, and emptied his guts into the bathtub. Some had even hit the walls, amber flecks decorating the white tile like one of Ivy’s splatter paint projects. Will had cleaned everything in silence, his hands trembling as he worked.

When he was done, he sat on the living room floor and called Hopper, his voice barely steady enough to explain what had happened. Hopper hadn’t judged, hadn’t lectured. He’d only listened and explained that Mike wasn’t… Mike anymore. It wasn’t hopeless, Hopper assured him, though Will couldn’t help but feel that way deep down. Still, it was clear that love and support alone wouldn’t be enough to bring back the Mike he once knew. As much as Will hated to admit it, Hopper was right. But knowing that didn’t make the ache of feeling inadequate any easier to bear.

Now, with Mike still dozing against him, Will felt a pang of fear twist in his chest. What if rehab didn’t work? What if Mike came back worse, or angry at him for pushing him into it? Will exhaled shakily and gently ran his fingers through Mike’s hair. Mike groaned again, opening his eyes slowly. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

“Morning,” Will replied. He tried to smile, but it felt fragile. Before he could say anything else, Mike rolled away from him, clutching his stomach.

“Mike?” Will sat up, concern flashing across his face.

“I’m fine,” Mike muttered. “Just–” he trailed off, suddenly lurching out of bed and jogging to the door. Will followed, already bracing himself for what was coming. By the time he reached the bathroom, Mike was on his knees, retching into the toilet. Will knelt beside him, gently pulling his hair back and rubbing his shoulder in slow, reassuring circles.

When Mike finally stopped, he sagged against the side of the tub, his face pale and drawn. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and avoided Will’s gaze. “This is so pathetic,” he said. “Three days. I make it three days and I’m already falling apart.”

Will shook his head. “It’s not pathetic. It’s your body detoxing. That’s normal.”

Mike laughed bitterly. “Normal. Right. Totally normal for me to fuck up my body so badly I can’t even quit without puking my guts out.”

“Mike,” Will said, his hand still on Mike’s shoulder. “You’re doing this. You’re trying. That’s what matters.” Mike’s eyes finally met his, and they were glassy with unshed tears.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Will didn’t hesitate to cup Mike’s face with both hands, forcing him to look at him fully. “Yes, you do,” he said firmly.

Mike’s bottom lip trembled, and he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to find out,” Will said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Mike’s forehead. “We’re in this together. Always.”

Will helped Mike up off the floor, letting him lean against the counter as he turned on the shower. They both shed their clothes slowly, and Will held onto Mike’s forearm as he stepped onto the slippery floor. Mike slumped against the wall, his eyes closed as the steam surrounded them, while Will gently washed his hair for him. Neither of them spoke much, but the quiet was far from comfortable. Rehab was all either of them could think about, but neither one of them dared to bring it up.

When they stepped out and dried off, the air between them still felt thick. They got ready together, standing side by side in front of the mirror. Mike brushed his teeth, his movements slow and deliberate, while Will carefully dragged a razor across his jawline. The hum of the bathroom fan filled the space, but it didn’t drown out the thoughts racing in Will’s head. He glanced at Mike’s reflection, noticing how he stared blankly at the faucet, his toothbrush hovering in midair.

“Is it bad that I want to keep you here, all to myself?” Will finally broke the silence, his voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

Mike lowered his toothbrush and looked at Will through the mirror, his expression unreadable. “No… I want that just as much as you do,” he said. “But I don’t want you to see me like this anymore, Will. It’s embarrassing. It’s gross. I want to be a version of myself that you’d be proud to call your boyfriend.”

Will turned to him, setting down the razor. “Mike, I’m already proud,” he said. “You’re doing the hardest thing anyone could do. You’re trying. That’s what matters.” Mike’s gaze flickered down, his grip tightening on the sink. “Three months from now,” Will continued, stepping closer, “you’ll be on the right track to recovery. Then you’re going to come back home to me, and everything will be okay.”

Mike let out a shaky breath, his hand brushing against Will’s on the edge of the counter. “I know,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Will replied without hesitation, squeezing Mike’s hand.

Mike shook his head, managing a faint, crooked smile. “Not possible.”

Will leaned in, pressing a kiss to Mike’s temple. “We’ll see about that,” he chuckled, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling back. As of now, there was no promise of perfection, no solution to their suffering. But if resilience and determination were people, they would be Mike and Will.

3.

Mike paced by the front window, hoodie pockets tugged inside-out from the weight of his restless hands. The rain had let up an hour ago, leaving damp streaks across the driveway where Hopper’s truck was due any minute. Will stood against the wall, arms folded, watching the subtle lines of tension form in Mike’s brow.

“You don’t have to look so guilty,” Will ventured, voice calm but tinged with something close to sadness. “They’re not taking you to maximum security, you know.”

Mike glanced over, a humorless huff escaping him. “Might as well be. Three months back in Hawkins? Might as well be a cell.”

Will tried for a smile, pushing off the wall. “It’s just a little while. You’ll get back on your feet.”

Mike’s shoulders sagged, a reluctant admission in his posture. “I know,” he muttered, gaze sliding toward the window again. The sound of an engine turning in cut through the hush. Headlights swept the living room curtains, and Mike stiffened. Hopper’s truck. Will slipped closer, resting a hand against Mike’s chest. 

“You’ll be okay,” Will said, voice quiet. Mike looked at him with a glance that spoke volumes about how not-okay he felt.

A knock rapped against the door. Will squeezed Mike’s hand one last time before pulling it free to answer. Outside stood Hopper, built like a fortress in his battered jacket, and Joyce, eyes etched with worry but a faint determination beneath.

“Ready, kid?” Hopper asked, shifting to let Mike see the open passenger door. The truck idled behind them, engine rumbling low. Mike hesitated, glancing back at Will as though searching for one last reason to stay put. Will took a step forward, placing his palm against Mike’s cheek. Mike inhaled sharply, mouth twisting in an unspoken apology.

“You’ll call?” he asked, a tremor running through his voice. “Every day, if you can?”

“Every day,” Will promised, forcing a brightness he didn’t feel. He watched Mike’s eyes flick over him in a frantic memorization, as if Will might vanish the moment he left. Mike swallowed. The tension in his chest was almost visible, wound up tight beneath his hoodie.

Abruptly, he leaned in, capturing Will’s lips in a kiss that felt more desperate than affectionate, arms coiling around Will’s waist. It was an imprint of all the regret and fear he wouldn’t name out loud. Will responded, tangling his fingers in Mike’s hair, pulling him closer until the air around them felt charged with what they were about to lose. A gruff noise from the doorway made them break apart; Hopper was crossing his arms, eyes narrowing. 

“Mike,” he warned, but Mike, emboldened by defiance, pressed his lips to Will’s again, slower this time, letting his tongue flick across Will’s in a final claim. Will made a small, astonished sound but didn’t resist. Joyce cleared her throat. “Honey…” she murmured, her voice an echo of gentle disapproval.

Mike pulled back, breath uneven, a hint of a smirk curling his mouth as he threw a glance at Hopper. “Just saying goodbye.”

“Inside. Now,” Hopper glowered, pointing toward the truck. 

Mike inclined his head, but not before resting his forehead against Will’s, arms lingering around him. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered, voice raw, as though he was forcing himself to step off a ledge. Will tried not to let tears slip. 

“Same,” he whispered back, sliding a final hand along Mike’s cheek. “Be good. Or at least try.”

Mike huffed a half-laugh that held no real amusement. “No promises,” he muttered, something like grim resolve settling over him. Then he let go and trudged out the door, backpack slung over a shoulder, toss of a final glance at Will.

The ride to the Byers-Hopper house felt longer than it was, the drone of the truck’s engine and the soft squeak of windshield wipers the only breaks in silence. Mike stared at his phone, though there were no messages, no calls. Just the steady dread of starting over. They arrived to find the porch light glowing against a washed-out sky.

Joyce hopped out first, coat swirling around her ankles, meeting Mike on his side of the truck. “You’re home,” she said, voice a quiet blend of reassurance and sorrow.

“Thanks, Ms. Byers,” Mike mumbled. He hefted his duffel bag, stepping down from the passenger seat onto the gravel. Joyce reached out before he could straighten, pulling him into an embrace that smelled of her sweater and faint soap. He froze at first, arms pinned awkwardly, but she refused to release him until he let out a halting breath.

“We’ll get through this,” she promised, her words a low murmur by his ear. “One day at a time.”

Mike nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He looked over her shoulder at Hopper, who leaned against the truck, brow furrowed. Their eyes met, and Hopper gave a curt nod of approval, as if granting permission for Mike to feel whatever was churning inside.

“Come on,” Joyce said, stepping back. “Let’s go in. You can put your bag in Will’s old room. It’s all yours.”

The house felt oddly the same, from the old photos on the walls to the faint hum of the battered fridge. Mike’s chest clenched with memories: lazy summer afternoons rolling dice with Will, the faint hum of the TV in the background, the scuff of worn floors. But the difference now was glaring; this wasn’t a holiday or a casual visit. He’d been brought here to detox, to rebuild, to figure out why he couldn’t stop hurting himself– and by extension, everyone else.

Joyce gestured to the couch, a threadbare blanket draped over one arm. “Sit,” she said gently, perching on the coffee table in front of him. “We can talk about the plan.” Mike sank into the couch, bag at his feet, heart pounding harder than he cared to admit. Hopper trudged in, lowering himself into an armchair with a sigh.

“Here’s how it is,” Hopper began, voice heavy with an authority that left no room for argument. “You’re staying here for three months. It’s not official rehab– it’s outpatient– but you’ll be sober, you’ll help around the house, and you’ll keep appointments with the counselor at a center. No disappearing, no excuses.” He paused, letting the words settle. “Understood?”

Mike nodded, mouth dry. “Yeah,” he managed.

Joyce placed a hand lightly on his knee. “We aren’t judging you,” she said, eyes glistening with compassion. “We just want to help you get your life back.”

Mike swallowed, glancing at the carpet. “Thanks,” he mumbled. Inwardly, he felt raw, unmoored by the knowledge that Will wouldn’t be here to soften the blow. He’d have to face every craving, every tension, without the comfort of Will’s presence. “I– I appreciate it.”

A strained silence followed. After a moment, Joyce inhaled, voice quiet. “Have you heard from your mom?”

Mike’s whole frame stiffened. He cast a quick glance at Hopper, who scowled, crossing his arms. “No,” Mike said, each syllable clipped. “Not since… Christmas Eve.” His voice turned hollow. “She’s probably busy. With Holly.”

Joyce’s lips parted, an attempt at sympathy that came out wobbly. “I’m sure she’d call if she knew… I mean–”

Hopper let out a low snort. “Right. Busy ignoring her son.” He shook his head.

“Jim,” Joyce admonished, but her sigh said she didn’t entirely disagree.

“What?” Hopper shot back. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? The kid’s been through hell, and they can’t even check in? That’s bullshit.”

Mike let out an amused laugh, surprised at how… mad Hopper seemed with this whole situation. Mike had always joked that the day Jim Hopper agreed with him on something would be the day hell froze over. Now he supposed it had. “No, he’s right,” he said quietly. “I know she cares, but… I think she just doesn’t want to get in the middle of things with my dad.”

“He still isn’t budging, huh? Old fuck.”

“Jim. Enough,” Joyce scolded her husband for a second time. She looked at Mike then, her eyes softening again. “You deserve so much more than that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike replied, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’m not expecting anything from them anymore.”

Hopper grunted, shifting in the chair, voice gentler than before. “You’ve got us, Wheeler. We’re not going anywhere.” A flicker of gratitude passed over Mike’s face, quickly overshadowed by exhaustion. 

“Thanks,” he said. And though the word was small, the quiet sincerity behind it carried more weight than any argument he could give. He glanced around the living room, at the holiday lights still strung along the archway like a year-round promise of something better. On nights he’d come here as a teenager, he’d marveled at how comforting this home felt, how different from his own. Now he was expected to stay under its roof, bare his worst moments in front of people who only wanted to help, even if it felt like captivity.

Eventually, Hopper stood, stretching. “I’ll give you a hand with your bag. Show you Will’s old room.”

Mike followed him down a short hallway. Each step brought a rush of memories, like the ghost of Will laughing at him across a board game, or Hopper shouting half-teasing lectures about leaving the door open three inches. He and Will hadn’t even been together back then. The recollection clashed with the knowledge that Will was miles away, carrying on without Mike by his side. He tried to steady himself with the thought that it was temporary. Just a few months.

As Hopper set the duffel on the small bed, he cleared his throat. “You can fix this,” he said, voice low but resolute. “Or try to, anyway.”

Mike nodded, tears threatening to surface. “I… I know.” He rubbed his arms, feeling the chill that lingered even in the warmth of the house. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Hopper paused, eyes flicking over Mike’s (Will’s) hoodie, then shrugged. “You’re welcome, kid,” he said, stepping aside, giving Mike a moment alone.

Mike stood in the middle of the tiny room, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was here, in Will’s childhood space, about to wrestle his demons without Will around to anchor him daily. The floor creaked beneath his feet, and he told himself it was just for a few months– just enough time to figure out who he was without the crutches he’d leaned on for too long.

From the other side of the house, he heard Joyce call his name, probably offering dinner or some awkward attempt at conversation. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the memory of Will’s last kiss, the taste of goodbye still fresh on his lips, the promise that he’d call every day. A small pang of hope flickered, keeping him upright.

Then he opened the door and walked back toward the living room, swallowing the fear that gnawed at him. If he had to endure this, at least he wasn’t truly alone; he had Hopper and Joyce, in their flawed yet steadfast way, and somewhere out there, Will waiting on the other end of the phone.

4.

Mike had been gone for an hour; off to rehab, off to some fragile chance of saving himself from the shadows he’d battled alone for too long. The house felt horribly quiet now, an oppressive quiet broken only by the drip of water in the kitchen sink and the low rumble of distant traffic. Will pressed a fist to his temple, trying not to imagine what the next three months might hold.

Then the phone rang, slicing through the stillness. He inhaled sharply and lifted the receiver, old plastic creaking in his grip.

“Will Byers,” he said, voice sounding oddly small in his own ears.

A crackle, then a beat of silence. “Hey,” came a voice, awkwardly subdued, “uh… it’s Wyatt.”

Will felt his shoulders tense. The last person he expected, or particularly wanted, to hear from right now was Wyatt. All the same, relief and unease flooded him. “Oh. Hey,” he managed. “Mike left an hour ago.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, or how to fill the emptiness that had settled over everything. He hated talking to Wyatt without Mike in the middle, like someone had yanked away the buffer they’d both relied on.

Wyatt’s sigh came over the line. “I know. I wasn’t calling for him, I actually wanted to talk to you.”

Will’s grip tightened on the phone cord, nerves prickling. “You did?” He tugged absently at the hem of his sweater. The living room seemed to close in on him, each bit of furniture a silent witness.

“Yeah.”

One syllable. It made Will’s pulse jump with uncertainty. “Oh.”

They hovered in a tense pause that felt like an echo of everything they’d never properly discussed. Will imagined Wyatt smoothing a hand through his hair, trying to find words. Then Wyatt spoke again, a little too quickly: “So.”

“So,” Will echoed, just as unsure.

“You’re Mike’s boyfriend,” Wyatt said. It wasn’t a question. It was a stake in the ground.

Will swallowed. “And you’re Mike’s best friend.”

“We both love him,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah. We do,” Will admitted. He rubbed a knuckle over the back of his wrist, wishing Mike could float through the door and mediate.

“We’ve established we’re… in this for the long haul,” Wyatt continued, voice stiff. “You know, for Mike.”

Will forced a nod, even though Wyatt couldn’t see it. “Absolutely.”

“Should we– maybe get coffee?” Wyatt asked. The question fell into the silence like a stone. Will stared at the phone, trying to decipher Wyatt’s tone. 

“Um, sure,” he managed. “I’m… already up.”

Wyatt exhaled, the line crackling with a hint of relief. “Okay. I’m staying at a motel near downtown, so wherever you want, just name the place. Mike told me you work at some coffee shop by the art school–”

A flicker of pride rose in Will, hearing that Mike had been talking about him. Yet it felt overshadowed by the sheer oddness of making these plans with Wyatt. “I do. But my ex works there, so maybe that’s not the best idea,” he said, half-laughing at the painful reality. “It’s messy.”

Wyatt gave a soft snort. “I love messy. But okay, any suggestions that don’t come with baggage?”

Will pressed the receiver against his ear, thinking. “There’s this place called Wake Up Call,” he said slowly. “Corner of Milwaukee and Evergreen. Heard it’s good.���

“Works for me,” Wyatt replied. “See you soon.”

“See you.”

The click of the dial tone echoed, and Will replaced the receiver in its cradle. He stood in the quiet of the living room, the emptiness sharper than ever with Mike gone. A coffee date with Wyatt felt like stepping into uncharted territory. But maybe that was all right. Maybe bridging the gap with Mike’s best friend– without Mike there– was exactly what needed to happen. He shrugged on a coat, checked the time, and headed out into the gray drizzle.

Wind rattled the door to Wake Up Call as Will slipped inside. The place was pleasantly warmed by an overworked heater and lit by mismatched lamps. A barista hustled behind the wooden counter, pouring espresso shots, while an indie tune played softly in the background. In a corner booth, Wyatt looked up from a paperback. He lifted a hand in a tentative greeting.

Will exhaled, crossing over with a cautious smile. “Hey,” he said, shrugging off his coat. He eyed the title of Wyatt’s book– something in small print that looked vaguely philosophical– but said nothing about it.

“Hey,” Wyatt echoed, nudging the extra chair out for him. “Figured we should finally… talk.”

They both ordered coffees, the whirring of the machine filling the space while they waited. When the drinks arrived, Wyatt wrapped both hands around his mug, as though gathering fortitude. Will mirrored the gesture, tapping a finger against the mug’s chipped handle.

“So,” Will began hesitantly, “a motel, huh? All in on the authentic Chicago experience?”

Wyatt’s mouth quirked. “Yeah, the continental breakfast is questionable, but it’s cheap.” He paused, then offered a wry smile. “Could be worse.”

A small laugh escaped Will. “Right.” The tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction. He took a sip of coffee, savoring the warmth.

Wyatt glanced up, eyes flickering over Will’s face. “I just… wanted to see you. Without Mike around, I guess. That okay?”

Will felt a pang of both guilt and relief. “I think so.” Then, feeling the need to fill the silence, he added, “Anyway, outside of your film obsession, what else do you do these days?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Not much. Still finishing classes, picking up odd freelance gigs. But I want to talk about you. Heard you’re painting a lot.” A hint of pride broke through Will’s nervousness. 

“Mostly classes, yeah. I have a piece in an upcoming show.” He rubbed a palm against his jeans, recalling how Mike had boasted about it to Wyatt, no doubt. The reminder made his stomach twist– Mike was gone, and here he was, bridging this weird gap with Wyatt.

They eased into conversation, volleying small talk about the city, about old movies Wyatt liked to analyze, about the unremarkable day jobs they juggled. Will felt a glimmer of genuine enjoyment as they traded quips, something reminiscent of the dynamic they’d had before everything got tangled. Eventually, though, Wyatt’s gaze shifted, his demeanor quieting. 

“So,” he said, “how are you holding up? With him gone?” His voice was gentler than expected.

Will’s heart squeezed at the mention of Mike. “It’s weird,” he admitted, swirling the last of his coffee. “The house is quieter, obviously. I miss him, but he needs this. I just… I don’t always want to be reminded.” He forced a shaky breath. “So can we maybe not talk about him for a little bit?”

Wyatt nodded slowly. “Yeah, of course.” He ran a thumb along the rim of his mug, glancing at Will. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that. That you don’t want to talk about him.”

Will shrugged, sudden exhaustion prickling at the back of his mind. “I’m allowed to take a break, right?”

“Right,” Wyatt agreed. “I get it. Consider the subject dropped.”

Silence fell, not entirely awkward. Will drained his coffee, setting the empty mug aside, posture sinking into the booth. There was a fragile sense of empathy between them, both connected through the person they loved, both uncertain of how to move forward.

“Confession?” Wyatt said at last, eyes flicking to Will. “I was dreading meeting up, half-convinced it would turn into a fiasco.”

Will let out a small laugh. “Same. But it’s been… nice.” He offered Wyatt a faint smile. “You’re not just ‘Mike’s best friend,’ you know.”

Wyatt smiled back, a touch of relief in his expression. “And you’re not just ‘Mike’s boyfriend,’ either. You’re also that weird painter who knows too much about dragons.”

“Thessalhydras,” Will corrected, a grin tugging at his lips. “But yeah, thanks.”

They both chuckled, then finished off their coffees in companionable quiet. After a while, Wyatt said, “Hey, if you ever get sick of painting or gloom, I’ll show you some truly atrocious B-movies. Could be fun.”

Will’s grin widened. “I’d like that.”

Wyatt lifted his mug in a mock toast. “To not letting ourselves drown while Mike’s away.”

Will raised his empty cup with a wry nod. “Exactly.”

The moment held a curious warmth, an understanding that, though they’d walked a messy road to get here, they both wanted the same thing: to keep going, to stay steady for Mike’s sake, and for their own, too. Will pulled on his coat, checking his watch as Wyatt grabbed the check. They stepped outside into the damp chill, and for once, Will felt a little lighter, as though forging a fragile truce with Wyatt was another step toward something resembling wholeness.

The city’s bustle swept around them as they parted ways on the sidewalk, each heading off to separate corners of Chicago. The memory of Mike flickered between them, a silent anchor binding them in a shared hope: that when he returned, they’d all be in a better place, a little less broken– and maybe, just maybe, strong enough to face whatever came next.

-

next part

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[black-is-iconic]

Keeping up with the Hantengu Brothers

Episode - 1 A day in the like of Sekido

The sweet scent of succulent flora brought ease to the near-constant migraine plaguing Sekido, a simple smile sucked the breath from his lungs and made him feel all…warm and giddy inside.

The way her delicate fingers spread warmth through his chest with simple touches both scared and intrigued him in equal measure. It was too much, it felt too good to be real. A dream he was well aware of that fact…..but that didn't stop Sekido from falling deeper and harder for this demoness that walked his dreams.

Her [S/C] skin was soft and supple, her kinky [H/C] hair spilled down her back and shoulders like a stream silk. Her [E/C] eyes were a tapestry of prismatic hues that seemed to change colors from [E/C] to any other shade when she stood in the light.

She was…..perfect, from her laugh…to her voice….everything about her was warm and inviting…like a dip in hot spring on a winter evening.

But just as she leaned in for a kiss, the world slowed and and slowly faded and the beautiful demoness vanished in the blink of an eye as Sekido slowly woke up to the annoying ear gradating sound of his alarm.

A yawn fell from his lips as he slammed his fist down on the noisy alarm clock shattering it, a annoyed growl rumbled in his throat as he scooped up the broken mess and tossed it in the trash along with the other previous alarm clocks.

The sound of shattering glass made him leap from bed and throw on a crimson robe, "WHAT THE FUCK" he shouted speeding down the stairs and nearly getting hit with a vase in the process "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

He shouted halting the actions of Zohakuten who held another vase and Urogi who held the boys Nintendo Switch, Zohakuten looked at Sekido and instantly turned on the baby act "h-he's threatening to break my switch Oni-chan".

Urogi scoffed his feathers ruffling in anger "Sekido don't believe this little shit, he ate my cheesecake which I was saving for my graduation tomorrow and he hid my molting cream…I'm shedding feathers and super itchy".

He whined scratching his wings as a few feathers came loose. Sekido's eyebrow twitched and he rubbed his face "HE'S EIGHT…..I'll buy you another cheesecake. And we'll pick up some molting cream on the way to school but APOLOGIZE and give him back his Nintendo Switch" .

Sekido growled Urogi scoffed again "b-" "NOW" Sekido snapped and Urogi flinched shooting Zohakuten a death glare and muttering a half-assed apology.

"Good" Sekido sighed placing a hand on his hip "no go upstairs and get ready for school…and Zohakuten can you please be more mindful of your brother's things?"

He asked gently and Urogi growled "THAT'S ALL HE GETS?" Sekido shot a glare Ufrogi's way and he threw his hand like talons up in defeat "i'm going i'm going" he muttered stomping up the stairs, Sekido returned his stare to Zohakuten but he was already scampering off to his room.

"U-um S-Sekido" a soft voice called and he facepalmed rubbing his face "You're going to school Aizetsu end of discussion" Aizetsu flinched softly his pointed ears drooping a bit at the harsh final answer.

"B-but I've never been to school before….what if the kids are mean, what if they hate demons…wouldn't it be safer to just continue homeschooling me?"

He asked hope shinning in his azure blue eyes but Sekido shot him down with a single glare. He took a deep breath and sighed "No, your sixteen now time to put on your big boy pants it's high school not jail you'll be fine".

He murmured shooing him upstairs Aizetsu reluctantly made his way upstairs mumbling "I'm gonna die" Sekido rolled his eyes "You're not going to die…you're going to to school make ACTUAL friends".

Aizetsu glared at him from the top of the stairs "I do have friends" "ANIME CHARACTERS DON'T COUNT" he shouted earning another grumble from the second youngest brother.

Sekido sighed again feeling like he forgot something, but him simply shrugged sweeping up the broken glass and throwing it away in the kitchen trash. Washing his hands he pulled out some fruit, yogurt, pancake mix and human meat supplement and began making breakfast when he saw a blur brown flying past him.

"DAMN IT UROGI GET THE NET GRANDPAS OFF HIS MEDS AGAIN" he shouted leaping over the counter and trying to grab the spry old man before he bolted outside naked.

But Osore (means fear in Japanese thought it would be fitting) was fast and smart instead of going for the door he leapt out the window and took off down the neighborhood cul-de-sac.

"DAMN, IT OLD MAN I OUTTA PUT YOU IN A HOME" Sekido hissed throwing open the door and sprinting down the sidewalk and apologizing to startled neighbors.

"SORRY MISS PATERSON" he apologized to the sweet southern lady who simply laughed "don't mind me sugar I've seen it all before" Urogi flew overhead with the net and attempted to catch Osore but the old man ran into the street, Sekido froze as watched a car speed towards his grandfather.

But powerful gust of wind to knock Osore onto the curb and into a bush knocking the old man out, "WHAT THE HELL" Sekido shouted at Karaku who looked proud of himself, "what?"

He asked resting his uchiwa on his shoulder, Sekido blinked rapidly "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT? HE'S OLD YOU COULD'VE SERIOUSLY HURT HIM" Karaku scoffed placing a hand on his hip, "more than a Subaru going forty miles per hour?"

He snapped back and Sekido opened his mouth for a retort….but he was right, Sekido sighed rubbing his temples "just…help me get him back inside….and give me your robe".

Karaku looked horrified, "what why do I have to give up my robe this is fine polyester do you know how expensive this thing is?" He asked pouting childishly and Sekido's eyebrow twitched "do you want to be electrocuted early in the morning?"

Sekido hissed, Karaku sighed and reluctantly handed over the robe and they slipped over Osore's shoulders who rambled on about nothing in particular.

As they were walking a firetruck whizzed past and his eyes suddenly widened as he forgot he left food in the stove "wait if you two are out here who's watching Aizetsu and Zohakuten?"

He asked and both Urogi and Karaku paled before they all sprinted to the house, Sekido kicked open the door expecting to be met with smoke but instead everything was normal…..and quiet….too quiet.

"Zetsu Haku?" Sekido called out as he made his way to the kitchen, Aizetsu stood at the stove flipping pancakes and sautéing the meat and Zohakuten sat at the table eating his pancakes and watching videos on his tablet.

A wave of relief washed over Sekido Urogi and Karaku, Sekido even noticed that Aizetsu had made plates for the rest of them "I didn't know you could cook little man" Urogi chuckled ruffling Aizetsu's hair as he smiled and placed the last pancake on a plate.

"Yes, I'm quite good at it's a skill I've learned and mastered by staying home….ashame I will no longer be able to practice said skills" he said offering Sekido a pleading glance but he was too busy counting the plates.

"Zetsu there's only five of us here and dad's over seas why do we have seven plates?"

He asked right as a A beautiful demoness walked into the kitchen dressed in a scantily sleeveless purple and pink cheongsam and a black lace bustier over her bra and panties with a red sash tied around her hips.

She sat right besides Karaku placing a kiss to his cheek, Sekido pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths "who the hell is this and why are they in my house?"

He hissed clenching his jaw Karaku smirked stuffing his face "this is my new agent" Sekido put his fork down and opened his mouth to shout but suddenly an equally handsome demon walked in and sat on the other side of Karaku kissing his cheek.

"And this is her boyfriend" Karaku finished with a smug smirk on his face as Sekido's eyebrow twitched, "how many times HAVE I TOLD YOU" Sekido started but took a deep breath to calm down.

"Stop bringing strangers into the fucking house", he hissed lowly and Karaku shrugged taking a sip of his orange juice "weren't you the one who was on my ass about getting a job?"

Sekido's eye twitched again and he took a deep breath "And what job may that be a sex worker?" He snapped and glared at Karaku who glared back, "no but thanks for the idea" Sekido clutched the fork tightly biting the inside of his cheek.

"I'm going to become an influencer" he mumbled quietly poking at his food Sekido's head snapped up and he glared harder at Karaku.

"So i tell you get a job help….and you choose to what…..dance on tiktok?" this time Karaku glared at Sekido. "It's much more than that" Karaku argued and the demoness nodding eagerly lifting Karaku's chin with her tail.

"With a face like this, people will be eating out of the palm of his hands….he could easily be a model" she mused and looked at Aizetsu lifting his chin with her tail too.

"This little cutie too, sixteens the perfect age to start building a social media presence" Sekido hurled a knife at her tail and she squeaked dropping Aizetsu's chin and going back to eating her meal. "See Sekido you can finally get off my ass, I'll be fine my dashing good looks will come through as usual," he says confidently "and what happens when your looks stop working what then?"

Sekido asked Karaku brushed him off "That'll never happen", Sekido rolled his eyes and got up taking the dishes and cleaning them "alright everyone in the car".

He shouted over his shoulder, after cleaning up the house he grabbed the keys got into the car and adjusted the mirror only to see Aizetsu missing.

He face palmed and got out of the car running upstairs and finding him hiding under his bed, he sighed and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform dragging him out kicking and screaming (mostly pouting).

"I don't want to go to school please don't make me" he whined but Sekido ignored him. "You're going to school like it or not" he said with an exasperated sigh as he sat him in the car and buckled him in.

He then climbed back into the driver's seat only to peek behind him and notice Zohakuten was nowhere to be found "Where's Zohakuten?"

He asked and everyone shrugged, he then sighed and got out the car to search the house but no matter where he searched inside the house he couldn't find the little eight-year-old.

He quickly began to panic running around the house and calling out for the boy only to hear a weak callback, he paused briefly and yet again heard his name being called he ran back outside and looked about the bushes.

Only to turn and see Zohakuten's tiny body sticking out of the chimney "ZOHAKUTEN……WHAT THE FUCK" he shouted throwing his hands up in anger and worry "HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE?"

Sekido just stared at his younger brother's sobbing face and he sighed rubbing his temples "Urogi go get him" he shouted and Urogi reluctantly flew up to free his younger brother.

Sekido rushed the boy inside and got him a new uniform he strapped him in the car and sighed doing a head count before he eventually started off to drop everyone off.

[maytheoddshq]

Victor Sterling. District One. Score: NINE.

I was born for this.

  His back smacks against the ground, Miller standing over him with an arched eyebrow.

  I was born for this.

  Cress’ silver knife glints inches from his face. A split second’s reaction from a nasty scar.

I was born for this.

All the breath is torn painfully from his chest, Rio is watching over in vague disinterest.

No– no, it’s not Rio this time, his feet are planted firmly on the cement and hands curled around the metal bench in the waiting room, small and attached to the Training Center like an afterthought. He isn’t meant to be nervous, how many times has he run a practice private training back home? Am I born for this? Back home, it was different. Here, he isn’t sure he measures up. He isn’t sure he could actually do it, and it’s a terrifying revelation– Victor has never been uncertain of anything in his life.

He’s first to go. That was either good or bad, he thinks, the door sliding open and his name called. Victor stands. Nothing to compare to, so they might score him higher or lower than the pattern they settled into. 

  As Victor puffs his chest and raises his chin, he contemplates the possibilities, including but not limited to, cash bribes or standup comedy. When he reaches the center of the training room (when did he walk out here?) he finds his father’s face in the crowd of Gamemakers all peering back at him like a zoo animal. 

  A little bit of the tension melts from his shoulders, and it’s enough to kickstart the routine he’d had drilled into him. And really, as he stands here, he realizes it doesn’t feel so different from the practice runs at the Academy. 

  “Victor Sterling. District One. Pisces, which I hear surprises people.” There is no laughter to bring the levity he hoped for. Awkward.

He clears his throat and selects a sword from the rack, testing its weight in his hands. He pauses, then yanks out a dagger, too, to slide in his boot, flush to his ankle. He’s done this before, and he’s good at this– simulated opponents and a good show– but he didn’t learn nothing from his time with Cress. Without further hesitation, he walks over toward the simulator, twirling the sword in his hands like he has all the time in the world. For a second, he scrolls through practice simulations, then selects one– archers. He makes a large display of turning the difficult slider all the way up to maximum, rolls his neck out, then steps in. It starts slow. Some arrows from the glowing outline of an archer on a walkway ringing the simulator about ten feet above, which he easily dodges a few of, slices the digital arrows out of the air with his sword for others. They collapse into pixelated dust, winking out of existence at his feet. The pace picks up steadily. One archer becomes three, three becomes five, six, seven. Victor manages to keep up, matching their pace and intensity with his swinging sword. Arrows rain down in volleys now, and he dives, deflects, dodges. One of the outlines jumps down to confront him. Showtime. Victor takes the offensive now, lunging at the pretend tribute. He easily parries off her close range arrows, ducks a punch to the jaw, and turns it around to slice his sword blade directly through her middle in time to leap out of the way of a new wave of arrows. The other fake-tributes seem offended and hellbent on avenging their friend– they are leaping down now, one by one, in hot pursuit of Victor. Victor takes off in response for the opposite end of the simulator, straight for the wall. He jumps and plants a foot firmly against the glass, pivoting midair to grab onto a bar scaffolding the upper walkway like a gymnast with one hand. He cuts through the fastest glowing figure with his free hand, then tosses up the sword to the balcony to free his other hand. 

There’s another figure, too close, and he swings backward to kick both feet into its chest. An electric shock feeling shoots up his feet and calves when he does it, but it does the trick– it stumbles backwards and buys him enough time to swing his legs and use the momentum to clamor onto the platform (with a little less poise and grace than he might hope). Once up, he snatches up his sword. He has the high ground now, and it’s almost too easy to cut open two more figures trying to scramble up after him. Three left now, two more trying to give chase, another reloading arrows to aim up at him. Victor shuffles down the balcony, deflecting a couple more arrows. The two figures have made it up now, and he lets them approach to put on a bit more of a show. These two have swapped their bows for a spear and a sword, simulation logic he supposed, if a little irritating to stretch reality like that. He waits for them to attack first, then engages in the battle, sweat now dripping into his eyes and his chest heaving for breaths. For a minute, they struggle, Victor sure to keep the enemies between himself and the archer below, and he manages to take them both out. The pixels at his feet haven’t even dissipated before he pulls the knife from his boot and launches it at the final figure below. The knife lands square in the archer’s chest, and it collapses too. But it’s nothing, of course, and the knife continues to sail past, clattering noisily to the floor. For a second, he stares at the nothingness left behind. A cool, female voice informs him overhead the simulation is complete. It brings him back to reality– for a moment he’d forgotten where he was, what he was doing. He drops the sword and jumps down, hanging off the lip of the balcony first to shorten the fall. “So uh. Thanks for tuning in.” he says, approaching the Gamemaker’s window again. He gives a small salute as he turns to exit, and adds, “Make it a good score, okay?”

[aelfgiure]

The soft knocking on the door to my cottage woke me from a sound sleep. "Hello? Is this - is this Tempus Fugit?"

Ah, that explained it. I tossed on a robe and shuffled across the room, rushlight in hand. The person on the stoop looked harried, exhausted from whatever they had been up to, or fleeing. "This is the right place? I hope?"

I grinned at them. "First time doing outtime work?" I waved them inside, made sure the door was barred. This was the sort of thing they burned people at the stake for doing, after all, and that's not how I wanted to go, yikes. "Tempus has indeed fugited, and in all sorts of directions like a herd of cats. What do you need, repairs or replacement?"

They sighed with relief when the door in the cellar opened into a large, well-equipped repair shop, with assorted models of temporal transports lined up along the far wall. "Just a couple of parts, then I'll be able to get back to the Institute."

Ah, one of those guys. Stuffy as all get out, usually, but they paid their bills and would sometimes drop off souvenirs after a rescue, so I didn't mind them. I helped them look up the parts, along with the tools they needed to do the repairs, had them sign and thumbprint the invoice, and sent them on their way with my best wishes and a sandwich of bread and jam. I was about to head back to bed when the communicator sounded it's 'attention' chime. That's always worth responding to, and quickly.

"Agent Tiffany here, go ahead."

"Theophania, glad you could reply so quickly. We have to evac that era. Stand by for pick up."

"Shit! Central, I just gave parts and tools to an agent from the Institute, do they know about the evac?" I had picked up the handheld commlink so I could pack everything I wanted to take with me while I got the briefing. "Is this going to be a full pull out or just a fall back and regroup for a bit sort of thing?"

Let's see, the pottery was lovely, and the glass things, into the furniture that could be knocked down and used as crates, right. Clothing was easy, only a couple of outfits, some damn nice boots -

"It's a medical situation. Pneumonic plague popping up where nobody expected it to be, not in this year."

That gave me chills. I had to pull myself together after hearing that, trying to repress my knowledge of what that shit would do to this place. "Understood, Central. So, I'm going into quarantine from here, right?"

There was the rueful chuckle on the other end of the comm, and I felt a little better. "You know the drill. This time you can bring your livestock, though, instead of leaving them to your neighbors. You've done a bang-up job with those heritage breeds, the geneticists want to take samples and see how well they do on the Homestead line."

Okay, that meant that there would be a flurry of major activity here, holy crap. That also meant -

"Central." I had to swallow a lump in my throat before I could continue. "The village. Is it - are you going to sterilize it?" A sanitary way of saying that the village was going to be wiped off the map completely, leaving only rubble. Brutal but efficient, sometimes necessary to mitigate worse things from happening down the line.

"Not this time. It's going to be a relocation, over to Heritage. We're moving the town and village and all, and using the incoming plague as a reason for the quarantine and lack of travel between places." Their plan was reassuring. I'd spent a decade here, and had grown fond of the people here, become part of their lives. "They'll get vaccinated and vetted through Purgatory, and when they wake up it'll be in their own homes, with their friends and animals and all, from the Lord to the louse."

That expression made me laugh. It meant that everyone was coming along, with a few bugs thrown in for good measure. My friends here were going to be all right.

"After your quarantine, would you be up for reassignment for a bit? Cassandra is about to go on maternity leave and we'll need someone to cover for her. She's stationed at Regulus IV, 2492, you'll have a good time."

I hesitated, because while the idea was nice, I did love my cottage, my cats and cows and herb garden -

"They've got ice cream," they wheedled, "oh yeah, you'll get your own coffee technology. Bonus to your wardrobe allowance, so you can kit out in style this time," There was a pause, and then they added, "and indoor plumbing. No more running to the privy in the pouring rain."

Welp, that settled it. Call me weak, but hot and cold running water on demand was a luxury beyond compare. I'd almost forgotten what that was like.

"Oh hell yes, Central!" I could hear the Moving Team assembling in the barn, getting everything catalogued for the transition to its new location. The transition to an advanced tech post was going to be an adjustment, but easier than the other way around. Plus, I had quarantine to look forward to enjoying. All in all, not a bad reassignment. Not like my last one, that was damn near fatal - huh. I had to ask.

"Is this your way of making up for that dinosaur nonsense?"

There was a long pause. "We had the astronomy team do a thorough check this time. No asteroids are incoming to your next location."

Secret bunkers full of time machine repair equipment are placed throughout history by time travelers just in case someone gets stuck in the wrong time. You are tasked with manning one of these bunkers

[artsninspo]

Can you make an imagine about Jamie getting out of jail and all the emotions and excitement 😩 She’s waiting for him and he missed her a lot and in that scene with all his friends & Aaron she’s also there and everyone thinks they’re such couple goals even jaq🤣Then they go home and some smut 🤭❤️

REUNITED

Authors Note: This was a fun one to write, feel good fluff, family, friends and a happy couple. This one feels like summer love.

Pairing: Jamie (Topboy) X Reader

Word count: 3.8K

Warnings: Language, Smut

❤❤❤

You smile at the tailor as you take the measurements of the suit again to ensure it fits Jamie like a glove.

“He’s lucky to have you” the old man says looking over his glasses.

“He is” you agree seeing everything is perfect.

“If you need anything else, you come by. It’ll fit perfectly you have my word” he assures and you nod.

“Thank you Lorenzo” you nod and he has one of his men, a younger man that looks like security, zip the suit into the bag. You fold the garment bag over your arm. It's been six long months since Jamie was taken into custody for a crime he didn't commit. It's been six months since you've seen him, felt him, touched him, laughed with him, argued with him, heard his voice. Getting into your car you hang the suit. It’s the least you can do. Checking your phone you check the time and head to the school to pick up Stef. It's also the least you can do. Being there for his brothers is as close as you can be to him at present. You arrived a little early and sent Stef a text understanding his blues lately. His nerves have been getting to him so you try to be around as much as possible.

You watch him walk out with his head down and a smile crosses his face as he sees your car. He checks his phone before running over and getting in.

“Y/N” he smiles and you do your handshake with him.

“How was school?” you ask.

“Good, but I’m worried about Jamie - do you think he’ll come home?” Stef asks.

“Yes, he's coming home” you affirm not allowing any other outcomes to creep into your consciousness. Stef looks unconvinced so you start the car up pointing to the garment bag.

“What's that?” he asks.

“A suit for Jamie to wear so he looks respectable, it should go a long way. To convince them that the man that takes care of his brothers is a good” you reason so Stef understands his brother isn’t who they’ve made him out to be.

“You think he’s gonna like his room?” Stef smiles and you do the same thinking of the hours the two of you put in searching for the perfect pieces and then the hours with him and Aaron putting together the new furniture. You’d managed to temper their sadness. It was time spent laughing, joking, reminiscing on good times with Jamie and planning for his release.

“He’s going to be upset at first, you know he loves his privacy but when that wears off I’m sure he’ll like it” you laugh.

“Did you get anything new you need help putting away?” Stef asks always willing to help.

“No but after the verdict tomorrow when they give a release date I’ll need your help preparing a welcome home meal” you wink and he beams.

“He’s gonna be so surprised my cooking is on fire now, chef Stef” he exclaims with animation.

“Pleasantly surprised” you tease pulling up at the house. You head up to his place and see Aaron and Kit having a conversation in the living room.

“Got his suit” you hold up the garment bag.

“I know, Lorenzo said you measured it twice and said every man needs a girl like you” Kit laughs.

“It’s all you'll let me contribute, so it has to be perfect” you shrug and Aaron scoffs. “Oh now you too, what's so funny?” you ask and his eyes meet yours.

“You picked up the suit and picked up Stef from school today?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“And you took Friday off to clean, we redid his room and he doesn't need to go shopping for months - you do a lot!” Aaron reasons and you find yourself able to exhale.

“I’m just trying to help” you reason feeling useless.

“You are Y/N, here's another love note” Kit laughs, tossing you a white envelope you’ve come to look forward to. Your inability to hide your smile makes Kit and Aaron laugh at you but Stef has your back giving you a hug.

“You lot are goals still. Later Aaron, Stef, i'll be here at eight so we can go to trial” Kit says getting up to leave.

❤❤❤

Your heart beats out your chest as you scroll through your phone trying to make sure you’ve done everything on the comprehensive list. Jamie's flat has been cleaned from top to bottom, the fridge is stocked with his favourite foods, you and Stef will cook his favourite meal in an hour or two so it's fresh for when Kit gets back with him from the prison. Aaron has his phone on facetime discreetly as he sat in the court. You and Stef sat at the round kitchen table to listen, when the judge found him not guilty you and stef jumped up and down in an embrace laughing, screaming and eventually crying happy tears. That was a week ago, you don't understand how it could take the courts six days to free a man found not guilty but that's the judicial system. 

Your eyes go back to the list.

Wax

Lash fill

Mani Pedi

Groceries

Laundry

Dishes

Carwash & detailing

Hair appointment

Take Stef to the barber

Lingerie

Pack Jamie's release bag (clothes, underwear, cologne, jewellery)

Drop off Jamie’s release bag with Kit

Rearrange/Ready Jamie’s bathroom

Prep family dinner

Set the table with Stef

You drive back to the flat not feeling as at ease as you should after having a day of pampering and an impromptu yoga session to loosen you up after six long months. Stef opens the door before you can use your key.

“Come on! Aaron called they’re on their way. Jamie was released early” he shouts looking good with his fresh cut.

“Everything is ready. All we need to do is put it in the oven and cook it” you remind him.

“Remember you said you didn't want to smell like you’ve been cooking, we have an hour thirty to get it done and shower”  Stef says, your organisation having work off on him - you smile when you see the table is set and check it off your to do list. Dinner is prepared and ready in no time. You find yourself looking in the mirror at your reflection as a flurry of butterflies have a party in your stomach. Excited isn’t even close to describing how you feel. Running your lip gloss over your lips you pursue them together to make sure it's not too sticky. You spray Jamie's favourite fragrance all over yourself and reach for the bracelet he bought you to put it on. You run through your memory hoping not to have forgotten anything. Stepping out of the bathroom and into his room that has effectively become yours in his absence you stand in front of the mirror and hope he likes everything.

“Y/N, he’s five minutes away” Stef all but screeches bursting into the room.

“How do I look” you ask, turning around.  The outfit is simple.

“Beautiful, now come on” he shouts, moving with urgency, grabbing your hand and rushing you out of Jamie's room.

“Stef I need to put on my trainers” you laugh stopping to put them on before Stef yanks you out of the house. 

“Come on” he bounces impatiently as you lock up only for him to all but run to the lift before deciding to drag you down the stairs. You hear Papi’s Home by Drake playing and cheering and see Jamie smiling among his friends. It’s surreal and you pause as Stef makes a run for his brother. The impact knocks Jamie off balance slightly as the brothers share a meaningful moment. Seeing both of them happy warms your heart and you continue to the crowd. Stef, let's go first, then Jamie. His eyes look up searching for you smiling when you meet again. You feel your smile turning to a full beam as you speed walk into his arms. He smiles too, picking you up. You wrap your arms and legs around him over the moon.

It's sensory overload as you make note of the way he makes you feel and how much you've missed him. Your heart is full and you hold onto him tight never wanting to have to deal with being a part for so long ever again. You’re so in the moment that it's a while before you hear cheering. You laugh, kissing his cheek when you hear his friends hooting and hollering at your reunion. Jamie laughs too, setting you down. He plants a kiss on your neck as he’s passed a bottle of champagne to pop.

“I missed you so much” he says into your ear until the celebration begins to hush. You watch as Kit pushes Stef and Aaron behind him. Jamie catches the gesture too, turning as he pushes you behind him. You tense as a black car pulls up. Jaq gets out.

“Not now Jaq” You snap, stepping from around Jamie only for him to push you back behind him.

“Peace offering love. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Man like Jamie is a lucky one.” Jaq says, revealing the bottle. Jamie tenses not wanting to make peace with the people who betrayed him. But he steps forward to take the offering from Jaq. “She’s a good one blood, she’s a princess and knows I box. We went to secondary school together - she cussed me all the same. Didn’t know she knew words like that” Jaq shares quietly you can hear because youre the closest to her and Jamie nods smirking in spite of the hostility between them because of Dushanes actions.

“We’ll then let's not start her up” Jamie says, taking the bottle and standing his ground as Jaq heads into her car leaving only for the celebration to resume.

“You cussed Jaq” he asks once the festivities resume.

“Not quite cussing, more like telling the truth with a passionate delivery” you smile pretending to be innocent.

“And what if she hit you?” Jamie asks, going all protective. You smile rolling your eyes, not at all sorry.

“She was too shocked to swing” you smile and he hugs you again.

❤❤❤

Jamie looks around the spotless home as Stef shows him around their home talking a million miles a minute. He can't help but smile, he’s missed his younger brother. What can't be ignored is the femine touch. It's not overstated but it's a home again. He watches Stef go on about his newly configured room that you helped him redecorate. The change between what Kit told him and now we're worlds a part. It’s just one of the things he can't thank you enough for. The scent of his favourite meal brings him into the kitchen.

“You did this?” Jamie asks getting a plate to get a taste of something home cooked.

“Yeah, Y/N helped a little” Stef smiles sitting at the table.

“So how's school?”

“Jamie, everything is patterned. Y/N was on us like you are only she's nicer, she's more fun about it” Stef teases and Jamie smiles because it feels like old times.

“I’m glad you get along” Jamie tells his brother, taking one mouth watering bite.

“We do and we work well together too - I cant wait till you see your room” Stef beams and Jamie takes a few more mouthfuls. 

“Stef I know it was hard while I was gone and I’m sorry about how it happened”

“Me too” Steph rasps hugging his brother. “Y/N said to enjoy the moments and make memories and only dwell on the good parts of the past”  Stef shares, reminding of another reason to love you.

Jamie returns to the festivities noticing everyone enjoying themselves and getting along. Numbers from his crew look good and he can't help but notice the relief in their expression now that he’s back to sort things out. His time in jail had been hard on him for a multitude of reasons. It wasn't just him doing time but so was everyone he loved and who loved him. The guilt was a little unbearable at first. Kit had been checking in on you and Stef and Aaron and none of you were any good at pretending to be alright. Those calls the first two weeks had been brutal. It felt like everything he did was for nothing - Aaron was livid and Stef was traumatised, scared and lonely. Aside from Kit you were the only person that believed him instantly. You knew he’d never be careless enough to endanger his brothers. Kit had told you how things were going and it took some time but slowly you did your best to undo the slump Stef and Aaron were in. The three of you were able to be there for eachother, lean on each other and uplift one another through hard times.

Swallowing Jamie is overwhelmed with gratitude at the state of his affairs being in order. Business had not suffered too much, more importantly neither did family. Everyone is getting on fine, smoking and drinking, and Jamie finds you stacking up discarded cups with Aaron. Heading over Aaron looks up first smiling at his brother before you notice Jamie. He gives your temple a kiss holding an arm around you.

“Apparently you're supposed to show me my room” Jamie says.

“Stef was able not to?” you ask, turning to Aaron in surprise.

Jamie smiles “He showed me everything else, you lot did a good job cleaning up the house” 

“Thanks, Y/N Kept us on track. Y/N why don’t you go show him his room - I got this” Aaron offers.

“Come on” You smile while taking Jamie's hand. He follows as you leave the room for entertaining and head to the stairwell to head to his flat. You barely make it to the secluded area before Jamie takes your chin kissing you. It's loving and needy and meaningful. The passion in it is strong and it takes you a little off guard as you settle into it, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you feel your nipples get hard. Jamie pulls away first and your chest heaves. You're short of breath and overwhelmed by emotion.

“I love you babe, I love you and I’m sorry for not being here” he apologises in earnest but this situation isn't something you hold against him.

“I love you too” you admit with a smile. You feel butterflies and close your eyes as you shake your head in disbelief.

“What?” Jamie asks.

“It just feels so good to be able to say it to you and not write it” you admit.

“You have no idea” Jamie swallows, not knowing where to begin showing his appreciation. You make it to his door and unlock it. You stand behind him covering his eyes  as he pushes the door open.

“Okay on the count of three, open your eyes” you explain. “One, two thre-” your countdown is interrupted by Jamie who turns around picking you up. You gasp.

“Y/N, babe, I dont give a flying fuck about this room right now. I care about the woman in my arms. I’d like to admire you first”  he says holding you and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Jamie” you moan as he kisses your neck laying you onto the bed. “Everyone’s downstairs for you” you reason, trying to be rational. Jamie's lips drag against your neck as his hands push up your shirt. His fingers run over the lace of your unlined bra feeling your pebbled nipples. You curse yourself for not wearing a dress for easier access as you reach for his waistband.

“No no” he says stepping forward and your hand slides up his shirt feeling more defined abs than before he left. He pushes you further onto the bed to unbutton your jeans. You watch his eyes wash over your nearly bare bottom half. He licks his lips still dedicated to your pleasure before his own. Opening your legs he smiles seeing your panties are crotchless.

“For me?’ he asks but a nod is all you can manage, hot, bothered and nearly over the edge. His lips find yours and this kiss is intoxicating, the passion is white hot. Jamie's hand finds your centre massaging the sensitive areas. There’s no withholding your moans, you don't even try. Your hands reach for his waistband again and you find his manhood rock hard. You break the kiss momentarily as you free him from his boxers and stroke his length. You’ve missed it. You smile, pecking his lips.

“I need to be inside you right now” he groans, strained.

“I need you inside me” You beg in response and there's a flash in his eyes. He gets off the bed heading to his dresser to get a condom. Once it's on he comes back leaning down to french kiss your centre for a few moments before getting back on the bed. You move in unison scooting up so your back and neck are on the pillow comfortably as he hovers over you. Your eyes are locked on each other as he enters you slowly. Both of your eyes narrow until they close from the overwhelming sensation. It’s ecstasy, every inch as your bodies acclimate. You feel your body responding to his length as your arousal builds. Your eyes open at the same time he smiles, beginning to give you languid strokes. Your breathing shallows at the sensation, at the intimacy. You watch him, watch the love in his eyes. It's unmistakable and your heart swells feeling the exact same way. Missionary is for love making, this can't be mistaken for anything else.

“Fuck” he whispers picking up the pace and your head cranes back, legs opening more to give him better access. Somehow his strokes grow deeper, the determination in his expression intensifies.

“Jamie, I love you” you mutter nearly delirious.

“Fuck” he groans closing his eyes as he tries to last but his passion only brings you closer to the edge. You can feel your body begin to overheat as your walls clench against him.

“Faster” you moan as he curses under his breath. His head bows as he works his way to a faster rhythm. You feel him hitting your spot, each stroke sends ripples of pleasure all over. You moan again, closing your eyes as you feel him shudder. His chain swings and you take hold of it pulling him in closer.

“Babe” he breathes hushes as his forehead falls on yours. Your lips find each other and you switch positions. On top you lean down to kiss him, you smile seeing lust swimming in his eyes as you begin to ride him only partly naked. Still, his eyes are full of want. His hand free’s your breast from the cup of your bra as you move your hips slow taking him deep the way he likes. He sits up and kisses your tit as he holds your hips stroking into you as he matches your rhythm. 

“Yes” you whimper and you both move at a feverishly, coming hard and fast, your body buzzing from the familiar feeling. Jamie pulls you even closer and you hold each other sitting in his lap, the lotus position. He stays hard and you clench around him feeling the last waves of your climax. The kiss that follows is like the first passionate and loving. You smile pulling away as your chest heaves from lack of oxygen. You hug him tight, needing to be close to him.

“I needed that” you confess, taking in how it feels to be with him again. Jamie plants a kiss on your shoulder. “I need you here, home with us” you specify.

“I know, I’m not going anywhere.” he promises as you let go to look into his eyes. It's impossible not to smile at your new reality. He’s free. You put your tits back into your bra and bull down your shirt.

“What are you doing?” Jamie questions.

“You have people who want to celebrate downstairs,” you remind me.

“There’s nothing but lads in jail, I’m still hard can't you feel it?” he asks and there’s no ignoring how he fills you. 

“Jamie” you laugh getting up only to feel a little empty. “Tell them goodbye, have dinner with your brothers and I then we can go at it until we pass out tomorrow while Aaron and Stef are at school” you tell him heading to the bathroom to wash up.

“Nah, fuck that - youre gonna have to be quiet tonight. You think I can wait till they’re at school?” Jamie asks behind you. You wipe yourself off, washing up and he does the same. You wash your hands and find him watching you in the mirror.

“What?’ you blush and he  stands behind you so youre body to body again.

“Aaron said you were here all the time so where are your things?” He asks, looking around the sink. 

“I put them up, I know how you are about your space.” you explain.

“Babe, our space” he clarifies. He gets on a pair of boxers before looking around at his new room. “Shit” he gasps as you pull your jeans back on. Perks of a quickie, it's all the clothes you're missing.

“You like it?” you ask as he starts taking in the details. The furniture is all black now, matching. The blue accent wall remains and so do the photos of his parents; only the frames are silver to match the accent of metallics.

“I love it” he smiles, pecking your lips.

“Good” you blush, handing him his pants. Looking yourself over in the mirror of his dresser your afterglow is unmistakable. You reapply your lipgloss and take Jamie's hand as he’s ready to return to his people. It's quieter now as you get to the bottom of the stairs. You reenter to know looks, people smile but its Sy sho shouts clapping. You laugh first, maintaining a poker face isn't your strong suit.

“Why are they cheering?” you hear Stef ask and laugh as Aaron shrugs pretending to be oblivious.

“Alright, alright” Jamie hushes them as he grabs a bottle. “I love you lot, I appreciate how all of you stepped up to take care of each other and keep everything smooth while I was away. Thank you” he addresses. He gets responses of affirmation telling him there's no need for thanks and that they’ll always be there for him.

“Always bruv” Kit smiles and they do a handshake.

“You lot can stay and drink, but I’ve got to go have family time” He says with an arm around you. It's goodbye and he turns. It's Stef, Aaron, yourself and Kit. Everyone gets a plate and conversation flows, Stef goes on like a chatterbox. It's wholesome and heartwarming - so is the way Jamie keeps stealing glances at you. You find yourself relaxing for the first time in six months.

Jamie’s home.

❤❤❤

Hope you all enjoyed this one 😘

Like, Reblog, Comment - talk to me 💖

[shadeswift99]

so in my modded world I've got the Easy Villagers mod, which allows you to store and interact with villagers in single-block glass boxes. My chat was giving me a hard time about villager abuse so we decided that these weren't villagers, they were haunted dolls that I maybe or maybe didn't curse. And someone said I should tell you about this and see what your villager/minecraft headcanon brain comes up with. XD

HELLO. YES. They were right. You should tell me about this. (Also props to your chat for standing up for villager rights! Glass boxes are not OSHA compliant!!)

....Mods are fun. Writing is fun. I honestly wasn't expecting this to happen, but the opportunity for some good ol' fashioned player unsettlingness was just too good to pass up :)

"She takes one of us at dawn." That's what the cleric says, the self-appointed mayor of the village.

"She isn't happy with just trading anymore. At dawn, one of us will have to go."

The box sits on the edge of town, still and ordinary. Almost too ordinary, for the wide circle the farmers make around it as they tend their fields and animals. Mundane as it seems, they know that whoever steps into it will never return, and that alone gives the cursed thing more weight than any glint of enchantment could ever lend it.

It didn't come with a note. It didn't need one. They all know what it hungers for.

"We have to do something about it," huffs the grizzled toolsmith. "What happens if we just... don't put anyone in it?"

"We don't know," says the cleric, quietly. "But I've seen her break mountains. I've seen her kill those who are already dead, by the hundreds. Our iron protector didn't land a single hit. What happens if we leave it empty..."

"We don't want to find out." The toolsmith sighs, deep and weary. "So who will it be?"

The talks drag on around the table for hours. None of the leaders is willing to sacrifice one of their own for something they would not do themselves, and yet none of them can bring themselves to leave all behind and step into the box on their own. The negotiations nearly break into fighting, several times...until a cat drops a sad bundle of straw and cloth in the doorstep. It's a doll. Or, what used to be a doll. Chewed, dismantled, tossed about by the teasing sibling of the child who made it...but it has a tiny farmer's hat, and it's just enough to give the cleric an idea.

The sun creeps over the horizon. At the edge of town, an ordinary-looking glass box sits, sealed tight around a very un-ordinary doll. A member of the village, entombed as was promised. The cleric is not proud of the magics the librarians had to call on to give the thing its power, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The contract is fulfilled. And if the local demigod is not satisfied? Well. Maybe she should have been more specific.

By sunset, two more boxes rest on the rustling grass of the savanna. Both empty, both waiting - but this time, a rough drawing of a doll with a tiny fisherman's hat comes wedged in the latch.

It appears the powers that be have a sense of humour.

[itsmnee]

wip wednesday

how the fuck is it wednesday again ahhhhsd;gjwdgvc

anywayyy snippet where naruto discovers he has a thing for sasuke in glasses. maybe I'll finish it for kinktober?

nsfw-ish under the cut

///

The door slams, which is never a particularly good sign. Sasuke is naturally silent unless he wants his irritation known. Naruto waits, and moments later Sasuke stomps into the kitchen, huffing and puffing like one of those newfangled locomotives Shikamaru’s been nerding out over. 

“Hey,” Naruto says delicately. He stands from where he’d been sitting at the table and approaches the other man as one might a feral animal, having learned over the years to figure out if Sasuke needs to talk things out with words or fists first before unnecessarily riling him up. “Did something happen?”

“Sakura,” Sasuke bites out, whipping off his cloak with a flourish and tossing it over a chair. It’s kind of hot when he does that, Naruto has to admit. 

“You had a checkup today, right? What’d she say?”

“Apparently, I need…” Sasuke’s eyes squeeze shut and for a moment, Naruto starts to panic, his mind listing off every terrible illness Sasuke might possibly have. Before he can voice any of his worries, though, Sasuke finally finishes his sentence with “glasses.”

Naruto blinks. “Glasses?”

“It seems Eternal Mangekyo will stop me from going blind, but it won’t stop me from being unable to read a scroll two feet away before I’m thirty-five.”

“Well, that’s not so bad. It’s not like you’re losing an arm or something.” 

Sasuke just glares, forever unimpressed by Naruto’s arm-related jokes. Sighing, Naruto walks over to envelop him in a hug and immediately feels some of the tension in Sasuke’s shoulders release. “C’mon, it’ll be okay. Do you have to wear them all the time?”

“Just for reading and missions for now,” Sasuke grumbles, reaching between them into one of his pockets. He holds up a basic pair of black frames. “They had these in my prescription already, but I can order different ones.”

“Let’s see, then!” Naruto smiles encouragingly, nudging Sasuke’s hand when he hesitates. Finally, he shoves them on, his face turning pink as his mismatched eyes focus on a point past Naruto instead of looking at him directly. He’s so obviously embarrassed and he has absolutely no reason to be because fuck, the glasses are… sexy. Naruto’s a bit stunned by the realization, his own face heating as he takes Sasuke in. They give him a snobby intellectual look that sends Naruto right back to the Academy and all of the years where he snuck admiring glances at Sasuke while hating his cleverness in equal measure. 

“What?” Sasuke snaps, finally meeting his gaze. 

“Nothing, um.” Naruto coughs. “I just, might have a glasses kink is all.”

Sasuke looks repulsed. “Karin wears glasses.”

“Just on you, obviously!” Naruto flails his arms, cheeks burning even hotter. “You look like you’re going to scold me until I cry and then make me come in my pants.” 

Sasuke frowns, but his expression shifts, gradually morphing into something like consideration. “Is that… something you want?”

“Er—” Naruto scratches the back of his head and bites his lip. They’ve never discussed things like this before. Their sex life isn’t boring, exactly, but they never talk or negotiate beforehand, which maybe isn’t ideal but their relationship is hardly a model of healthy communication. “Yes?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sasuke is pulling him closer, peering down his nose with the two centimeters of height he has over him. “Tell me more.”

Naruto’s Adam’s apple bobs. “You could maybe… be kind of an asshole—which shouldn’t be too hard, y’know—and then, um, hurt me a little bit?” He winces. “I sorta… want you to step on me.”

“Step on you?”

“My dick. To be precise. With the—the glasses on.”

[quickdeaths]

"Then Sonia-san it is," Tsubasa agreed with a small snap of their fingers. "Easy easy." Although, if they weren't careful, they'd find some kind of flirty pet name for her. "If it's not clear by now, I'm not very formal at all. The formality switch got busted during reprogramming, and I didn't have a spare, so I'm just like this now." They grinned. Like this was definitely their preference over the kind of person they'd been expected to become.

"I should be clear, though," they added. "That kind of chill skater informality lends itself to calling people by things that aren't exactly their names, too." Some girls liked it, some girls didn't. Momoka seemed to find it mostly flattering, but Tsubasa wouldn't call anyone something they didn't like. Made sense to them to check. "So, Sonia-san, consider this me requesting authorization to call you 'princess' as an affectionate occasional nickname. Allow or deny permissions?"

Well, whatever. If she didn't like it, they'd find something else, they figured. As they walked over to join Sonia in the shade, Tsubasa winced at the bright light, instinctively holding one hand up just to keep any errant sunlight from blasting into their damaged eyes. Ah... They hadn't meant to do something like that so publicly. The near-permanent sunglasses were supposed to be a cool mysterious thing, not a medical necessity. "Future's so bright, gotta wear shades, huh?" [NICE SAVE, CYBER ANGEL]

They followed Sonia's lead, drinking the milk tea as she spoke about the movies she'd seen and the topics that interested her. With each new revelation, they offered an upbeat nod. "You're pretty cool, huh Sonia-san?" They beamed at her, the effect only partially diminished due to their eyes being completely obscured by their glasses. "I knew it from the start." Naturally, someone so cool themselves had a good eye for cool, unique people. Whether they'd fit in with Sonia's friends, or she'd fit in with theirs, remained to be seen, but Tsubasa was pretty confident that the two of them could get along for a long time.

They weren't terribly into anime, although their collection of anime-branded tamagotchi might seem to call that into question. They'd just be sure to add Sun Witch Esper Ito to their general list of 'things people told them to watch, that they'd maybe get around to on a recovery day if they remembered.' "Haven't seen it, sorry," they answered apologetically. "But hey, maybe someday. As for me, though..." They adopted a thoughtful expression, tongue curved up to the side of their mouth, the silver stud pierced right down the middle sitting against their teeth as they reflected on their own interests.

To the average person, their disparate hobbies probably seemed cobbled together and unusual, but Tsubasa figured that there was simply a great number of things that went into being the cyber angel. It wasn't their problem if their code was too complicated for other people to understand. "Those two things do take a lot of my time," they admitted. "But, when I can swing it, I like dancing, going to hype raves and slinky goth concerts, or playing games at the arcade, especially if I can drag someone along for the ride."

They didn't want to carry the milk tea with them, nor stuff the empty can in their bag, so Tsubasa finished it up quickly and tossed it in the nearby recycling bin. "Aside from that, when I'm by myself..." Well, nothing so cool as serial killers and witchcraft, but really, what kinds of things were? "I like tinkering around with old machines, and I'm not bad at sewing." They touched at the flashy flares of their jacket's shoulders. "I modify a lot of my own clothes to better suit my more alternative tastes. Not bad, huh?" If she gave them her measurements, they could try some things out for her, too.

"So, whatcha think?" Their drink discarded, Tsubasa yawned and stretched out their arms over their head, leaning first to one side, then the other. "A fitting suite of programs for a new friend?"

Sonia gave them a small shrug. Modesty and humility were important to display with discretion in most royal functions, but in this case, she was simply nonplussed. What Tsubasa described simply...was. Always had been. Always would be. "It's expected of everyone in my family to be constantly learning, to grow and evolve our minds and bodies. But for me, I suppose it's a natural condition to be interested in life: I spent much of my childhood at home, you see."

That was putting it lightly: she'd spent her childhood in a castle that was nearly a thousand years old, an array of manors and chalets, and private suites. No matter where she was whisked off to, the only consistency they all had was privacy. And too much of it, for a young and curious girl who simply wanted to make friends who didn't call her 'Your Highness' every time she entered a room.

"Sonia-san is excellent, very much preferred!" She assured them, nodding perhaps a bit more vigorously than she should. But even at Hope's Peak, it was a gift to be addressed by her name, not title or talent, by other students. The Reserve Course students tended to use her title or simply 'the foreigner' to reference her, but even some of the Main Course students outside of Class 77-B preferred, or perhaps were too intimidated otherwise, using her title. "Truthfully, it's a relief that you don't 'index the data,' Tsubasa-san. One may be polite without being overly formal, but I wouldn't dare mention such a thing to my family and those who work for and with them."

For all the languages she spoke, Sonia hadn't quite mastered Tsubasa's unique way of communication yet. Though she continued to make efforts as she handed the can of milk tea to them. Maybe they liked tea, too? If so, it would be something else for her to share with them. Sonia mulled it over as she sipped, staying out of the sun under the refuge of the overhang above the vending machines. It had been warmer than expected, and despite the cosmetic-grade sunscreen she wore every time she stepped outside during daylight hours, she was still careful. Freckles do not suit the future Queen of Novoselic, her mother's voice echoed through her mind. They are indicators of poor health and laziness, and as a princess you must be above such things.

She briefly wondered where conversing with a talented skateboarder fell in the hierarchy of 'things Princess Sonia of Novoselic is forbidden to do.' Beyond good manners, she felt certain that it would belong on her family's list somewhere of inappropriate friendships. Naturally, if it was intended to dissuade her, it would only have the opposite effect instead.

"Oh, I'm perfectly content not discussing 'princess stuff,' as you put it," She replied. She hadn't believed that Tsubasa would be someone interested in royal life in the first place, but the reassurance wasn't unwelcome. "I have seen Kairo, but not Tetsuo: The Iron Man. I shall have to find somewhere to stream it. Admittedly, I have more Japanese horror films to catch up with than American or European, but I learned French, Italian, and English before Japanese and I try to watch without subtitles whenever I am able."

"Still, I would be quite interested!" She insisted between sips of milk tea. "My favorite horror films often revolve around the 'slasher' theme and serial killers, and I quite enjoy the Friday the 13th series for that reason. But I'm quite fond of monsters, witchcraft, and demons and demonic possession as well. But I also very much love anime and manga! Have you heard of Sun Witch Esper Ito? It is very popular in my homeland!"

To the point that only her parents' Royal Wedding bested the series finale broadcast in television ratings. Still, she was rambling and this was supposed to be a conversation, not her simply outpouring her love of things she was never to speak of in front of...well, anyone. "What do you do when you are not skating or taking care of your digital animals, Tsubasa-san?"

[feelingofcontent]

DNP Rewatch: Making whipped tiktok Coffee - Easter Edition! 🐰

Date video was published: 04/11/2020 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 412

I already know this is one of my favorite videos from 2020.

0:00 - love all the cutout eggs just randomly stuck in the background. and the animal magnets still in the same...position...as they were in his birthday video

0:15 - so much hair! it’s still over a month before he cuts it though

0:34 - great sound effect use there

0:45 - of course he’s got his own twist for it!

1:07 - not interesting enough for him...gotta make it more complicated

1:26 - can’t believe he drank the same instant coffee for that many years. they’ve got a fancy coffee machine in the new house now though

1:36 - this video is not going to be relaxing

1:52 - they DO own actual measuring spoons...he just didn’t bother last time he needed one

2:06 - banana milk still does not appealing to me at all. though I’ve been told it tastes more like fake banana than real banana, which I think I would like better. someday I will try some

2:11 - “that’s satisfying to slap” ...getting a bit into it there

2:25 - really would love to know what “baking experiment” involved this white chocolate sauce (and maybe also the red velvet Baileys he uses later)...Valentine’s Day treats or cocktails? 🤔

2:43 - that is hilarious but I bet he wasn’t too upset about it, lol

2:55 - well this seems like a good idea. still...this ends up being SO MUCH caffeine and sugar. if he’s filming this at his usual evening time, I bet he did not sleep at all

3:08 - “look...Debra...we’re in lockdown I’m not a fashion week” 😂 love offended Phil

3:35 - playing the word association game with himself there hahaha

3:45 - he dropped something 5 seconds ago...WHY would he think tossing the glass was a good idea

4:00 - love the zoom in on his face after realizing how that sounded

4:09 - he’s not wrong...just generally you’re not able to actually see that

4:20 - you would think he would have learned what happens when you try to color brown things green...but no

4:33 -  the never-ending green-or-yellow DNP domestic debate. he polled instagram again on that too

4:57 - glad he didn’t leave that close up shot for long...it does not look appetizing

5:10 - “it’s looking nothing like I imagined in my head” could be the slogan for several of Phil’s videos from this era

5:19 - swearing in German. they do not have well-placed outlets in that kitchen

5:28 - eww, no...the clean-up after one of his videos must take almost as long as filming

6:16 - love the random peep commentary

6:22 - more mess...he’s regretting getting as much foam out of the bowl as possible, which he just said to do

6:41 - and then not even wiping it before picking it up

6:54 - cackling at the “my hottest moment” annotation, the slow motion, and the music 😂😂

7:13 - at least he did some mid-video clean up

7:20 - I wonder if he also did some googling to figure that out

7:33 - “artisanal...anal” Phil’s mind is always...somewhere

7:40 - again, with the annotation here. actually laughing

7:56 - his poor laptop

8:15 - yes, just what this needs...even more sugar

8:39 - finally actually looking somewhat pleasant

8:55 - he barely put any Baileys in that

9:17 - this foam does look much better than the first one...the whole thing looks much more appetizing

9:51 - he’s so excited when something works 😊

9:58 - and even more sugar!

10:20 - Phil claimed he did finish drinking that which is slightly horrifying

10:37 - the spoon just slowly sinking in as Phil gestures without paying attention 😂

11:20 - yeah this seems like too much effort before you’ve had your coffee in the morning

11:44 - the endscreen annotation on this one is great

The absolute chaos of this video. I love it so much. This is one that makes me laugh every time I watch it.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 60

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,229

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Author’s Note: We’re back! Omg y’all...I finally have a path to the ending for this fic! After this chapter, I’m planning for there to be 5 more chapters until the end, which will give ID a total of 65 chapters. I’m still working on writing and editing these last chapters, but I’m pretty confident in that timeline :D I also plan to post each Friday again, so there should be chapters now through September 10th, if all goes according to plan. 

PDA

You woke with a smile the next morning, partially because of the happiness filling your chest like a balloon. The other part was because the warm body behind you, accompanied by a rasp of beard on your shoulder and soft lips on your neck, signalled that you weren’t alone. 

The florid orange rays coming in the large windows told you that it was still early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. Turning over onto your other side to face Negan, you took in his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze. 

“Mornin’ doll,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his irresistible mouth. “No crack-of-dawn meetings today?”

His lips quirked against yours. “Nope, thank fuck,” he murmured, before rolling atop you and spending a good portion of the morning taking you apart with pleasure, then putting you back together piece by piece with cuddles and toe-curling kisses. 

When he later glanced over at the clock and saw that it was almost 10am, he gave a groan and flopped onto his back with a forearm covering his eyes. “Much as I’d love to stay here all day, I gotta go with a couple Saviors to check out one of the nearby outposts. They reported some concerns about their fucking security measures, and also requested a few more men be stationed out there to help divvy up their shifts, so I wanna go see if there’s any fucking issues for myself.”

While you felt a tiny thrill that he was so willing to tell you this information, to let you know about his duties as leader, you also had a moment of worry about him possibly assigning more men out to work the outpost. “Is that the one you brought Simon in from a couple weeks ago?” 

Knowing exactly where your thoughts were headed, he said, “Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, doll. If the outpost needs more hands, I was planning to send a couple of my newer Saviors.”

Pleased at this response, you smiled and leaned in close so your mouth was hovering mere millimeters from his, before whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties to get in a bunch.” 

Before he could react, you rolled out of the bed and strode to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing to your hips. The growl and unmistakable rustling sound of sheets being thrown off was your only warning before Negan scooped you up into his arms and marched into the bathroom. 

An hour later and you were both sufficiently clean (after first getting extra dirty against the shower wall), and you saw Negan off from his rooms with a kiss and warning to be careful. He gave an arrogant smirk at that, which got him an eye roll and playful shake of your head as a response. 

You watched as he strode down the hall towards the staircase, shoulders encased in leather and his whistle echoing off the walls. While they’d never dare ask him about it, you couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of his men wondering why the hell their usually punctual leader was almost ten minutes late to leave for the outpost...and why he seemed so happy about it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Unable to contain your excitement over the events of the night before, you headed over to Ben’s room not long after Negan left. Thankfully he was there, having just returned from finishing up serving breakfast. His roommate was out this time, so you were able to huddle across from one another on his bottom bunk and catch him up on your conversation with Negan.

Ben listened intently, mouth slowly falling further and further open as you went on. When you got to the part about Negan admitting he wanted only you, and called you his partner, Ben let out a whoop of joy and threw his arms around you in a hug. 

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “That big lug is head over heels for you.” 

The two of you chatted happily for a bit, before you left and wandered back down to your own room. It had felt like forever since you had a chunk of time to just relax in your bed without over analyzing or stressing over something Negan-related. Gone was the weight of that padlocked box of questions, which made both your brain and subconscious very happy. The three of you snuggled up on the bed and spent the next couple of hours finishing your re-read of Harry Potter before it was time to head down to the kitchen for dinner prep. 

Today’s menu consisted of lasagna using leftover deer meat thawed from the freezer, with the signature side of rolls. Trixie had unofficially promoted herself as being in charge of roll duty, making sure the dough was the right consistency and the ovens at the perfect baking temperature. She wasn’t rude about it, but the little bit of authority she showed when instructing another staff member how to properly knead the dough seemed to fulfill her need to be seen as a knowledgeable and important part of the staff. And in all honesty, none of her feedback to the others was incorrect, so rather than reprimand her or say she was out of line, you had caught her eye at one point and given an almost imperceptible nod of approval. This caused her smile to beam so bright that it was a wonder you didn’t need sunglasses. 

As it turned out, you weren’t the only one who had noticed Trixie’s presence and been keeping a stealthy eye on her. Andrew, a member of the food prep crew, had been not-so-subtly following Trixie with his gaze lately, and today was no exception. He was an attractive man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and kind brown eyes, a much more appropriate candidate for Trixie than her previous choice.

It seemed safe to say that Trixie was aware of the attention as well, as she found every reason possible to flounce past where Andrew was busy loading trays of lasagna into an oven. At one point, she even stopped to chat briefly with him, and out of the corner of your eye you saw her toss back her head and laugh at something he said. If it seemed a bit overly dramatic to you, well, Andrew didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her reaction caused him to fumble with the tray of pasta he was holding, almost spilling the entire thing onto the ground. He thankfully saved it at the last second, otherwise you would’ve had to interrupt and lecture the two of them about focusing on their work and not chit-chatting. And you didn’t want to do that, not when Trixie finally seemed interested in a guy more her age who was actually available and seemed to genuinely like her. 

Despite your initial tension with Trixie, you now realized that she had just been struggling to find where she fit in, to feel like an important part of the community. She’d initially been scooped up and led astray by Amber, but thankfully she had found her way back on the correct path and was making progress at getting along with the others, rather than isolating herself and using condescension as an emotional wall. Someone like Andrew, who was kind-hearted and considerate, not to mention absolutely captivated by her, was exactly what she needed. 

Focusing your attention away from young romance and back to meal prep, you spent the next forty-five minutes making sure everything was baked to perfection before sending out the first trays of lasagna and rolls. However, your mind kept randomly returning to Negan, almost unable to contain a secret smile each time you remembered where the two of you now stood. The usual worry and second-guessing had been replaced by the stability of knowing how he felt, and each time you remembered his words from last night a flutter of butterflies went off in your stomach. 

Negan had told you this morning that the outpost he and a small team of men were going to was less than an hour’s drive from the Sanctuary, so he planned to be back around dinnertime. Sure enough, about 20 minutes into when the first round of food was being served, you saw a small group of Saviors enter the cafeteria and settle down at a table. You guessed that they were the ones who had been out on the mini mission, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them back safely and with jovial expressions on their faces. You could always tell when things went wrong on a run, due to the overall aura of the men who returned, but this time they were smiling and talking animatedly with one another. Hopefully this also meant that Negan was in a happy, and perhaps affectionate, mood when you went to visit him later...

It was as if your thoughts had conjured the man himself. You were out in the cafeteria with a large water pitcher, making rounds to refill empty glasses for people, when a hush in conversation made you still and look up.

And there he was, standing at the entrance to the cafeteria with his signature leather jacket unzipped just enough so that the edge of a white tee peeked out over the top. He scanned over the tables like a king surveying his domain, looking both intimidating and absolutely delicious with the arrogant way he held himself, as if he had no cares in the world but was also ready to take on anything.

When his eyes landed on you, those sinful lips quirked upwards at the edges, and you swore that even from the distance of half a cafeteria you could see his golden gaze light up at the sight of you. He moved, striding with determination and purpose to close the space between your bodies. The breath caught in your chest at his beauty, at the raw masculinity and almost animal magnetism that surrounded him. 

He stopped mere inches away, and you gazed up at him in both welcome and a bit of confusion. Trying to act calm and unaffected, and not show how much you wanted to grin and launch yourself at him, you said, “Welcome back.” 

Your eyebrow cocked in question when he shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh no, doll, that won’t do at all.” And with that, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lowered his head...

And kissed you in front of the entire Sanctuary. 

A wave of shock jolted through you, at the same time as your body automatically responded, molding itself to his. Your brain was flatlined on the floor from the unexpected move, while your subconscious ran around it in circles screaming with excitement. 

You could practically feel all the astonished stares from community members, as they watched their all-powerful leader break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you to within an inch of your life. And dear god, what a kiss it was! His lips were firm yet gentle, his tongue just barely tracing your bottom lip, as if he couldn’t help but steal a little taste. He wasn’t holding back, and the primal part of you recognized that he was publicly staking his claim for all to see. There could be no question after this moment that you were his, and that he wanted everyone to know it. 

When he finally pulled back, you could only look up at him with what must’ve been an utterly dazed expression, if his pleased smirk was anything to go by. Glancing to his left and then right, his brow furrowed and expression turned serious as he bellowed, “What the fuck are you all looking at?”

His words had the desired effect, as eyes dropped back to their plates and the community stuttered back to action, obviously trying and failing to act like something monumental didn’t just happen. You’d have given a lot of points to know what they were all thinking, but you didn’t see any angry expressionsand no one had said anything or acted out of line, so hopefully that was a good sign. 

Negan’s warm hand rubbed comfortingly up your bare arm, and it was then that you noticed he didn’t have his gloves on. That also sparked the realization that he wasn’t carrying Lucille, which was strange since he always had her on his person when making an appearance in front of the community. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, did he even have her this morning, when he left?

You thought back to when you had kissed him goodbye and watched as he walked down the hallway. Surely he’d have taken her with him to the outpost...but you honestly couldn’t remember seeing her up over his shoulder. You had to just be forgetting, because there was no way he’d leave her behind. 

That train of thought was brought to a halt when the hand on your arm trailed down along your waist and settled possessively on your hip. “I wanted to put in a request for one of your staff members to bring two servings of dinner to my room, for Simon and yours truly.” 

Before you could ask if he needed time alone once you were done with dinner, he provided the answer. “We need to go over the fucking outpost inspection results, but I’ll come and find you once it’s done.” It was the second time he’d done that today, answering a question before you had the chance to voice it out loud, which was a sign of how well he was coming to predict your thought process. 

You were still a bit in shock at all of this, especially how he was discussing his evening plan with you so publicly and audibly, as if to show that you were more than just his in a physical sense. He was broadcasting to the community that you were what he had already told you last night: his partner. His voice had been low enough that only the nearby tables would’ve heard, but you knew every moment of this interaction would be spread across the entire community within minutes after he left. 

Giving a smile and trying to look like ‘yep, this is completely normal, no big deal, I am totally not internally screaming with joy and wanting to climb his fine ass like a tree’, you replied, “Of course. I’ll have it sent up immediately.”

“Thanks, doll,” he said with a final smirk. Then his face morphed back into the intense, badass expression of the Sanctuary’s leader, and he strode out of the cafeteria. 

You were left standing there, still a bit shell-shocked by what had just occurred, but also giddy as hell over it. That emotional high was only slightly dimmed by the awareness that now, with Negan gone, you were the sole center of everyone’s attention. A quick scan of the cafeteria showed that most community members were trying not to openly stare. However, the lack of chewing and frequent side glances thrown your way as your legs finally unfroze and started back towards the kitchen were proof that they had all seen Negan’s display of affection. 

While the rest of the community might’ve at least been making a feeble attempt not to obviously stare, the same couldn’t be said of the kitchen staff. At least a couple of them must’ve witnessed what happened when serving trays of food, and those members must’ve scurried back to the kitchen to report it to the others. Every single one of them was staring in wide-eyed silence with a mixture of shock and fascinated curiosity when you walked back through the swinging doors. 

Even though your face felt heated and you were a bit off-kilter, you still managed to sound slightly firm when announcing, “Alright folks, back to work. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t argue, but a couple of them did give knowing grins, Trixie included, though at least they all seemed good-natured about it. Trying to act as though your world hadn’t just been spun off its axis with that public kiss, you went over to Ben, who was the only one that had stayed fairly composed the entire time. In fact, his eyes danced with mirth and he was obviously trying to hold back a smirk, so you felt only minimally evil when telling him of Negan’s request that two servings of dinner be taken up to his rooms for him and Simon. Ben gave a playful glare when you told him to take up the food himself, saying it loud enough that some others heard, making him unable to say no without looking a bit suspect. 

When the tray was ready to go a few minutes later, you quietly murmured to Ben as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen, “Say hi to Simon for me.” The words caused a hint of pink to flare in his cheeks as he gave a halfhearted glare. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but knew Ben would more than forgive you when Negan came through on his promise to get Simon his own room.  

Though the kitchen staff still threw glances your way here and there, they quickly fell back into their usual routine and no one made any direct comments. You were safe from scrutiny...at least for now. At least no one seemed to have any extreme concerns about what had happened, making you wonder how many of them had suspected what was going on between you and Negan before now.

Once dinner and cleanup were over, you headed back up to your room. Negan had said he would come find you when he was ready, so you planned to just lay back and relax until then. 

Oh, who were you kidding. After that kiss, you were totally going to sit on your bed and think about all the dirty things you wanted to do to him the moment the two of you were alone. 

Trying to convince yourself that you could be at least semi-productive and pretend to have a hobby other than fantasizing about the leader of the Sanctuary, you pulled the copy of Harry Potter off your bedside table. You were just opening to the first page, planning to restart it again from the beginning, when a firm knock sounded at your door. 

Pulse jumping with excitement, you rose from the bed and didn’t even hesitate to cross the room and reach for the doorknob. It never occurred to you that it might be anyone other than Negan, let alone for it to be the last person you’d have ever expected to see at your door. But things had been going so well today that it was almost as if fate was bored with your happiness and wanted to add some drama to the mix. 

Totally ignoring the warning prickle that ran up your spine, you opened the door with a welcome smile. It quickly died on your lips at the sight of who was standing on the other side, hands on hips and eyes throwing daggers your way. 

It was Amber...and she looked pissed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[voidmakyr]

Call me anyway (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

This is set in the TFATWS 3rd EP.

You are a former Flag Smasher living alone in Madripoor. You quit the gang some time ago. When the winter soldier stands in your door one night, you expected to be killed. But this wasn’t your end. It was the start of something that nobody saw coming. 

Warnings: smut, swear-words, (sexual) persuasion.

A/N: As always, english is not my first languagge. I am way too lazy to proof read. I really wanted to do something for Zemo but I just can’t get over Bucky? 

You tossed your keys down the hall table and stretched. You changed into a pair of boxers. It was another hot night, and as you pulled out the futon, you really wished the air conditioner were still working. You turned the box fan on and fed your cat. As soon as he’d polished off his fancy feast, took up pacing in front of the sliding glass door to your balcony.

Lightning flashed and you went over and slid back the glass door, moving the screen into place. You’d leave the thing open for only a little bit – the night air smelled good for once. Not a whiff of the usual garbage of madripoor.

You ducked into the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and scrubbing your face you ran a washcloth under some cold water and rubbed the back of your neck. Cool rivulets ran down your skin, and you welcomed the shivers as you walked back out.

You frowned. Something wasn’t right…

You went over to the glass door and you saw that your cat had sat down on his haunches and was purring as if he were welcoming someone he knew.

What the…

The man from last night was on the other side of the screen. You leaped back and dropped the washcloth, dimly hearing the fleshy flop when it hit the floor.

The screen slid open.

You panicked, but found you couldn’t move. You knew this man. He was called the winter soldier.

Oh, man, he really was handsome. He was tall and with your apartment being small to begin with, he turned it into a shoe box. He looked even better than the photos you‘ve seen. Dressed in black with dark hair and matching brown eyes. He wore gloves despite the heat.

Wait a minute.

What were you doing, measuring him for a suit? If this really was the winter soldier, there was no time for staring.

Running, you should be running. You should be making a break for the other door, running like hell.

But all you could do was stare at him.

You craned your neck to look up at his face.

God, he was gorgeous.

He must be coming to kill you, you thought. You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve a hit, but the longer you looked into his eyes, you could barely remember where you were.

You body swayed as he closed the distance between them. You were terrified of what was going to happen when he reached you, but noticed, absurdly, that your cat was purring and wrapping himself in and around the mans ankles.

That cat was a traitor. And if by some miracle you lived though the night, the cat was getting downgraded to mediocre cat food.

Your neck jacked back up as you met the man‘s steady, feral gaze. His stare burned.

And then the extraordinary happened. As he stepped in front of you, you felt a blast of pure, unadultered lust. Your body got wickedly hot. Hot and wet.

Your core bloomed for him.

It was chemistry, you thought numbly. Pure, raw, animal chemistry.

Whatever he had, you wanted.

„Don’t be afraid, (Y/N). My name is James. I wanted to ask you some questions“, he said.

His voice was low, a deep rumble in his solid chest. He had the sliver of an accent you couldn’t place.

„What questions?“, you breathed in a whisper.

„About your friends. The Flag Smashers...“

Dizziness made you reach out for the wall.

„Karli? Why..“ Confusion closed your mouth. „What do you want from them?“

His metal hand crossed the distance between your bodies and he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb. He tilted your face to one side.

„Are you going to kill me fast?“ you mumbled. „Or slow?“

„No killing. Just answers.“

As his head bent down, you told yourself you should fight him off in spire of his words. You needed to Gotthold arms of yours working, your legs, too. Trouble was, you didn’t really want to push him away. You took a deep breath.

Good heavens, he smelled fantastic. Fresh, clean sweat. A dark, masculine musk.

His lips hovered over your ear. The leather of his jacket creaked as his chest expanded.

„You are not one if them,“ he said softly, „not anymore, right?“

God, this had to be what people talked about when they waxed poetic about sex. You didn’t question the need to have him inside of you. You only knew that you were going to die if he didn’t take his pants off. Now.

You reached out, curious to touch him, but when you let go of the wall you started to fall. In what seemed like on motion, he turned around and caught you easily. As he swept you off the floor, you leaned into him, not even bothering to put up a pretense of fighting. He handled you as if you were weightless, crossing the room in two strides.

When he laid you down on the futon his dog tags fell forward, and you lifted your hand, touching the metal. You lifted your hands higher, touching his dark hair. They were thick, soft. You put your palm on his face and though he seemed surprised, he didn‘t pull back.

God, everything about him radiated sex, from the strength in his body to the way he moved to the smell of his skin. He was like no man you‘d ever came across before. And your body knew it just as clearly as her mind did.

„Kiss me,“ you said.

He hovered above you, a silent menace.

On impulse your hands went to the lapels of his jacket, and you tried to pull him down to your mouth.

He captured both your wrists in his metal hand.

„Easy.“

Easy? You didn’t want easy. Easy was not part of the plan.

You struggled against his hold and when you couldn’t get free you arched your back.

Your breasts strained against your Shirt, and you rubbed your thighs together, anticipating what it would feel like to have him between them.

If he‘d only put his hands-

„Sweet Jesus,“ he muttered.

You smiled up at him, relishing the sudden hunger in his face. „Touch me.“

The winter soldier started shaking his head. As if he were trying to clear it.

You opened your lips and moaned in frustration.

„Pull up my shirt.“ You arched again, offering your body to him. „Do it.“

His eyebrows were drawn tight, and you had some vague thought that you should be terrified. Instead, you brought your knees up and lifted your hips off the futon.

You imagined him kissing the insides of your thighs, finding your core with his mouth. Licking you. Another moan boiled out of your mouth.

——

Bucky was dumbfounded.

And he wasn’t a man who got struck stupid very often.

Holy Shit.

You were the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a lightning stroke once or twice before.

You groaned again, your body undulating in a sexy wave, your legs opening wide. The scent of your arousal hit him hard as a body shot. God, he would have been sent to his knees if he hadn’t already been sitting down.

„Touch me“, you moaned.

Buckys blood pumped as if he were in a flat-out run, his erection throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

„That’s not what I’m here for,“ he said.

„Touch me anyway.“

He knew he should say no. This wasn‘t fair to her. And they needed to talk. He had questions about... what again? Maybe he should come back later in the night. Try again.

You arched up, pushing against the hand he‘d clamped around your wrists. As your breasts strained against your shirt, he had to close his eyes.

Time to go. It was really time to go. He would check back with Sam and Zemo and just come back later, or tomorrow, or-

Except he couldn‘t leave without at least having a taste.

Yeah, but he was a selfish bastard if he laid one finger on you. A nasty, selfish bastard to take any of what you were offering without knowing who he really was. Dangerous, murderous, broken... a monster.

With a curse, Bucky opened his eyes.

Man, he was so cold. Cold down to his marrow.

And you were hot. Hot enough to make that ice go away, at least for a little while.

And it had been so long for him.

He let your wrists go.

Your hands grabbed his jacket, trying to push it back from his shoulders. He wrenched the thing off, and as it hit the floor with a thud, you laughed with satisfaction.

Bucky bent down over you and captured your lips with his mouth.

This time, when you thrust your breasts out, he got rid of his gloves and slid his normal hand under your thin shirt and onto your smooth, warm skin. Greedy to know the rest of you, he peeled your shirt off and tossed it aside.

Your breasts filled his palms, your nipples tight buds underneath the soft satin of your bra.

Buckys control snapped.

He let out a hiss and latched onto one of your nipples with his lips, drawing it into his mouth. As he drew circles with his tongue, he shifted his body and stretched out on top of you, falling in between your thighs. You absorbed his weight with a throaty sigh.

Your hands came between them as you reached for the front of his shirt, but he didn’t have the patience to let you undress him. He lifted up and ripped the material off his body. When he came back down, your breasts hit the wall of his chest and your body surged under his.

He wanted to kiss your mouth, but he was way past anything soft and gentle, so he worshipped your breasts with his tongue and then moved down to your belly. When he got to the waistband of your boxers, he drew them off your smooth legs.

Bucky felt something in his head pop as your scent reached him in a fresh wave. He was perilously close to orgasm, already. His release poised in his shaft, his body shaking with the need to take you. He put his hand between your thighs. You were so wet and hot that he growled.

Crazed though he was, he had to taste you before he invaded you.

He pressed kisses over your hips and across the tops of your thighs. Your hands tangled in his hair as you urged him exactly where he was headed.

He kissed your softest skin, drawing your core into his mouth, and you came over and over again for him until he couldn’t fight his own need any longer. He pulled back, shrugged out of his pants, and covered you with his body once more.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he hissed as your heat burned his erection.

He used what was left of his strength to pull back and look down into your face. Waiting for your okay.

„Don’t stop.“ you breathed. „I want to feel you inside me.“

Bucky dropped his head into the fragrant hollow of your neck. And slowly drew his hips back. The tip of his erection slid into place beautifully, and he sheathed himself in your body with one powerful stroke.

He let out a bellow of ecstasy.

Heaven. Now he knew what heaven was like.

____

You eased into consciousness slowly. It was like surfacing from a perfectly performed swan dive. There was a glow in your body, a satisfaction as you emerged from the buffered world of sleep.

„You are beautiful,“ he whispered.

His mouth came down on hers. But he wasn’t looking for anything. The kiss was not a demand. it was closer to a thank you.

Somewhere in the room, a cell phone went off. The ring wasn’t yours.

He moved so fast you jumped. One moment he was by your side; the next he was at his jacket. He flipped open the phone.

A flip phone? Weird.

„Yeah?“ The voice that had told her you you were beautiful was gone. Now he growled.

You pulled a sheet around your chest.

„Give me ten.“ He hung up the phone, put it back in the jacked, and picked up the pants he‘d been wearing. His metal arm reflected the tiny lights coming through the blinds.

The threat of re-dressing brought back some reality. God, had you really just had sex - really, really good, mind blowing sex - with the winter soldier?

„James... You are the winter soldier, right?“, you asked.

As he pulled black leather up his thighs, you caught a terrific shot of his ass.

„Not anymore. Don’t be afraid.“

When he sat down next to you, „I‘ve got to go. I might not get back tonigh, but I‘ll try.“

You didn’t want him to leave. You liked the feel of his body taking up more than its fair share of your bed.

You reached up to him, but took your hand back. You didn’t want to seem needy.

„No, touch me,“ he said, bending his body down, giving you all the access you could ask for.

You put your palm on his chest. His skin was war, his heart surging in an even pump.

„I need to know something.“, you said softly. „What the fuck do you want from me, if you’re looking for the flag smashers?“

He smiled a little, as if he liked your swearing.

„Are you trying to stop them?“, you asked.

„Yes, but-“

„Get out. I am not helping you.“ You stood up and put your clothes back on. There was no way, you were going to be a snitch. Even if you were no longer part of the team.

„(Y/N), they have... we need to stop them. They are dangerous.“, he said while looking to the ground. He didn’t seem to confident about that.

He now stood in front of your door to the balcony. Slowly you opened the glass door, took a look outside then went back to your bed.

„Because of the serum.“ You said calmly.

„You know about the serum?“

You laughed. „I don’t just know about it.“ You positioned yourself and got in a strong stance. You smiled. „I got it.“

With one forceful kick to his chest, Bucky got pushed out of your room. He could barely grab the railing to not fall eight down on the street. In front of him the glass door closed, big metal bars flew from the top to secure the entry even more. The blinds closed and he couldn’t see you anymore.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was taken by surprise. It wasn’t pleasant. When he looked down on himself, he saw a little piece of paper in the small pocket of his jacket.

It was a phone number.

XXX-XXXX-XXXX „Call anyway.“

[kookicat]

The Macaron Job 

I'm a damned idiot, Eliot thinks and scowls at the sheeting rain outside the kitchen window. It's a horrible damp day, the sort that turns his hair into a curly mess that defies even the hottest flat iron, and he's making macarons. They're never going to dry, he thinks and pokes the closest one with a clean fingertip, scowl deepening as the mix sticks to his skin. 

It wasn't like there were a million other, more rainy day compatible things he could have made. Like brown butter and oatmeal cookies. Or madeleines. Or lemon and poppy seed muffins, with a lemon glaze, sweet and sharp. Or an apple pie, rich and golden and spiked with cinnamon. Or even sugar cookies. 

But Parker had asked for French macarons, and he's never been able to say no to the women, especially when Sophie gets in on the act. So he's stuck in the kitchen, babysitting a sheet pan of macarons that are stubbornly refusing to form any sort of skin. They're never going to work, he thinks and sighs, pulling out the ingredients to make a batch of sugar cookies, just in case, letting his hands fall into the familiar actions while his mind wanders, pondering what else he wants to add to his newly established kitchen garden. 

It's another part of himself that he's reclaimed, once he'd committed to the team, and it had taken him a while to get comfortable with his hands in the dirt again, but damn, it was nice to replace the old blood on his hands with warm, fragrant soil, capable of giving life rather than taking it. Parker had caught on first, bugging him with questions about what the plants did until he got his first harvest of peas and squash and carrots and tomatoes, turning them into something they could eat, remembering exactly how at peace he'd felt, sitting down at the table to eat a meal he'd produced in more ways than one. 

He glances at the tray of macarons again, feeling irritation niggle at him when they still aren't set. The sugar cookie dough forms a neat ball under his hands and he shapes it into a log, wrapping it in plastic and slipping it in the fridge to chill, trying to ignore the urge to glare at the macarons. Like that'll make them set faster, he thinks and has to laugh at himself, just a little. Truth be told, there's not many other places he'd rather be on a rainy day than his kitchen, even if he is stuck with the least rainy day friendly bake ever. 

Quiet footsteps head towards the kitchen and he keeps his back to the door, deliberately, ignoring the prickle between his shoulders that he still can't quite shake. He trusts them with his life and his soul and his sanity, but bone deep instincts aren't so easy to turn off. "They're not done yet," he says when the steps transfer from wood to the tile floor in the kitchen, knowing as good as he was, he wouldn't have heard her if she didn't want him to, because the woman was like a damn cat, all liquid grace and soft steps. 

"They didn't take this long last time," she complains, boosting herself onto the counter and reaching around him to steal a crumb of sugar cookie dough from the big copper mixing bowl. 

Eliot tucks a curly strand of hair behind his ear and glances at the window, where the rain has become even worse, pouring down in a way that makes him wonder idly if they need to start building an arc. Hardison would hate that, he thinks, all those animals to manage and manages not to grin too widely. "Last time it wasn't pouring with rain," he says, and lifts an eyebrow at her when she frowns. 

She sneaks another scrap of cookie dough, chewing thoughtfully. "That makes a difference?" 

"Sure." He crosses his arms, resisting the urge to poke the damned macarons again, and leans back against the cabinet. "It's baking, Parker. Everything makes a difference." There's a thread of wry, amused annoyance in his voice. Sometimes the strict measurements, the recipes that have to be followed to the letter, the exacting nature of baking are exactly what he needs, letting him lose himself in the details, pushing back the memories for just a little while longer. It's almost like meditation, steps he knows like the notes of an old, familiar song. And sometimes, he wants the opposite, wants to grab ingredients by instinct to create something entirely new, something fresh and exciting and his in a way that baking never quite captures. 

"How do you know when they're ready?" she leans over, bumping shoulders with him, close enough that her hair brushes his cheek, nibbling on the last scrap of dough. 

"You're going to get a stomach ache," he mutters absently, tapping the closest macaron round with his pointer finger. "They're ready for baking when they don't stick to your fingers." 

It doesn't, to his surprise, and he lifts the tray, sliding it into the pre-heated oven. There's dark chocolate ganache chilling in the fridge and he pulls the bowl out, setting it on the counter to warm, pretending not to see Parker steal a spoonful as he turns away to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He turns back and has to smother a grin, because she has chocolate on her cheek and an overly innocent expression on her face. 

"Is that nice?" he asks, biting the inside of his lip to keep a straight face. 

She blinks at him, idly swinging her legs, taking care not to thump her boots into the cupboard door. "I don't know what you mean!" she says and he laughs, tossing a dish towel at her. 

"You have ganache on your face," he says and she swipes it away. 

The timer beeps and he silences it, turning the sheet pan around in the oven so everything bakes evenly. He grabs a piping bag and gives the ganache a stir, handing the spoon to Parker while he fills the bag. The kitchen smells safe, like good vanilla and sugar and chocolate and combined with the pouring rain it's making him feel relaxed, tranquil, almost sleepy in a way that's rare for him. He leans against the counter again, letting the comfortable silence stretch its legs, half an eye on the window, watching the water run down the glass. 

"You could have said no, you know," Parker says suddenly, softly and he grunts as he ponders his answer. 

"I know," he starts, and shrugs. "I didn't want to say no." 

"Oh," she says, frowning like she's missed something and normally, he wouldn't have the words to explain it to her, but it's different somehow, in the warm kitchen and he shifts his weight a little, glancing at the timer before he starts talking. 

"I wanted to," he shrugs, "For a long time, all I did was destroy stuff. People, mostly." The words sting more than he expects coming out and he pauses, clearing his throat, taking the time to figure out what he wants to say next. "I was finding my way back from that when we did that first job, but I still had a ways to go. Creating rather than destroying helps." The words are sticking in his brain and he scratches his jaw, meeting her eyes, seeing understanding there, feeling the echo of another conversation like this. "You never expect me to give more than I can." He lifts a hand, gestures vaguely at the kitchen. "This, I can give. So, yes, I could have said no, but I didn't want to." The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile. "Even if you did ask for macarons on the worst possible day to make them." 

"You like them too," she protests, knowing that she's not the only one in the room with a sweet tooth. Eliot just hides his better, but she's never seen him turn down a donut yet. 

"I do," he agrees easily and shoves his hair back again. The humidity means it wants to fall in his face and his last two hair ties had mysteriously vanished. I'd order more, if I didn't think a quick sweep of the brew pub would turn up a dozen, he thinks. With three of them using them, the damn things seem to grow legs. 

"Here," Parker says and offers him a hair tie. 

He takes it, pretty sure it had started out life as one of his to begin with and puts his hair up, washing his hands just as the timer starts to beep. He turns off the tap and dries his hands as Parker silences the alarm, grabbing a dry dish towel before he pulls the sheet pan out of the oven. 

They're not his best batch ever - some are more oval than round, and he's enough of a perfectionist to find that annoying, but they smell great and he sets the sheet pan down on the cooling rack. 

"How soon can we eat them?" Parker asks and he swats her hand away as she reaches for one. 

"They're hot," he says absently, before he remembers that he's talking to Parker and she seems to spend a quarter of her life in places where anyone else would find the heat unbearable. "Let them cool, or they'll break when you move them," he adds. "It shouldn't take long." 

The kitchen is cool and he knows from experience that the macarons will be cold enough to handle pretty quickly. He just needs to distract Parker until that point. 

"There's sugar cookie dough in the fridge. We can shape those while these cool," he suggests and she brightens. 

"Can we make dinosaurs?" she asks, seeming to bounce on the spot without actually moving. 

"No," he says, because sugar cookies should be round and he's pretty sure the dinosaur cutters found a new home, far away from his kitchen. 

She frowns. "Animals then." 

He pulls the dough out of the fridge and sets it next to the ganache while he preps another sheet pan. "No," he says, because he's fairly sure the animal cutters went to live on the same farm as the dinosaurs. "Rounds are fine."

"You're no fun," she grumps and frowns at him, seeing the quirk in his lip that means he's secretly amused and not buying her act at all. 

"I made you two types of cookie," he protests, and reaches into the cupboard on the wall, pulling out a new blend of sprinkles. They're less lurid than her usual pick, but they're also dyed with natural extracts and not chemicals he can't pronounce and so he figures it's a decent trade off. 

"Ooh, sprinkles!" Parker says, grinning at him. "Sprinkles are fun." 

He cuts the log of cookie dough into neat, even slices and arranges them on the tray, reaching over to turn the oven up, wondering what to defrost for dinner. It's just him and Parker, for a change, because Nate and Sophie have a table booked at a fancy new restaurant and Hardison is at some game thing with his friends. Eliot doesn't rate the new restaurant - the menu is overly complicated, and he knows enough about Hardison's game nights to know he'll come home stuffed with enough cheap pizza, orange soda and gummy frogs to fuel a small army for a week. Parker would be quite happy with a bowl of whatever luridly coloured cereal she'd latched onto for the week, but Eliot is craving something rich and warming and comforting, because the weather shows no sign of improving. There's a ragu sauce in the freezer and he pulls it out, setting it aside to defrost, knowing there's fresh pasta in the fridge and homemade dinner rolls in the bread bin. 

Parker is rifling in the drawer next to her knees and pulls out a star shaped cutter. "Stars?" she says and waves it at him. 

"Fine," he says, and rolls his eyes. "Make half of them stars." 

She hops down and crosses to the sink to wash her hands, humming happily as she desecrates half of his perfectly round cookies. He sighs and presses the scraps together, wrapping them in plastic and dumping them in the fridge for later. The cookies will be a little tough, but that's nothing a glass of milk can't solve. 

The oven beeps to let him know it's reached temp, and he slides the cookie pan in, checking the macarons and finding them nicely cool. "You wanna fill these?" he asks as he gathers the stuff he needs for a simple glaze for the sugar cookies. "Just don't eat all of them," he warns as she takes the piping bag from his hands. 

It's the sort of kitchen task she's good at, hands that can crack a safe in seconds graceful as she works the piping bag. Piping makes his hands and wrists ache - he's broken too much stuff for there not to be consequences- so he's glad she took to it so readily. 

They work in comfortable silence as he sets the ragu sauce in a pan over a low flame to defrost and adds pasta to a second pan- fettuccine, not the one of the random bags of shaped pasta that keep appearing in his kitchen. He'd opened the cupboard and found pasta pandas a few weeks ago and wondered seriously if he'd taken one too many blows to the skull before Hardison claimed them. 

The glaze for the cookies comes together easily under his hands and he pours it into another piping bag to keep it from setting while they wait for the cookies to bake. There's lemon juice in it, to offset the sweetness of the cookies and for some reason, the combination reminds him of the team, all distinctive parts that come together to be better than they ever could be alone. 

He has nothing else to do for the moment and so turns to watch Parker as she finishes off the last few macarons, piping a neat dot of ganache on one before adding a second on top. There's a new smear of chocolate over her top lip and he reckons more than one has made its way into her stomach. 

There's an odd macaron left and she offers it to him. "They're really good," she says, around the bite in her mouth. "Is there a secret ingredient? What is it?" 

Love, he thinks and takes the macaron, knowing he's smiling again. "Now that would be telling," he says instead. 

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 41 - Ties

“Look what I’ve found,” Chaeyoung says as you open the door to your hotel room to find her leaning against the door frame, a bottle of amber liquor in her small hands.

You smirk at her before moving aside to let the young woman saunter into your room, your eyes admiring the lovely curve of her backside as she makes her way inside. She tosses a small plastic package onto the bed - even from the hotel room foyer you could tell they were probably zip ties.

“Is that whisky? There should be glasses on top of the mini bar-”

“We won’t need any,” she interrupts, before tearing the label from the bottle’s cap, casually tossing the label over her shoulder, and twisting off the cap. She takes a small swig right from its lips, her small features scrunching adorably as the bittersweet liquid enters her mouth.

“Fuck that’s smooth,” she says, giving the bottle an appraising look as she does so. When she looks back up at you, she raises her free hand, curling her fingertip into a ‘come hither’ motion.

Officer Miyawaki Sakura wasn’t a very good translator, if the exasperated look of frustration on Chou Tzuyu’s face was any indication.

“Tzuyu looks like she’s about to tear her head off,” Chaeyoung observes as you both observe the conversation being held in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s impound lot. 

“At least she’s trying her best,” you respond. Officer Miyawaki’s enthusiasm wasn’t lacking, even if her translation skills were. You found yourself wishing you’d just brought Sana along like you’d originally planned - Sana’s original position at JYP was as a translator, after all - but Tzuyu had already contacted Officer Miyawaki in advance and made arrangements for the meeting before you could suggest bringing a translator of your own.

“She’s a hot piece, at least. How long until you’re hitting that, boss?”

You bristle a little at Chaeyoung’s words, although considering your history with each of the girls on your team you suppose she couldn’t be blamed.

“You have a thing for Japanese girls, huh?” you counter, hoping to change the subject.

Chaeyoung shrugs. “I suppose. They’re hot as fuck. I wouldn’t mind taking that one for a ride.” 

You give Chaeyoung a smirk that she ignores, her hungry eyes locked on Sakura’s desperate attempts to translate the impound lot supervisor’s words into English for Tzuyu. The liaison officer ended up relying mainly on hand gestures and body movements when she failed to come up with the right English. You couldn’t fault Chaeyoung for staring - Sakura’s large, expressive eyes and her cute features made her easy on the eyes, a bit like an anime character come to life.

“Speaking of rides, at least she scored us this one,” you say, motioning with your head towards the shiny red Ferrari a few feet away.

“Fuck yeah,” Chaeyoung agrees, the expensive sports car finally enough to take her attention away from the increasingly intense conversation taking place at the other end of the lot. She strides over to the six figure car, reaching out and grazing its sleek lines with her fingertips. “You’ve gotta let me take this for a spin sometime, boss.”

“It’s not ours, Chaeyoung. It’s strictly for the party. I can’t have you running up speed tickets or scratching it up. I’m pretty sure it belongs to some Yakuza type. There’s probably a body in the trunk.”

“C’mon, you can’t get a ride like this and not red line it every now and then. That’s what they’re built for.”

“That’s not what this one is built for. This one is built for making me look like a gangster at that cocktail party.”

The Korean girl lets out a snort of frustration, until a look of realization dawns on her cute, small features. When she begins to saunter over to where you are standing, exaggerating every sway of her hips as a sly smile appears on her lips, you knew where she was going.

“Is there some way I can… convince you, boss?”

You sigh out loud, only half hoping to dissuade her from her line of thinking.

“No, you’re not gonna use sex to get a joyride in a Ferrari out of me. If you’ll recall the last time you seduced me you left me alone, zip tied to a van in a goddamn parking lot. I owe you for that.”

Chaeyoung smirks, a devilish hook at the corners of her mouth as she recalls that evening’s events.

“Don’t say you didn’t like it.”

“Not being able to cum after you had your way with me? Yeah, that was great.”

“Okay, okay, maybe that was a little unnecessary. But, I mean, before that, the sex was good. Slapping you around definitely got me off. You were right on the edge there, weren’t you?”

“Meh,” you reply, lying. “It was alright. Maybe some of it was pretty hot, but I’ve had better.”

Chaeyoung seemed at least partially offended by your response, if the look of shock on her face was anything to go by. The look is quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

“Who the hell are you fucking that’s better than me? Momo? I get it, she’s got the bod… but I bet it’s that Sana chick on your team, isn’t it? Girl looks dangerous, I bet she’s a fucking beast in the sack. Nevermind, I know who it is. Is it Mina? I guess I have a confession to make about her. Y’see boss, she’s-”

“Chaeyoung, the bottom line is you’re not taking the Ferrari. I’ll drive it back to the hotel, and then take it to the cocktail party. We’ll return it to Tokyo PD afterwards. That’s it.”

Chaeyoung pouts. The way that she stuck out her lower lip made her look adorable despite the fact that she was clearly upset at having lost her chance at a joyride in a luxury car. She gives you a dirty look, then looks back at the Ferrari, and then back at you, as though formulating her next course of action. Being refused an opportunity with the sports car and your negative appraisal of her sexual prowess had clearly offended her more than you had expected.

“Gah, fine. We’ll make a deal,” she says after a moment of contemplation.

“I’m listening.”

“You let me take the Ferrari out for a little spin tomorrow. In return, until the cocktail party, I’ll let you take your revenge for the way I treated you last time. You did say you wanted payback, didn’t you?”

“Chaeyoung, I’ve already told you - I’m not gonna take sex as payment for something.”

“Who said anything about it being payment? This is a mutually beneficial transaction. I’m not gonna lie, I haven’t had anything non-electronic between my legs since that time in the van. I’m horny as fuck and I need a dick in me. I get to cruise around Tokyo for a bit in a Ferrari, and you get your own little fucktoy in your hotel room for a couple of days. We both win. Sounds like a great fucking deal.”

You had to admit the prospect of extracting a measure of revenge from Chaeyoung appealed to you, as did the opportunity to blow off some steam before the cocktail party, when you’d need to be 100% on point.

“Alright, fine. Deal. But no leaving me zip tied to the bed while you go reenacting Tokyo Drift in a borrowed car.”

“Agreed!” Chaeyoung says, a sly smile on her lips.

“Bring the zip ties.”

“Oh, I will. You already know this, but it won’t be soft. You better be ready, you pussy.”

“So should you.”

---

“Look what I’ve found,” Chaeyoung says as you open the door to your hotel room to find her leaning against the door frame, a bottle of amber liquor in her small hands.

You smirk at her before moving aside to let the young woman saunter into your room, your eyes admiring the lovely curve of her backside as she makes her way inside. She tosses a small plastic package onto the bed - even from the hotel room foyer you could tell they were probably zip ties.

“Is that whisky? There should be glasses on top of the mini bar-”

“We won’t need any,” she interrupts, before tearing the label from the bottle’s cap, casually tossing the label over her shoulder, and twisting off the cap. She takes a small swig right from its lips, her small features scrunching adorably as the bittersweet liquid enters her mouth.

“Fuck that’s smooth,” she says, giving the bottle an appraising look as she does so. When she looks back up at you, she raises her free hand, curling her fingertip into a ‘come hither’ motion.

You take slow steps towards the girl, enjoying the look of arousal slowly beginning to appear on her face, right along with the blush on her cheeks as the alcohol takes swift effect on her body. When you reach her she wraps her right arm around your neck as you wrap yours around her torso, diving quickly into her neck to plant kisses on her soft skin.

You’d have been lying if you’d said you weren’t looking forward to having her show up at your door. From the moment you’d come to your little agreement involving the Ferrari you’d been looking forward to having your way with her tight little body. She was so different - both physically and in terms of her personality - from the other girls on your team. She didn’t give a damn about the relationships or drama in your life, being uninvested in any of what was going on around her beyond what she needed to do to get paid. 

Her laissez faire attitude towards everything and everyone around her made her so alluring, so attractive. Ever since the first time you had her in that van you knew you had to have more. She was, like the expensive-looking glass bottle of liquor in her hands - intoxicating.

With her left hand, still clutching the bottle of whisky, she takes another shot. With her right hand, she pulls you from her neck by the hairs on the back of your head and crushes your lips with hers - before she spits the whisky into your mouth.

You savor the taste of the bitter amber liquid in your mouth before swallowing it and relishing the slow burn of it as it flows down your throat, even if some of it  missed your mouth and dripped from your chin. It tasted like sin. It tasted like lust. The devilish look on Chaeyoung’s face as she licks the spilt liquor from your chin and throat drives you insane.

She gives you a torrid, passionate kiss full of need. With a hand on your chest, she pushes you onto the bed so you are sitting on its edge.

Her deep brown eyes lock with yours as she hands you the bottle before grasping the edge of her long-sleeved sweater and peeling it off, revealing her naked torso. The collection of tattoos she sported last time you saw her undressed had grown into an almost full sleeve on her right arm, colorful and vibrant in the warm hotel room light. Her cute, youthful features stood in perfect contrast to her tattoos, fashion sense, and the way she carried herself- a juxtaposition that made her so attractive and unlike any other girl you knew.

She is lean and wiry with muscle, small and tight. You’re immediately reminded of your impression of her the first time you saw her topless - a lean feline predator, muscles always tensed and ready to pounce, always on the hunt, always hungry for her next meal.

You take another shot of the whisky. The slow burn of it on your tongue and down your throat is surpassed only by the sheer heat emanating from the topless young woman in front of you.

Chaeyoung straddles you on the bed, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. As you explore each others’ mouths she reaches for the bottle and takes another swig - and you take the opportunity to plant needy kisses on her upper chest, your hands creeping up her tight sides until you are cupping and squeezing her small, cute little breasts.

You want to devour her small mounds with your lips and tongue - but you possess enough self-control to look up at her before you do so, finding her eyes half-lidded with liquor and lust as she wipes her mouth with the back of a hand. 

She brings the bottle to her mouth once more, but before it reaches her lips she lets it tip, spilling golden liquid over her chest and breasts.

You have only a second to admire the sight before you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. 

Her skin glistens with the whisky on it. It looks like spilt gold on pale vanilla. She smells like smokiness and lust. She tastes like cinnamon and sex.

Your tongue, saturated with whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Chaeyoung gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples - roughly, hungrily, like a starved animal devouring a long-awaited meal.

She is lost in the pleasure you are bringing to her body. So lost she doesn’t notice your right hand reaching for the package of zip ties she so casually discarded onto the bed, thinking she would be the one to use them on you.

How wrong she would be. 

You bring the package behind her, using your other hand to pick a zip tie from it before dropping it to the floor. Reaching for the bottle of whisky, you take it from her hand and place it onto the nightstand. It would be a shame to spill such fine liquor, after all.

Chaeyoung is in a daze, the liquor and your work on her breasts putting her into a lust and alcohol induced stupor.

A light “Whaa--?” is all she can muster as you gather her wrists behind her back, slip the zip tie over them, and close the plastic tie shut.

“It’s my turn tonight, Chaeyoung,” you hiss as you look into her eyes. There is a look of surprise there - but when she licks her lips and realizes what you’ve done, the look of surprise turns into a look of challenge.

“Then let’s see what you can do to me, you pussy.”

You half stand from bed, forcing her off your lap - although you grasp her naked back to ensure she didn’t go falling off it. You pull your boxers off your body, kicking them off with your feet, your t-shirt soon joining them on the floor. Naked now, you sit back down on the bed before you reach up and grasp the back of Chaeyoung’s head, forcing her down roughly onto her knees between your legs, your stiff shaft inches from her face.

You consider ordering her to suck your dick - vocalizing your demand. But in her eyes is a glint of defiance tinged with lust. She opens her mouth as if to say something defiant - and you take the opportunity to force your shaft into between her open lips.

The young woman gags initially as her mouth is invaded by hard flesh, and you feel a momentary tinge of regret with your roughness - but it soon disappears when Chaeyoung closes her lips around your shaft and you feel the wet warmth of her mouth for the first time.

You’d had more than your fair share of oral sex, especially in the past few months. Some were sublimely skilled, some passionate and caring - but few had the raw enthusiasm of Chaeyoung, who wasted no time with a slow ramping up of pleasure or technique. Almost as soon as you were in her mouth she was bobbing her head up and down between your legs, her tongue pressed tightly around your underside or swirling in random patterns around your head. 

Those full lips of hers created such a delicious friction around your shaft that you had to let your head fall back and sigh with pleasure involuntarily - something you rarely did when receiving oral, because you were usually focused on enjoying the sight of the woman between your legs working her magic. Not so with Chaeyoung. Not so with her straightforward, no-bullshit approach to pleasure and the acquisition thereof.

After a while you begin to thrust your hips up into her mouth as best you could given your sitting position, even resting your left hand onto the bed to give yourself more leverage. But soon even that is not enough - you need more, need to fully take this woman’s mouth, claim it as your own.

You rise from the bed until you are standing above her, Chaeyoung taking care not to let your cock slip out from her mouth for even a moment. You grasp the back of her head with your left hand and the bottle of whisky from the nightstand with the other. As you partake in another shot of liquor you begin fucking her mouth.

The audacity of it - fucking the helpless but wanton young woman’s mouth while you took shots of a fine, expensive whisky straight from the bottle - only heightened the delicious pleasure worming its way through every fibre of your being.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to approach orgasm. Not when the feel of the young woman’s helpless mouth around your cock is so delicious, so utterly sublime - made even more so by the sight of her, hands bound by her wrists behind her back, eyes occasionally looking up at you with equal parts lust and need and a little lingering defiance, as though she wanted to show you she was capable of taking everything you had to throw at her.

Oftentimes when it came to oral sex it was just a prelude, and you or your partner or both would stop before orgasm, saving your energy for the main event. Not so tonight, and not so with Chaeyoung. You knew you had time to spare. And you knew this was just the beginning. For now, there was a lesson to be taught.

With a few last thrusts into her wet, hot mouth you bury your cock as deeply between her lips as it will go, her cute little nose bottomed out against your crotch as you finally let your orgasm overtake you and you send thick, hot semen directly down her throat.

You watch, half-drunk with both lust and liquor, as the look of resistance remains in Chaeyoung’s eyes even as she struggles, partially in vain, to swallow your seed fast enough. When begins to gag, you finally relent and remove your cock from her mouth - she coughs and spits out only enough cum to ensure she can breathe freely again before looking back up at you, a spill of semen dripping from her lips. She opens her mouth to show you a tongue thick with cum before closing it and working her throat, swallowing every drop she could.

“You like the taste of that, Chaeyoung?” you ask, the words leaving your mouth sharply.

“Meh,” she replies, eyes bold. “It was alright. I’ve had better.”

You let a smile appear on your lips. You are still clutching the hair at the back of her head, and you press her face against your still-half hard cock, still slick with your cum and her spit.

“Of course you have… you-”

“Do it. Fucking do it, you pussy. Call me what you want to call me.” Her tongue darts out to lick slick juices from your shaft, even as you smear the slick flesh against her face. “Or are you too much of a gentleman to call a woman a dirty word? Too used to fucking proper little princesses with feelings and shit? Do it. Call me what you want.”

“You fucking slut.”

There is a new glint in Chaeyoung’s eyes as you call her that name, as though it triggered something inside her that had been dormant for too long. A new hunger. She gives your cock a long lick from base to tip.

“Show me how you fuck a slut.”

You weren’t quite sure what came over you - perhaps the newfound liberty of knowing you could call Chaeyoung whatever you wanted triggered the same thing inside you as it did inside the needy, wanton young woman on her knees before you. Whatever it was, you surprised yourself with how quickly you pulled her from her knees - by her hair - and pushed her onto the side of the bed, face down, her bound arms unable to break her fall.

Her round, tight little ass in the air was too delicious to resist for much longer. You take another shot of the whisky - and by now you were a little more than half drunk - and slam it down on the nightstand before grasping the hem of Chaeyoung’s black sweatpants and ripping them from her body, finally leaving her naked and revealing the full, cute cheeks of her butt - and the glistening flesh between them.

You reach down and touch the drenched lips of her pussy, finding her dripping with need.

“Look at you, all wet and hot over a little blowjob. Swallowing my cum really got you off, didn’t it? Such a fucking slut,” you hiss, your fingertips playing lazily with her slick flesh, teasing her opening but not penetrating, watching her squirm and writhe on the bed in a vain attempt to force you to do more to her wanton body.

“Is that what makes your other girls cum? Just a finger in their pussy?”

You slide a finger inside her to the first knuckle, and when she quivers and twitches deliciously, you push deeper until you are two knuckles deep. Soon you add a second finger into her heat, enjoying the feel of her plentiful juices already gathering in your palm as you finger fuck her with slow strokes of your digits.

“You like that, don’t you? Look at you. Drenched already from a little finger fucking.”

“I want something bigger in there. Shut the fuck up and stick your cock in me already.” 

A devilish smile finds its way unto your lips as you grasp the young woman’s hips and bring your own to meet hers, your quickly hardening cock resting between the cheeks of her ass. You give her a few shallow strokes, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh on either side of your shaft as she squirms and writhes atop the bed - impatient, needy.

You reach down, placing the tip of your new rock hard cock against her slick lips, swirling the sensitive head around the entrance to her body, enjoying the feel of her heat and the slick wetness of her juices. 

“Beg for it, Chaeyoung.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses.

“I think you’re the one that’s about to be fucked.”

“Oh yeah? Then fucking do it, you pussy.”

Her constant resistance to you annoys you - angers you, even. Naked, bent over the side of the bed, arms bound behind her back, already helpless to your will; but still defiant, calling you names, challenging your every move.

You give her taut ass a firm slap, eliciting a sharp, unexpected yelp from the girl. You bend over her, grasping the back of her head once more, pulling at her hair and lifting it from the bed. As you bend over you allow your cock to press a little deeper between the wet lips of her pussy. Her flesh quivers. Her body trembles.

“Fucking beg for it, you slut.”

Chaeyoung breathes sharply from her nose, teeth still gritted, struggling to hold on to the remainder of her defiance, knowing that she was so close to getting what she desired and what her body needed.

“F-fuck you, you p-pussy.”

You pull back on her head. She yelps in unexpected but delicious pain. You penetrate her a little more, the entire head of your cock now buried into her entrance, her slick lips wrapped around it as though not wanting to let it go.

“What was that?”

A few moments pass. Moments of delicious silence. Her body quivers, betraying the needs of her body. 

“F-fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me already! I want it. Give it to me. Fuck me like the little slut that I am. Fuck me over and over and make me your little fucktoy. Your little slut!”

A dam broken, a trigger pulled. 

You push her head back down onto the bed. You grasp her hips, plant your feet, and drive yourself into her hot, tight little pussy.

No build up, no slow and steady increase in pace or depth. From the very beginning you are fucking Son Chaeyoung with hard, stiff strokes, nailing her tight, taut little body into the bed with each entry and exit of your cock into her dripping hot pussy.

The hotel room is filled with the sounds of hot flesh slapping against hot flesh; your soft grunts of effort; and Chaeyoung’s wordless cries of pleasure, both airy sighs and some deeper moans - all combining to fill the air with an unfiltered soundtrack of sex and lust.

“F-fuck! Fuck me!” Chaeyoung gasps, finally managing to form her moans and gasps into coherent words, even if they were stifled by the fact that half her face was buried in the bed. You slap her ass in response until the cheeks grow red. Your hips move faster, pistoning in and out of her body. Her pussy responds with each penetration - growing tighter, wetter, hotter.

The pleasure in your loins and the liquor in your blood have made you drunk, yes, but added to those already potent poisons is the sense of accomplishment - of finally having broken Son Chaeyoung, of having finally achieved some measure of revenge for the way she left you unfulfilled during your last meeting. Watching her helpless body on the bed, unable to do anything but take your pistoning cock in and out of her needy pussy, intoxicated you more than the liquor ever could.

You smack her ass with an open palm, her tight little butt now red and sore, each slap eliciting a short yelp or soft gasp from the bound young woman. You relished the control and power you had over her, bending over to grasp her slim shoulders and using them as leverage to drive yourself deeper and harder into the soft wet hole between her legs. It is harsh, hard, callous, the way you are fucking her - but her loud grunts and moans indicated that she had no qualms with the way she was being treated. Quite the opposite, in fact - she loved it. Loved being fucked hard, loved being used like a mere toy.

You do your best to savor every moment, every thrust of your cock into her body. You relish the sight of her bound hands, her fingers curled just as her toes surely were, seeking some sort of outlet for the pleasure erupting from between her legs to invade every inch of her taut little body. The sounds of her moans and gasps spilling unbidden and unhindered from lips equally drunk as yours. Above all was the feel of her body - of her slim hips and tight ass beneath your clenching palms, and the silken wet sheath of her pussy as you fuck her with hard, stiff strokes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck - I- I’m gonna fucking cum! Your slut’s gonna cum on your cock!” she gasps.

You were nearing your own breaking point. Quicker than you thought, but the tight little orgasming pussy wrapped around your cock was pushing you right to the edge. You grit your teeth as you struggle to hold on amidst the hurricane of pleasure overtaking your senses.

It takes the greatest of your efforts to hold on as she orgasms, her pussy tightening and pulsating in random patterns around your cock, the whole of her body turning into a quivering mess atop the bed, mouth frozen open in a wordless gasp, hands behind her back clutching at nothing. 

You fuck her through the entirety of her orgasm, teeth gritted, hands gripping her tiny waist and slim hips so hard you knew you’d be leaving bruises there the next day. But you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was fucking the young, tight little slut on your cock.

It takes Chaeyoung almost a minute to recover from her orgasm. The whole time you’d been drilling her into the bed. When she is finally able to, she turns her head as best she can to look at you, mouth agape, saliva dripping messily from the corner of her mouth. The very picture of a young woman lost in the throes of lust and sex. 

“Fucking cum in me,” she says, the words a desperate hiss, “fucking fill your slut with your cum!”

Another trigger. Another sudden blaze of lust and alcohol fueled anger. You reach down and grasp the back of her head, fingertips pulling hard at the hair on her scalp until she is almost standing upright in front of you. You bury your cock inside her, eliciting a yelp from her throat, before bringing your mouth next to her ear as you fill her small hole with stiff meat.

“I don’t cum inside sluts.”

Before she can react you push her down onto the bed again and resume fucking her helpless body. 

Your orgasm comes soon after. It takes every ounce of self-control in your body to pull your aching cock from the grasping lips of her pussy. Grasping your cock with your right hand, you pump it quickly, and soon your orgasm overtakes you as you cum and spurt thick, hot ropes of cum onto Chaeyoung’s raised ass and lower back, painting her pale skin with white semen.

Your world collapses as you cum, your senses refusing to work all at once as the liquor, physical exertion, and the sheer pleasure of your orgasm all combine to overload your brain. For a few moments you feel as though a heavy mist has descended over you.

Pleasure. For a few delicious moments, with your senses dulled and unable to process anything else, it was all that existed. You relish it, breathe in its sweet warmth as it worms its way throughout your body.

When you are able to open your eyes again, the sight of Chaeyoung, face down on the bed, raised ass painted with streaks of thick hot semen, is the first thing to greet your weary eyes.

“I fucking… wanted you... to cum inside me,” she manages to say, her face half buried in bedsheets and messy blonde hair.

You bend over her wet, sweaty body to bring your mouth to her ear.

“I will, soon enough. But I didn’t get what I wanted in the van, so this time you won’t, either.”

You give her ass a spank, delighting in the sight of your cum as it flowed down her still-upraised cheeks to stain the pristine white bed sheets; you looked forward to adding more filth to it in the day or so to come before the cocktail party. You slowly make your way to the washroom to clean yourself up, taking one last moment to relish in the sight of Chaeyoung’s spent, well-fucked body still sprawled on the bed, still face down, breathing heavily in an attempt to recover from the way you had used her. She makes no effort to move, much less remove the zip ties binding her arms behind her back.

You pick up the discarded package of zip ties from the floor and place it on the night stand. They’d be needed soon enough.

“For now, we’re even,” you tell her.

---

It didn’t take long for you to follow up on your promise to cum inside Chaeyoung - following a quick rest you were both right back at it, and soon, on her back with her legs on your shoulders and her wrists zip tied to the corners of the bed, you finally came inside her, filling her small, tight little body with a generous load of thick semen for the first of what was probably going to be many times.

It was still warm and dripping from her needy pussy when she pushed you into the washroom, ostensibly to clean up, but in reality because she had suddenly decided she wanted sex in the shower. Soon she was pressed against the shower wall, wrists zip tied above her to the shower head, her cute little tits pressed against the steamy, wet tile as you fucked her from behind and filled her already dripping pussy with a second load of cum. 

The girl was almost as insatiable as Nayeon - it took only the greatest of self-discipline (and the fact that your cock was now sore with exertion) to pull her hungry mouth from your cock long enough to get dressed. Even as you tossed on sweatpants and a hoodie, she tried to lick your combined juices from your sore shaft, zip ties in one hand, almost begging you to tie her up again. 

The sex and the liquor had made you both hungry, and you volunteered to go to the convenience store across the street to grab a cheap (but still delicious, as most convenience store food was in Asia) dinner. Within a few minutes you are on your way back to the hotel with a few full bags of food, liquor and sports drinks - you had a feeling you’d need a healthy amount of supplies to keep you going for the next day and a half if Chaeyoung’s appetite for sex over the past few hours was any indication.

It was by sheer coincidence that you happen to catch a glimpse of two women in the midst of a conversation inside the small coffee shop that was in the entrance hall of the hotel. While the glass to the coffee shop is tinted, you see enough to reveal to you that it is Nayeon and Sana.

You watch as they finish their conversation - Sana, appearing ever bright and friendly, offers Nayeon a warm hug which the older girl hesitantly accepts. Sana follows it up with a cheerful smile and wave goodbye before she leaves the coffee shop using a side exit - an odd choice, given that the main exit through the hotel’s entrance was closer.

You catch a glimpse of her as she leaves, noticing that the bright, friendly aura she’d had a moment prior had been replaced with a look of quiet determination.

Likewise, in the coffee shop, Nayeon’s friendly and polite exterior had similarly left her face, being replaced now with a worried look, as though she were suddenly deep in thought. It was enough to cause you to approach her.

“Hey,” you say in greeting, “I just saw Sana leave. Everything okay?”

“Just fine,” she says, her eyes giving you a head to toe scan before straying to the full bags of food and drink in your hands. “I see you’re stocking up for a day full of fun before our operation in a couple of days. Which girl is it?” she asks, a poorly-hidden streak of disdain in her voice.

It surprised you somewhat that she was able to deduce what you were up to with a mere glance at your appearance and what you were carrying. But Nayeon had always been a sharp one - observant and quick to pick up on the details - and you supposed that was what made her such a good detective.

“Doesn’t matter. Can I ask what that conversation was about? You looked pretty worried just now.”

“Don’t you have some needy young lady upstairs somewhere that you need to attend to?”

“It can wait. And this is my team, even if you’re running this particular operation. I should know what’s going on.”

Nayeon relents with a sigh, beckoning you to take the seat across from her, which you take.

“Sana wanted to meet up with me to discuss the operation - on the downlow, of course, so if it comes up, this conversation never happened. Anyway, she was wondering which of the three Japanese team members you’d be taking on-site with you to the cocktail party.”

“I was wondering that myself. Each of them seemed pretty eager to be the one that goes on-site.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been putting a lot of thought into it as well. It’s a pretty big decision. Mina was my second pick and she would have been great, what with that entire high-class princess aura she’s got going on, but JYP pulled her into a video conference call scheduled at the same time - something about a legal matter in your European offices. Whatever the reason, she’s unavailable.”

“She was the second pick? Who was your first?”

“Momo. She’s got good on-site decision making and preparation. You know she’d do her homework and be ready to act on it the day of the op. Not to mention she’s hot as fuck and she’d probably turn some heads at the party, so she could use that to her advantage to wrestle some leads from loose tongues.”

“Agreed. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I did. Until that conversation just now with Sana.”

You feel the beginnings of concern arising in the corners of your brain. Sana had been hard-working and supportive since the resolution of the entire Choa and Jeongyeon kidnapping episode, working steadily and doing her part whenever she was called upon. And while you and the rest of the team had long since forgiven her for the betrayal she’d pulled in Taiwan involving the theft of Seolhyun’s data, you’d never forgotten what she was capable of. 

“Go on,” you say, equal parts afraid and curious of what Sana had to say to Nayeon.

“She wants to be the one to go on-site with you. Mina’s unavailable so she’s out of the running, but Sana brought up some questions about Momo - like her questionable fluency in Japanese, and how that could blow your cover. She also mentioned how she’s more focused and determined, whereas Momo tends to get frazzled and blank out sometimes mid-op when she’s faced with unexpected events; you saw how dazed she was immediately after the shooting in Seoul.”

You think back to the events in Red Velvet’s apartment, and it was true - the gunshots had dazed everyone, but Momo especially. She was in a dazed stupor that you had to physically shake her out of.

“And this is just me speaking,” Nayeon continues, “but I think Sana looks a little more approachable. She can be hot and cute, depending on the circumstances. That might open up more opportunities to approach men with different tastes.”

You take a moment to digest Nayeon’s words, and how they confirmed your suspicions - that Sana was undermining Momo again behind the older girl’s back. The drama she’d stirred up in Hawaii regarding her feelings for you hadn’t long left your mind, and you wondered how much it played into her desire to ensure that she, not Momo, would be the one to spend some intimate, private time with you during the operation.

“And what do you think, Nayeon?” you ask, curious to see if Sana’s charms had worked on the detective.

“Firstly I see right through that little ‘I’m the cutest most friendliest girl in the whole world’ schtick she’s got going on. I know she’s smarter than she lets on… but she brings up good points. I was pretty set on Momo, but after that conversation, I’m not so sure.”

Nayeon looks towards the coffee shop exit Sana used to leave the hotel, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

“I’m going to be honest,” she continues, “I think either of them would be a good pick. What about you? Who would you rather bring with you?”

You take a moment to consider the situation. It was clear Sana had ulterior motives behind her desire to go on the operation, even if she did bring up good points regarding how useful she could be in comparison to Momo. You’d been putting it off for awhile, but perhaps it was time to set the record straight with Sana regarding her feelings for you and how they were affecting the team. If you set her straight before the operation and asked her to put aside her feelings for you for now, the operation itself would be a good way to test her dedication to her promise.

The fact that Sana had gone out of her way to approach Nayeon and argue her case for selection also raised your suspicions - the fact that she did so secretly, without going through you, only raised them further. She’d been hard-working and diligent in her duties, but until now she’d only been assigned or selected for those duties by you or someone else on the team. She’d never volunteered for an operation. Surely her desire to undermine your relationship with Momo played some part in her actions, but you were curious if she had any further motives to be on-site beyond that.

There was only one way to be sure. You stand and gather the bags at your feet before giving Nayeon your decision.

“Tell Sana she’s the one going on the op.”

---

Author’s Note: And that’s (probably) the last chapter for the year! There will be a separate thank-you post to wrap up the year as it’s been a big one for me and my work. 

Until then I hope everyone’s safe and enjoying the holidays. Best wishes to you and all your loved ones :)

[sunsoothed]

lightness

jang hanseo character study kinda fic i promised. i'm not sure if this is a character study anymore. i have no idea what this became. anyway! i wanted to explore hanseo and give him a bit of a backstory, so here it is!

*deep breath* content warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, physical abuse, blood, injury, canonical character death (not hanseo), recreational drug use, underage drug use, implied drug abuse

word count: 1866

read on ao3

hope you like it!

-

When Jang Hanseo is seven, he is acquainted with elder brother. Regal; nine-years-old and already hunting.

He still hides behind their father with him when he pretends to be terrified of the sound of gunfire.

Hanseo says nothing. He never brings up how his brother had thrown the bloodied rabbit and his rifle to the servant attending him, never brings up how thoroughly he washed his hands to hide the evidence of his independence from his father.

Never brings up how his brother assessed him with just a look and nothing more.

The first words Jang Hanseo’s brother says to him are as follows:

“Don’t call me hyung.”

Jang Hanseo blinks, traces his eyes over the leather of his brother’s jacket, over the blood that drips from his gloves, over the rifle he holds in his hands. He smiles.

“Okay, hyung-nim!”

A scoff, but some appraisal. Jang Hanseo doesn’t understand the half-smile he receives that autumn afternoon, but he remembers it until he beats his brother with a hockey stick, striking his head trice ‘til he’s out and his back once just for good measure, just to see the blood coming up to his mouth for him to choke on.

-

The first time his brother hits him, Jang Hanseo is eight. The ice rink is dark, and his brother is more geared up than he is.

Jang Hanseo misses thrice, scores once. He is rewarded with a swipe of the hockey stick on the back of his calf, and he thinks it is a game.

For that, he is rewarded with his first broken bone and a seared memory of a hand heavy on his throat. A laugh without mercy.

-

When Jang Hanseo is thirteen, he is offered alcohol at a party his father is hosting.

He declined, having seen first-hand what alcohol does to you, what a rage it puts his father in as he breaks porcelain, the scar he left on his mother’s cheek that lasted till the day she died.

-

When Jang Hanseo is fourteen, his brother kills four people. Classmates, he tells him, when he comes home with red speckled on his face. They weren’t worthy of being my classmates.

-

Jang Hanseo celebrates his fifteenth birthday with the diagnosis of his brother being a psychopath and accidentally tearing open the letter of a one-way ticket to the United States.

Instead of cake, he consumes his own blood, and instead of a pat on the back, he has a dislocated shoulder.

When he wakes a day later hooked to an IV, his brother is gone. The phantom of his laugh lives on, searing long into Hanseo’s conscience.

-

At fifteen-and-a-half, his father sends Hanseo to his grandmother’s for the summer. His father is undergoing a trial, on the charges of bribery, abetting murder, and perjury. With one son shipped off to the States and another to Jeju Island, he has no pawns he will feel ill about sacrificing. It’s not that he loves them. It’s that letting your son die because the ransom money you can very well afford would require you to take some shares out, and that’s too tedious of a process to go through.

So Jang Hanseo boards the short flight, stares out of the window for the longest one hour and fifteen minutes of his life so far. He’s never met his grandmother.

He wonders if she’s like his father, knowing she’s raised him, or if she’s worse.

She’s leagues different from anyone in his family.

Halmeoni scans him up and down when the driver drops him off at her estate. At the front door itself, she says, “We have a lot of fixing-up to do.”

It leaves an impression, that’s for sure.

-

The best summer of his life, Hanseo learns how to uproot weeds and catch a chicken without screaming like his life was being threatened. His halmeoni owns a farm, some 150 acres of greenery and animal and mansion.

Halmeoni teaches him first how to eat well, how to fill his plate and not feel bad about it, how to overeat and regret it. Halmeoni teaches him second that he is the most important person to himself; never his father, and not his hyung-nim.

Halmeoni teaches him third that he has no one else in the world but himself.

This, Jang Hanseo remembers the most.

(But his brother’s —)

-

With his brother’s absence, an anxiety sets into Hanseo’s veins so intensely that upon looking up his symptoms, he sees words like psychosis and personality disorder and promptly closes his laptop shut.

Unbidden, but not unwelcome, he remembers the rages his father fell into. He remembers the embers of gold in those small wide glasses that abeoji owned, remembers the crates of bottles that they used to have moved into the house. He also recalls the putrid smoke that used to emerge from the study. The smell of something burnt and something that made him cough so hard it alerted his father of his presence.

It’s in the boys washroom that he smells the scent again. By the open window, out curls smoke.

Jang Hanseo catches the eye of the assailant. Oh Yeonwoo will get him into this mess and then out. He will be Hanseo’s first true friend.

-

Jang Hanseo tries it for the first time on the terrace of the school. One joint between the two of them and nothing but heaving coughs from him until he learns how to take air after smoke and allow its natural passage back up. The joint is over by then, and Hanseo feels nothing.

Yeonwoo bumps their shoulders together, carelessly tossing the filter over the railing of the terrace. “You’ll get the hang of it,” He assures. “I didn’t even make it after a couple of joints, so you’re doing better than me already.”

Hanseo lends him a half-smile. Better than him, he thinks. When have I ever been better than anyone?

“Hanseo-yah, what’re you thinking with that scowl, hm?” Yeonwoo bumps their shoulders together again. “You’re so scary when you space out.”

“I am?”

Yeonwoo nods again. Hanseo notes something hazy in his eyes, something completely unguarded in his demeanour. He blinks cautiously.

“Hanseo-yah,” Yeonwoo whines, “Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not,” He replies. “Are —” Are you okay? Hanseo was going to ask. Stupid. Yeonwoo has settled against his shoulder now, humming some tune. He stretches his legs out in front of him and sways his feet to the rhythm. He seems better than okay.

So this is what it does, Hanseo thinks. Lightness. He wants to be light.

-

And so, Jang Hanseo, age sixteen, falls into something whose magnitude he cannot guess. Addiction is only the half of it. The other half had started the day Yeonwoo showed him something called shotgunning, which had taken his first kiss and his first experience with intoxication whose harm had lasted longer than its euphoria.

When he lies beside Yeonwoo, all too hot and all too cold, unable to distinguish which fingers are his when they hold hands, he finds it. The lightness. When Yeonwoo turns and exhales into his neck, prickling sweat and prickling hair to stand on edge, Hanseo smiles.

And when Hanseo wakes up, the dread in his gut is deeper than it’s ever been.

(— his brother’s —)

-

So it seems that boys with no family and boys with brothers who know nothing but violence and boys with a terrible, terrible blankness to them can also, by some grace of humanity, fall in love. And so it seems, as Hanseo feels the telltale thumping of his heart and lightness in his abdomen, that Yeonwoo will keep having this effect on him.

Subtlety, Yeonwoo tells him, the afternoon they sit on the roof and stare at the sky and at the smoke. Subtlety will let you get away with everything.

Subtle touches, then. Hanseo’s fingers lingering a moment too long on Yeonwoo’s arm, Hanseo’s hand firm between his shoulder blades. Subtle words, and subtle smiles, and subtle smoke between their mouths as they chase lightness.

Subtle kisses, too, when Hanseo feels he can see his own eyes in Yeonwoo’s, when Hanseo still finds the thrill of sealing his lips with Yeonwoo’s to be a minefield of his own feelings. Subtle kisses that Yeonwoo always blackens — drags them down into teeth and tongue and desire. Hanseo doesn’t know, then, that this is what differentiates them. What puts him on a curved, unshapely parabola and Yeonwoo on a straight line.

Feral, Hanseo once thinks, his gaze only slightly unclouded, as Yeonwoo bites at his lips, his neck. Feral, in the way he never kisses to coax Hanseo’s mouth open; never to cherish feeling. Only to chase after something so much deeper.

-

At seventeen, Jang Hanseo implodes from heartbreak.

Transfer student. Short, ebony hair, in that oh-so-timeless straight bob. He has a nice smile, even Hanseo can tell, and he has a charming walk. He’s also assigned a seat beside him. This, of all things, was the catalyst.

Yeonwoo didn’t want to kiss him anymore. Yeonwoo wanted to smoke with him, but Yeonwoo also bought a new companion along with him. Yeonwoo, it seemed, never wanted what Hanseo did. Yeonwoo, it seemed, never felt the way Hanseo did.

Hanseo knows that he knew, somewhere, beneath what his world had become, that this would not stand for long. Its foundations were, in the end, smoke.

-

But it does not surprise him, Hanseo thinks, seventeen and a quarter, something vile in his veins. It does not surprise him that he’s here.

His head hits, dully, the floor under him. He laughs. And he laughs some more, as the world turns from dust to sky to ocean. And he waits for the servants to find him in his father’s study.

-

They tell him that he’s lucky, later, in the hospital. Jang Hanseo thinks this is what death feels like, on the verge of eighteen. He states blinking at the ceiling. Hospital rooms are white on all six sides, and heaven is supposed to be white on all six sides as well. He wants to laugh, so he does.

And it hurts.

Hanseo stops laughing.

(— his brother’s laugh —)

-

Hanseo laughs. Ten years past, ten years perished, Hanseo laughs until his heart hurts. His brother’s heart is still beating. His blood is still warm, the three hits to his head and one to his back hadn’t kept him down. Hanseo laughs as the blood splatters on his face, sprinkled red on his chin and lips, a sprinkled red dancing in his eyes as he brings the hockey stick down, down, down.

For everything Hanseok has made him — less, more, just enough. For all these little things that had changed Hanseo more than broken bones could. For lost love. For things that weren’t, in the end, Hanseok’s fault.

Hanseo beats him till his heart stops fighting back and the blood pooled in his mouth flows quietly. Till Hanseo feels no fight left in him, and then some, till the exhaustion in him takes over.

Hanseo slumps over his brother’s dead body, and Hanseo laughs.

(But his brother’s laugh will always be louder.)

[heychangbin]

Ten Rounds, All Bullseyes

Wordcount: 1963

Warnings: None really.

A/N: so this was another writing exercise that kinda got away from me and thought was good enough to post. 

Billy picked up the rifle, the pressure of the butt against his shoulder and the feel of his index finger of his right hand resting against the trigger guard felt effortless, second nature, like breathing or coming home from a long day and plopping down on his couch. He lowers his head, the slight tension he had felt dissipating as the apple of his cheek presses against the cool metal of the safety mechanism housing. He grips the forestock, elevating the barrel as he lines the sight at the end with his target.

He feels his military training kick in as his eyes zero in on the center of his target, his mind blocking out everything around him, the sound of blaring sirens, kids laughter, grown up chatter, and the hot sun hitting the back of his head and neck; nothing else exists in this moment, nothing but the bright red center at the end of his barrel.

He takes a breath, then another for good measure and takes his finger off the trigger guard, the edge of the thin metal scraping against the callous that never seems to completely fade as he slips his finger between the guard and trigger, then pulls. 

His eyes darted to the next target and with practiced ease lockson and fires again. He could faintly make out a scream but the sound is too far away and there are more targets he needs to take out. With lighting speed he shifts and adjusts his stance, rising and lowering his aim before firing again. And again, and again. 

Billy aims and fires until there aren’t any remaining targets and it's only then that he allows his senses to come back, the space around his erupt in a cacophony of sound, screaming children, too loud music, blaring sirens and vendors calling out prizes or taunts. The air once again has the scent of deep fried foods, butter, too sweet lemonade, burnt bread, boiled hot dogs, spilled beer and he could make out the acrid smell of vomit in the air, making him wince as he feels everything wash over him.

“That was some nice shootin’ there son,” says the man behind the low wooden bar, walking over to the back of the stall, gripping and rising the top of his black pants through his light blue t-shirt  before reaching for one of the larger bears prizes he has hanging on the back corner of his game stall. “Hang aroun’ the shootin’ rage a lot?” he asks as he plops the bear down in front of him. 

“Not really, no.” Billy says with a small chuckle as he gently lowers the rifle but the smile on Billy’s face disappears when he picks up his prize, the back of the bear is slightly faded on one side, the tails of the red ribbon around its neck fraying, and the black bead that serves as its left eye looks like it’s hanging on by a single thread.

He lifts his head and the glare he shoots at the vendor has nothing to do with the reflection of the sun on the small laminate IDing him as Jeff hanging around his neck. 

“Pay for another round or take your prize and walk.” he says, crossing his arms as his eyes looking out at the crowd that's passing behind Billy

Is this guy really tryin’ ta …. Billy scans the prizes hanging around the small game stall, zeroing in on a pristine giant multi colored monstrosity that he would never give a second look at, let alone walk around a fair with for five minutes let alone the next two hours, but you, you might like it and that was enough for him.

“How much for that one?” he said, nodding in the direction of the giant prize.

The vendor looked in the direction that Billy’s eyes were trained on and chuckled, shaking his head before looking back at the passersby.

“That one there is ten rounds sonny, all pellets hittin’ the bullseye.”

Billy felt his nostrils flare,he knew the guy was trying to scam him, he had been to the fair with the Castles and won his fare share of prizes for Lisa, Frank Jr., Maria, and, on one memorable birthday weekend, for Frank to know the guy was pulling something. He tossed the bear on the low counter and reached for his wallet, taking out a few bills and slapping them on the counter, just out of the man's reach before picking up the rifle and positioning it loosely against the crook of his shoulder again.

Jeff looked at Billy for a moment before uncrossing his arms and walking over to where Billy was standing and picking up the money Billy had tossed on the low partition before fiddling with the chain that kept the rifle linked to the game stall.

“You gotta walk back the length of the chain.” he said before turning and walking to the side of the cut out wall that had the little targets.

Billy arched his right brow questioningly as they stared at each other for a beat before Jeff raised his hand and made a waving back motion.He grit his teeth and took a deep breath before taking a careful step back, then another and another. He was more than a couple feet away from where he was standing originally before the thin chain tensed and the guy nodded and flipped a hidden switch, starting the game back up. 

Lights flashed and an annoying western type tune began playing making Billy pick up the rifle and press it against the crook of his shoulder, his senses focusing and zeroing in when his eye aligned with the sight at the end of the barrel, 

As soon as the first target popped up, Billy took aim and shot it down, his eyes darting to the next bullseye, pulling the trigger and the target going down with a dainty clink, the next popping up almost instantly. Targets continued to pop up and Billy kept shooting, each going down with a clink that made Billy smile internally.

He was halfway through the third round when out of the corner of his eye he saw Jeff’s hand flip a switch making the targets pop out two at a time, he was expecting it and if he was being honest he had been expecting it sooner.

He quickly adjusted his speed, shooting the targets just as quickly as they were coming up, vaguely aware of the small crowd that was forming around him. 

When the last clink sounded Billy couldn't help the self satisfied smile that spread across his lips when he saw the look of defeat cross Jeff’s face and a few people clapping behind him and commenting on his shooting skills as he lowered the rifle and strutted back to the edge of the bar, placing it on the bar and nodding in the direction of the giant prize he was going to be walking around with until he meet back up with the Castle brood. 

Jeff scratched at his chin for a beat, staring at Billy the whole time but Billy just continued to smile and wait going as far as bouncing a few times on the balls of his feet.

“I can wait for my prize for as long as you want Jeff.”

It was then that Jeff moved and plucked the giant multi colored mess and handed it to Billy, it was heavier than he expected and the bright colored fur felt softer than it looked.He said a quick and polite thanks before wrestling the stuffed animal under his arm and started in the direction of the burger stall he knew he’d find the Castles and you.

He smiled at the thought of the look that would cross your face when you saw him walk up with this thing under his arm and hand it to you. 

He spotted you and the Castles a few minutes later, gathered around a ring toss game, throwing the small red rings half haphazardly at the different colored glass bottles, the majority of them bouncing off the lip, others missing their mark completely. 

He watched you from afar for a second more, wincing when one of your rings bounced off the single dark blue bottle at the very center of the table. 

He saw you take the last of your rings, aim and toss, the ring bouncing off the lip of a yellow bottle and land around the neck of a clear one. He chuckled at your excited squeal at having won, you and the kids jumping as you pointed to your ring, your hands shooting up to catch the large dark sunglasses resting atop your head  as they fell onto your face in your excitement.

He walked over just as you pointed at and claimed your prize, a small lion you handed to Lisa as soon as it was in your hands.

“Where’d you get that Bill?” asked Frank when he turned and saw Billy a few steps away, his face barely containing the teasing smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips as everyone turned in his direction, eyes going wide as they took in the stuffed animal he held.

“Won this bad boy doin’ what I do best Frankie.” 

“Talkin’?” sassed Maria from beside Frank, making everyone chuckle

“Oh, ha ha.” he deadpanned back at her.

“Alright, come on guys, lets go get some lunch.” said Frank, tossing his arm around Marias shoulders, bringing her close to his side, turning them around and heading towards the carousel at the center of the fair that was in front of their favorite burger stall; Lisa and Frank Jr. looking at each other and saying a quick “race ya!” before going around them and breaking out into a run, leaving you and Billy behind to catch up.

Billy smiled as he took the few steps needed to stand in front of you, taking the stuffed animal from under his arm and held it out for you, you reached out your hands and took it from him, letting out a little “oof” when you felt the complete weight of it in your arms.

“More of a big boy than a bad boy.” you said, raising it enough so that its face was in front of yours, “how many games did you have to win to win this?”

He smiled as you brought the stuffed animal closer, hugging it close to your chest with a muttered so soft as you rocked your body from side to side.

“Not nearly enough,” he whispered as he looked at the smile that threatened to split your face in half. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans as the reality of his words sank in, there wasn’t anything Billy wouldn’t do or no amount of money he wouldn't pay to see your eyes light up with happiness.

“Thank you Billy, I love it.” you said, turning your body just enough so that the stuffed animal was out of the way, rose on the balls of your feet and pressed your lips to his for a quick kiss that ended sooner than he would have liked. 

You lowered the heels of your feet to the ground, shifting the stuffed animal under your arm, freeing your right hand and holding it out to Billy.

“Come on Russo, we better catch up to Castle and the rest of them before Frankie eats all the fries they have. It’s the only thing the kid’s been talking about for the past hour.”

Billy smiled as he took your hand, his fingers slotting between yours as you walked in the direction of the burger stall.

Gen Taglist: @juguitos @something-tofightfor @suchatinyinfinity @the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @bts-smolarmy @elanor-of-imladris @pheedraws @obscurilicious @fific7

Billy Russo Taglist: @nananananananananananabatman @shinebrightlikeafanbase @emyyjemyy