#whats the threshold to get the little badge???

[em1i2a3]

Purple Lace Bra

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhett just wanted to try out the new bar in town, and he bites off more than he can chew when his eyes settle on you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut…Of course…And Swearing…Of course lol And a hot cowboy, because yeeeeehawwww and hawwwwwyeeeeee!

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (risky behaviour here), Fingering, Handjob (ish?), little rough, a bit of hair pulling, some dirty talk, and breastplay.

Author’s Note: Alright guys, I heard you I heard you, and I decided to take a stab at writing for Rhett. I’m hoping it meets expectations. Fingers crossed! Enjoy though!

Word Count: 8,998

The bar was new.

That much was obvious from the second Rhett stepped inside.

It didn’t have that worn-in, lived-through, broken-down charm most places in Wabang wore like a badge. No warped floorboards swollen with spilled beer and questionable stains older than some of the patrons. No cigarette burns crusted into the lacquer of every tabletop. No cracked vinyl barstools or hand-carved initials sunk deep into the counters. No grit under your fingernails just from leaning against the wall.

Everything in here was intentional.

Dark walnut paneling framed exposed red brick, and the floors–still scuff-free–glowed under the dim warmth of amber-tinted Edison bulbs hanging from long black cords. The air was thick with sawdust and varnish, freshly cured wood layered beneath the heavier scents of whiskey, fried grease, perfume, and sweat. Someone had poured a hell of a lot of money into making the place feel like a dream of a saloon.

And it was packed.

It was too many people for a Wednesday night, if you asked him. Locals mixing uneasily with out-of-towners in freshly bought boots. Girls in fringed skirts and lips gloss laughing too loudly. Guys leaning on pool cues like props, flexing flannel sleeves that didn’t have a day’s work on them. Music buzzed low from overhead speakers–something twangy but radio-polished, not nearly enough slide guitar to be worth a damn.

He stepped in slowly, one hand pushing the door open with that unhurried, deliberate motion he never lost–boots hitting the threshold with purpose. The scent hit him first. It wasn’t just alcohol or fryer grease, but the sharp undertone of new.

Rhett’s eyes scanned the room from under the shadow of his hat. He tugged at the brim slightly–a reflex more than anything–and felt the familiar weight of the stares he got in places like this.

He didn’t dress like the others. His boots were worn down with real scuffs and creases from a hard day's work. His jeans hung soft and broken–in, and his button-down was plain, with sleeves pushed up and frayed at the cuffs. Technically he looked like a man who belonged there, but the crowd was definitely not for it.

He made his way to the bar slowly, easing up between a group of college kids and a woman wearing heels way too tall for gravel parking lots. He nodded once to the bartender–young, slick, and clean–and ordered a beer without looking at the menu.

Then he heard it.

That mechanical groan–a low hydraulic hiss followed by the whump of rubber matting and the screech of excitement from somewhere in the back corner of the room.

Rhett’s brows lifted at the noise, and angled himself just enough to see it: a mechanical bull, spot lit and surrounded by a padded floor, ropes separating it from the tables like it was some kind of goddamn spectacle. People were gathered around it with drinks in hand, watching like they were at a sideshow–waiting for someone to get thrown. Rhett stared at the thing like it might come alive and charge through the room.

He exhaled through his nose–half sigh, half scoff–and felt the faint sting of amusement press behind his eyes. What the hell were they trying to be in here?

The bartender slid a bottle across the bar top with a practiced hand.

Rhett caught it without looking, fingers curling around the neck, and brought it to his lips. The beer was cold, too crisp, almost too clean. Like everything else in the damn place.

He let his shoulders settle, jaw ticking once, then let his gaze wander–across the room, over the padded mat where a guy in a pearl-snap shirt was still arguing about whether or not he could “last a full ride,” past the mirror-backed shelves of overpriced whiskey, and toward the booth tucked along the far wall.

That’s when he saw you.

You were tucked into a half-moon booth with two other girls–both of them already tipsy, leaning close, wide grins on their gloss-slicked mouths. You had one elbow on the table, a mixed drink in your hand, laughing at something one of them said, your head tipped back just slightly.

Something about the curve of your throat caught the light. Your hair was wind blown, and a few loose strands framed your face nicely. Your boots were crossed beneath the table, and the denim on your legs looked like it had actually been worn instead of picked out of a catalog, and the tight white tank top you wore had definitely pulled his eyes in even further.

You didn’t look like the others.

Didn’t talk too loud. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t scan the room trying to be seen.

But Rhett was seeing you anyway. Every damn inch.

He took another sip of beer and tilted his head slightly intrigued. He had not seen you before, at least that’s what he assumed as you didn’t look familiar, nor did you look like a local.

Your friends were egging you on–he could tell. They leaned in closer, nudging your shoulders, gesturing toward the bull with wild eyes and laughing mouths. You shook your head at first, lips pressed together in a mock “no way,” but then they pushed a little harder. One of them slid out of the booth to tug on your wrist while the other started clapping and cheering. You gave your friend a look–part exasperation, part warning–but the corners of your mouth were already curling into a smile.

Rhett saw the exact moment your resistance cracked. The way you tipped your drink back for one last sip, slid it across the table, and stood–unhurried, unrushed, like you were indulging them, but on your own terms. You pushed your hair out of your face, and adjusted the hem of your tank top before stepping out of the booth completely.

You weren’t trying to get anyone’s attention, but you already had his, and he couldn’t bear to look away.

Your stride through the crowd wasn’t cocky–it was confident. Like you didn’t need to prove anything. You weaved between tables, boots thudding softly against the polished floor, hips swaying with a rhythm that was natural to you. The overhead lights caught the glow of your skin, the edge of your collarbone, the gentle sheen of sweat on your throat.

Rhett’s lips parted slightly around the mouth of his beer, almost like he was enchanted by you and the way you carried yourself.

You crossed into the roped-off section with one hand lightly grazing the padding, you nodded once at the guy operating the bull, and pulled yourself up onto the platform like you’d done it a dozen times.

Hell, maybe you had.

The crowd started to cheer again–louder this time. People leaned in, trying to look over others shoulders. You didn’t even flinch. You turned your back to them, adjusted the rope with practiced ease, and swung one leg up and over the smoothness that Rhett felt in his chest.

You settled into the saddle like it belonged to you. There were no nervous glances. No wobbly balance checks. Just a shift of your hips, a flex of your thighs, and a subtle roll of your shoulders as your hands found their hold–one gripping the rope, the other resting lightly on your thigh.

Rhett’s gaze didn’t waver. He took another slow sip of his beer, the bottle cool in his palm, but he barely tasted it. He was too busy watching you.

The way you sat up there–easy, unshaken, comfortable like it wasn’t your first time–made something slow and solid settle in his chest. You didn’t look like someone pretending to be brave. You looked like someone who didn’t need to pretend at all.

Your spine was straight, but not stiff. Every part of you looked grounded. Controlled, and goddamn was it attractive.

Rhett couldn’t picture you on a real bull–didn’t want to, not really–but there was a part of him that figured you’d probably hold your own just fine. Maybe not from experience, but from that glint in your eye. That natural, unshakable calm.

The operator adjusted a dial, and you gave a short nod, like you were bored of waiting.

Rhett tilted his head, eyes tracking the slow movement of your fingers tightening around the rope. Your hand adjusted just right so you had good tension, and then your other arm lifted, loose but ready.

The bull kicked forward, and you didn’t flinch one bit. You moved.

It was immediate. Like you were built for the rhythm of it. Your body rolled forward, then back, countering every lurch of the machine like instinct. Your legs flexed tight, hips following each twist with unhurried precision. The movement pulled your tank tight across your chest, your shoulder muscles taut with focus. But your face–your mouth, your eyes–remained easy. You were enjoying this.

That made it worse for him in the most consuming way possible.

People around him were cheering now, laughing, calling out, whistling–but it was all background noise to Rhett. His knuckles tensed around the neck of the bottle, barely aware of it.

You were the only thing in the room.

He felt like he was watching something private. Like the way you moved wasn’t for the crowd–but maybe, maybe, it was for someone. For the one person paying real attention.

And when your eyes flicked up mid-spin, and landed squarely on his–Rhett’s breath felt like it was pushed out of his lungs.

You looked at him like you’d known exactly where he was standing the whole time.

And when you smiled–just barely, just enough–he felt it deep in his ribs.

That wasn’t an accident.

That was intentional.

The bull jerked again–harder this time, testing your grip–and Rhett swallowed, slow and thick.

Because you didn’t break.

You leaned into the movement, hips shifting forward, then back, chest arching ever so slightly with the roll of the machine. Your tank rode up just enough to show a strip of skin–taut and warm under the lights–and the sweat starting to build at the back of your neck shimmered like gold dust.

You didn’t wince. You grinned.

You were in control.

Every second of it.

Rhett was breathing through his nose now, jaw tight, the bottle sweating in his grip, untouched. His pulse pounded in his neck, heat climbing slowly beneath his collar, across his chest, and lower.

Watching you ride wasn’t just impressive–it was devastating.

You moved like you knew exactly what it looked like. What it did to the men watching. To him.

And if you didn’t? That was somehow worse. Because your body, the rhythm in it, the way your hips met the motion of the bull like you were answering it–it felt less like performance and more like instinct.

Rhett’s mouth was dry.

He cleared his throat, quiet, subtle, but it didn’t help. His gaze dropped to your thighs, flexed tight around the saddle, your back arched and rocking in time, the tension in your arms, the control in your shoulders–

Jesus Christ.

His hand slid along the bar behind him, like he needed something to brace against. His boots stayed planted, body tight with the kind of energy that didn’t have anywhere to go. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, behind his ears. He took another drink out of pure habit–but the beer barely registered on his tongue.

You didn’t look away from him again.

But you didn’t have to.

You’d already seen him. Already snared him.

And the longer the ride went on, the harder it got to breathe.

The bull picked up speed. Your body snapped harder into the motion. Every line of you sang with tension–coiled and lit and burning–and Rhett swore he felt it like touch.

His skin prickled.

You were panting now, chest rising and falling, heat blooming across your cheeks. But your eyes stayed calm, your mouth open just enough to draw breath between your teeth, and your thighs didn’t loosen once.

Rhett’s heart was hammering now. Low in his chest. Down in his gut. He shifted against the bar without meaning to, jaw clenched tight, thighs tense, every inch of him drawn like wire.

It wasn’t just want.

It was need.

Not to touch. Not yet.

Just to keep watching.

To see how long you’d let him sit there with that heat curling through his stomach, with sweat at the back of his neck, with his breath caught behind his teeth while you made it all look effortless.

And then–mercifully, murderously–the buzzer sounded.

The bull slowed.

You took the last few seconds of movement with a slow, rolling ease–like letting go of control wasn’t something you did all at once.

When the machine finally stilled, you swung one leg back over the side and hopped down to the mat.

Rhett had to physically stop himself from stepping forward.

Because you landed like you were still riding. Like you still had the momentum in your blood. Hair stuck to your temples. Shoulders glowing. Chest rising and falling with short, slow breaths. You were glistening, flushed, lips parted like your body was still half-there.

You smiled.

And then–God help him–you looked at him again.

A breathless, wicked little thing that told him you knew.

You knew what watching you had done to him.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and stepped out of the roped area, crossing the floor toward the bar like you weren’t leaving a trail of heat in your wake.

You didn’t rush.

Didn’t even glance his way at first.

You just stepped up to the bar–right beside him–like it was the most natural thing in the world, and rested your elbows on the counter. Close enough that his shoulder caught the warmth still radiating off your skin. Close enough that he could smell it–you–sweat and juniper perfume and cherry lip gloss. The heady, breath-stealing aftermath of adrenaline and heat.

Rhett didn’t dare move, he didn’t even turn his head. But his eyes flicked down just once, and that was enough. Because up close, now that the sweat had soaked a little deeper into the cotton of your tank, it had slipped ever-so-slightly lower. And just right on the border, where the neckline dipped, he could see it…

Purple lace. Delicate, scalloped. The edge of your bra, soft and feminine and barely visible, peeking like a secret just for him.

His throat worked around a swallow, and he looked away immediately, heat climbing behind his ears. He could feel the tips of them burning beneath his hat.

The bartender approached and you leaned forward, forearms resting against the word.

”Red Russian please,” You said, voice low and easy–honeyed but sharp at the edges. You didn’t have to raise it. He heard every syllable as it slid off your tongue. The bartender gave you a nod and turned away to make the drink.

You leaned a bit, just enough to shift your weight toward him, and without looking, without needing to, you let your voice slide between you and Rhett like silk laced in smoke.

”So…You always stare like that, or was I just particularly inspiring tonight?” Your head turned, slowly, and you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. Rhett’s breath caught–he felt it. Right there in his chest. Like someone had knocked a fist into his sternum and told him not to react.

He brought his eyes to yours like he couldn’t stop himself. They were darker than they’d been a moment ago, lit with something low and burning–lust maybe.

“I…” He swallowed, licking his dry lips, “Wasn’t starin’. Just–watchin’, I guess.” You hummed, amused, the curve of your lips tugging into something sly, but you held his gaze.

“There’s a difference?” His lashes fluttered at you, as you watched the faint pink blush rise to his cheeks just above the stubble that sat neatly on his face. His grip on the neck of the bottle tightened slightly. His voice was low–gravelly and warm when it finally came.

”Yeah,” He replied, “One’s rude. The other’s…Real hard to stop.” You smiled at his response.

”Mm, guess I oughta be flattered then.” Your drink arrived moments later–blood red in colour, topped with a cherry–which gave you something to fiddle with, “You always this good at compliments or am I just bringin’ out the Southern charm?” That made something flicker behind his eyes. A soft huff left him–almost a laugh, but not quite–and the tension in his shoulders finally shifted. Rhett moved, just barely, letting his elbow rest against the bar now–getting closer. His fingers traced the condensation sliding down the neck of his bottle, but his gaze didn’t leave you. He let the silence settle thick between you, then answer, voice smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.

”Could say it’s the charm.” He drawled, slow and sure, “But the truth is, darlin’, I think it’s just you.” You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you turned your attention to the drink in front of you–blood-red and glinting beneath the low amber lights–lifting it to your lips with an ease that was all confidence and quiet command. You sipped slowly, just enough to stain your mouth with something sweet and strong , then set the glass back down with a gentle clink.

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your lips again, like he hadn’t meant to, like they just drew him in without permission.

And then–without ceremony–you plucked the cherry from the top of your drink, and held it by the stem between your two fingers before bringing it to your mouth.

You kept eye contact the entire time, as you pulled the fruit off it’s anchor.

The cherry disappeared behind your lips, the stem left dangling between your fingers as your jaw moved with delicate precision, tongue flicking behind your cheeks. You chewed slowly, swallowed gently, then licked a faint smear of juice from the corner of your mouth–soft and languid.

Rhett shifted in place, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. The slight roll of his shoulders, the way his hand tightened around the bottle, the flare of heat at the base of his throat. You were doing this to him. Every second of it. And he was letting you.

Hell–he was begging for it.

You let the empty stem drop gently to your cocktail napkin and leaned in just a breath closer, your voice a low, syrupy hum between the two of you.

“So if I’m the reason,” You said, “Guess I should know what to call the man I’m inspirin’.”That made something flicker through him. Not just lust now—but interest. Real interest.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch like he was working out the puzzle of you in real time. And then–finally–he offered you a hand.

Calloused. Warm. Strong fingers, broad palm, veins faintly raised from years of real work. The kind of hand that looked like it could break you apart or hold you like something sacred.

“Rhett,” He said, voice like gravel and molasses. “Rhett Abbott.” You took his hand into yours, giving it a gentle shake. Your touch was soft, but firm. Full of intention, just like the rest of you.

Your thumb grazed the back of his hand once before you replied.

”Nice to meet you, Rhett Abbott,” You said, your voice curling around his name like sheer silk, “I’m Y/N.”

God help him, hearing his name come out of your mouth like that–low and smooth, like it tasted good–did something to him. Something sharp and hot that settled just behind his rib cage.

You still hadn’t let go of his hand. You held it just long enough for the pad of your thumb to trace that one shallow callous on the base of his thumb. Just long enough to let the quiet stretch between you with thick implication.

When you finally released him, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because you’d already said enough with the way you touched him

Rhett cleared his throat, but his fingers curled slightly like they missed yours already. His eyes raked over your face once–then lower. Over the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the edge of that purple lace he’d clocked earlier still flirting with the neckline of your tank. He didn’t look long. It was already burned into his brain.

”Y/N,” He repeated, slowly, “Pretty name.”

“Reckon I like how you say it.” Rhett smirked at that. Barely. Just a ghost of one tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it was real. Like you’d teased it out of him. You turned a little more toward him then, resting your arm along the bar, letting your knee knock against his under the counter. Light. Barely there. But enough to make his spine straighten just a little. Like you’d touched something electric.

Your knee stayed where it was–brushed lightly against his beneath the bar–but your body shifted just a little more, leaning into his space like the air between you wasn’t already thick with heat. You rested your weight on one elbow and brought your drink to your lips again, letting the edge of the glass kiss your mouth in a way that made his jaw tick. He followed the movement like he was starved for it.

You swallowed, set the glass down, and tilted your head just enough to let your hair fall over your shoulder–like an invitation disguised as casual comfort.

“You always watch that close,” You murmured, voice low and honey-slick, “Or was that just ��cause I was the one up there tonight?”

Rhett’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and his gaze flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again. His voice, when it came, was a little rougher. A little deeper. Like heat had sanded it down.

“Oh, that was definitely just you,” He said, that slow drawl curling around the words like smoke. “Ain’t never seen someone ride like that and look so damn calm doin’ it. Thought you were gonna break that bull’s heart.”

You laughed–low, warm, right against the rim of your glass. “Poor thing didn’t stand a chance.”

He leaned in then, just enough that you could feel his breath brush your cheek. Just enough that your knees bumped again beneath the bar and stayed there.

“Neither did I,” He said, voice like gravel dipped in sugar. “Not the way you moved up there. All control. Like you weren’t ridin’ it–you were taming it.”

You glanced at him then–sideways, coy–and your lashes fluttered as you reached for your cherry stem again, turning it slowly between your fingers.

“I like the fight,” you said, soft and easy. “Like seeing how long I can last. Pushing just hard enough to keep it under me without ever losin’ control.”

Rhett’s eyes dropped to your fingers, to the cherry stem twisting like it meant something. Then to your lips. Then your thighs.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, “I noticed.”

You leaned in just a little more, your shoulder grazing his, your thigh now pressed warm and steady to his beneath the bar. Your voice dropped with it–silk-wrapped and scorching.

“You watchin’ for technique, or just lettin’ your mind wander?”

Rhett’s breath caught. You could feel it–the heat rolling off him like summer rising off a blacktop. His hand flexed around the beer bottle again, but this time, he didn’t look away.

“Little of both,” He admitted. “Hard to focus on much else when you’re movin’ like that. All rhythm and fire and…” His eyes dragged down your body, slow and reverent, before landing right back on your mouth. “Hell. You knew exactly what you were doin’.”

You gave him a smile then. Slow and wicked.

“Maybe,” You whispered, dragging your finger through the condensation on your glass again. “But I liked the way you looked at me. Like you didn’t know whether to get on your knees or run for your life.”

That made Rhett laugh–quiet, breathless, and a little strained. He leaned back just a touch, but it wasn’t to retreat. It was to restrain. Like he was keeping himself in check with the last thread of composure he had left.

“I’m still tryin’ to decide,” He said, voice thick, jaw tight. “But you keep talkin’ like that, and I might not have much choice left.”

You reached out and touched his wrist then–light, fleeting. But it landed like a thunderclap. His skin burned under your fingertips.

“Good,” You whispered. “I like when they break a little.”

He stared at you. Eyes dark. Body tense. The air between you so tight it felt like the whole bar might collapse under it.

And when he spoke next, his voice was low. Dangerous.

“Truck’s parked right out back.”

Your smile grew slow and hot.

”Then finish your drink, cowboy,” You purred, “So I can show you what else I’m good at ridin’.” The moment the words left your mouth, low and laced in sin, something sharp flickered in his eyes–something hot and immediate. His hand flexed once more around the neck of the bottle, and without a word, he lifted it to his lips and drained it. Tilted it back and finished the whole thing in one long swallow, throat working, jaw tight.

You watched it happen with an appreciative hum in your throat, heat blooming low in your belly.

When he slammed the bottle down on the counter, it was soft but final–like a decision had been made. A quiet, controlled yes that rang louder than any shouted answer ever could.

You didn’t even give it time to settle.

You picked up your Red Russian with one hand, let the condensation slide across your fingers, and finished the whole thing in two unhurried gulps. The syrupy liquor coated your throat, leaving warmth and spice trailing down your spine. You licked the last drop off your bottom lip–slowly, deliberately–then set your glass beside his, neat and empty.

Rhett’s eyes were molten when you turned to him.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

He reached for you first. Not your hand, not your waist–your hip. Fingers curling into the denim there, firm but measured, like he was already thinking about the rhythm he’d felt earlier and couldn’t wait to see what it was like underneath him.

You let him pull you in that half-step closer, boots toe-to-toe now, the space between you practically vibrating with heat.

“You sure about this?” He asked, voice a gravelly murmur, his forehead dipping just barely toward yours. “Ain’t exactly gentlemanly what I’m thinkin’.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you leaned up–so close your lips barely grazed his ear when you spoke–and let your voice spill soft and wicked against his skin.

“Good,” You breathed. “I wasn’t lookin’ for a gentleman.”

That broke something in him.

Rhett’s grip on your hip tightened just enough to make you gasp, before he quickly put a few bills onto the counter to cover both your drinks and a tip. He didn’t say goodbye to the bartender, you didn’t say bye to your friends, and neither of you glanced back.

The both of you exited the bar in a bundled mess.

Outside, the heat hit different.

The air was thick with late-summer weight, still clinging to the pavement like it hadn’t let go of the sun yet. The gravel lot behind the bar was quieter than the front—less neon, less chatter, less everything. Just the low hum of cicadas, the creak of the wooden porch settling behind you, and the sound of your boots crunching in tandem with his as Rhett guided you through the dark.

He didn’t hold your hand.

Didn’t need to.

His fingers were still resting at your hip, steady and sure, and that subtle grip told you everything—possessive, deliberate, still holding the ghost of the rhythm he’d felt watching you ride. The kind of touch that said he wasn’t in a hurry, but he was done wasting time.

His truck was parked near the back edge of the lot–older model, clean but rugged, navy paint dulled slightly by dust and heat. He opened the passenger side door for you with one hand, the other still on your hip like he couldn’t let go just yet.

You climbed in without a word, denim brushing the edge of the seat, your skin still humming from the way his fingers had lingered.

Rhett circled around to the driver’s side, slid in beside you, and shut the door with a quiet click–like sealing something in.

He didn’t start the engine right away. Just sat there, hands on the wheel, letting the silence stretch while the tension pulsed like a heartbeat between you.

Then he turned toward you slightly, one arm resting on the back of your seat, his voice low and rough.

“Gonna take you somewhere a little less public.”

You arched a brow, slow and teasing. “What, so this is how it ends? Sweet talkin’ cowboy turns out to be a backwoods murderer?”

Rhett snorted–one of those quick, sharp laughs that came from deep in his chest. He turned the key in the ignition, engine rumbling to life beneath you both. Rhett glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into something crooked. “Nah,” he said, voice warm and amused, “Murderers don’t usually open the door for ya first.”

You let out a real laugh then–one of those unguarded, honeyed bursts that settled between you like heat off asphalt. Rhett felt it in his chest.

“Well,” You grinned, settling back in your seat and tossing him a sidelong glance, “Good to know you’ve got manners even if your intentions ain’t pure.”

He shot you a look, teasing and dark under the brim of his hat. “Darlin’, I think we both made our intentions pretty damn clear back at the bar.”

You hummed and turned to the window as he pulled out of the lot, tires crunching softly over gravel. The streetlights thinned the further he drove, buildings falling away into the long stretches of open dark. Moonlight painted soft edges on the dashboard, and the cicadas hummed low in the background.

“So,” You said after a few quiet miles, your voice relaxed, “Is takin’ strange women into the dark back roads a hobby of yours? Or am I special?”

Rhett huffed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re the first one I’ve let boss a bull around like that and still managed to get me flustered enough to forget my own name.”

You smirked. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a hell no,” He muttered, turning onto a narrow road lined with trees, the path barely lit by his headlights. “There’s a place up here I like–quiet, no folks around. It’s nothin’ fancy, but…”

You let him trail off, watching him drive. His hands on the wheel were steady and confident. That same quiet control you’d felt from him all night.

“I like quiet,” You murmured. “Grew up around noise. Kinda nice when it’s just…” you gestured at the empty stretch of road, “This.”

Rhett nodded once, like he understood that more than he could say out loud.

“Me too,” he said. “Always felt easier to breathe when I’m away from all the noise. City folks don’t know what they’re missin’.” You smiled, settling deeper into your seat.

“So what do you do, Rhett Abbott? Besides, ruin the hearts of mechanical bull riders and flirt like it’s a full-time job.” He gave a low laugh at that.

“Used to ride real bulls actually. Circuit stuff. Got outta it a few years back–bad fall. Now I help run the ranch out west of town. Horses mostly. Sometimes cattle.”

You raised a brow. “A real cowboy, huh?”

He shot you a look. “You doubted?”

“No,” You said, slow and sweet. “I just like when the fantasy turns out to be real.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “And you? What’s a woman like you do when she’s not showin’ off on saddles and makin’ grown men lose their minds at a bar?” You grinned, stretching your legs a little where they were curled in the cab.

“Right now? Between gigs,” You said, voice low and easy. “Used to work with a fabrication crew–wood and metal mostly. Signs, custom builds, furniture. Stuff with some weight to it.” You glanced at him with a tilt of your head. “Like makin’ somethin’ that lasts.”

Rhett’s eyes flicked toward you, interested. “So you’re strong and dangerous, huh?”

You smirked. “Only if someone mouths off.”

That got a real laugh out of him, one that curled low in his throat and settled warm between you. “That explains the way you handled that bull. Kinda figured you were used to workin’ with your hands. You moved like someone who doesn’t second-guess herself.”

You shrugged. “Gotta trust your grip when the thing you’re ridin’ is trying to buck you clean off.”

He glanced sideways at you again, and there was something darker in his gaze this time. “Pretty sure that’s a metaphor for somethin’.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, letting your fingers trace along the edge of your seat like you were thinking it through. “Maybe. But you’re gonna have to earn the answer.”

Rhett made a low sound–half amused, half something else entirely–and shifted his grip on the wheel. His knuckles were pale from how tight he was holding it. Like talking to you made him want to put his hands somewhere else entirely.

“So…Builder by trade, heartbreaker by night,” he said, a little teasing.

You gave him a sidelong glance, lashes lowering. “Who says I break hearts?”

He looked at you then, full on. The truck bumped a little over the road’s uneven shoulder, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “I watched half a bar stop breathin’ when you got on that bull. Think you underestimate your effect, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, looking back out the window. “And what about you, cowboy? You always this smooth or am I just bringin’ out your best material?”

Rhett shook his head, lips twitching. “If this is me at my best, we’re both in trouble.”

That earned him another laugh, and this one was breathier–laced with something warm that settled in your chest. The trees were growing taller on either side of the road now, shadows stretching long across the narrow lane as the headlights washed over trunks and underbrush.

He slowed a little, the tires crunching gravel as he turned down a path almost completely swallowed by trees.

“Almost there,” he said, voice dropping.

You looked over at him again, this time more curious than teasing. “So what’s at the end of this mysterious road? You gonna show me your secret cabin in the woods or somethin’?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t mischievous–it was soft. “Nah. Just a clearing. Good view of the stars. Ain’t much…But it’s quiet. And mine.”

Something about the way he said that made your chest tighten just a little.

And sure enough, not thirty seconds later, the trees opened up–and the sky swallowed everything. A wide, empty field stretched out under the moonlight. The grass was knee-high and silver in the glow. Beyond it, dark hills rolled out like soft waves.

Rhett pulled up near the edge, killed the engine, and sat for a second in the hush.

“You weren’t kiddin’,” You murmured, looking out through the windshield.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached over, slow and steady, and pushed the gear shift into park. His hand lingered near yours on the console.

“Figured you deserved a little privacy.” The clearing fell into silence the second the engine cut.

No crickets. No frogs. Just the long, stretched hum of summer heat lingering in the tall grass and the low creak of the truck settling under its own weight. The moon was full overhead, casting everything in that washed silver that turned skin into porcelain and shadows into ink. The cab was dim now, the dashboard lights fading to black.

You were still facing the windshield, but your eyes weren’t on the field anymore.

They were on him.

Rhett sat there for a beat–forearm resting on the wheel, chest rising slowly beneath his button-down, jaw ticking like he was chewing on a thought. And then, without a word, he reached up and pulled his hat off.

It was a quiet gesture. Simple. But it felt intimate. Like stripping something away.

The shadows shifted when he did. His hair–thick and messy and darker than you’d expected–was flattened at first but slowly began to lift with a few rakes of his fingers. It curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, soft and unruly like it hadn’t been tamed in days. Moonlight bled across the slope of his cheekbones, highlighting the rough stubble that scraped across his jaw and throat. His eyes, darker now without the brim shadowing them, flicked toward you.

And you–God, you were staring.

Wide-eyed. Lips slightly parted. The kind of look that said he could’ve asked you anything in that moment and you would’ve said yes.

Rhett’s breath hitched as he caught it–that softness, that stunned hunger pouring off you like heat. He blinked once, slow, and placed his hat behind the seats. Then his body shifted.

He leaned in.

Slow at first, one knee turning slightly on the bench seat, his thigh brushing yours, arm braced lightly behind your shoulder. You felt the weight of him in the air before you felt the touch–his gaze locked on your mouth now, like he was testing whether or not you’d move.

You didn’t.

So he did.

The first brush of his lips was rough. Not because he meant it to be–but because he couldn’t help himself. He kissed like a man who’d been holding back all night, and now he had you within reach. His mouth crashed into yours with heat and intention–firm, urgent, full of all the tension that had been simmering since that first lock of eye contact by the bull.

His hand was on your jaw before you could even register it–fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek like he wanted to hold you still and memorize the taste of you all at once. His lips parted slightly, coaxing yours open with the kind of confidence that felt lived-in. His tongue swept past your teeth like he was claiming territory, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat as you met him stroke for stroke.

There was nothing slow about it.

No delicate build. No tentative start.

It was need. Straight and uncut. The kind that had been brewing like a storm since you sauntered across that bar and took your seat beside him.

You gasped softly as his other hand gripped your thigh–fingers digging into denim, pulling you closer across the seat. The slide of your legs against his made your breath hitch, and he took full advantage of it–swallowing the sound with another bruising kiss, one that left your head spinning and your lips slick.

He kissed like he’d been starving. Like every part of him ached for friction, for pressure, for the slide of you under his hands. You could feel it in the way his chest pressed to yours, in the way his hips shifted, the way his thumb dragged along the underside of your jaw like he was mapping it for later.

When you whimpered into his mouth–just barely–he pulled back half an inch, enough to speak against your lips.

“You kiss every cowboy like this,” He rasped, voice hoarse, “Or just me?”

You smiled against him, dizzy and breathless.

“Just the ones who earn it.”

He groaned at that. Something deep and low that vibrated between your ribs.

And then he was kissing you again–harder this time. Rougher. No hesitation.

His hand was already under your shirt before the next kiss even broke.

Calloused fingers skimming the slope of your stomach, up and over the curve of your ribs, until his palm found your breast. He groaned into your mouth the second he felt it–the way you arched into his touch, the soft weight of you in his hand, the faint catch in your breath that said yes without a word.

You tugged at the hem of your own tank top, and Rhett helped–eager hands dragging it up, over your head, flinging it somewhere toward the footwell. You didn’t care where it landed. Not when his eyes dropped and locked onto the purple lace he’d been fantasizing about since the bar. It was barely a barrier, practically translucent in the moonlight, and when he exhaled, it came out ragged.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, his voice gone rough with want. “You really were tryin’ to kill me.”

He bit his lower lip, hard enough to leave a dent, and reached behind you with one hand. The clasp came undone in a single, practiced flick–his breath catching as the straps slid from your shoulders.

The bra dropped to your lap.

And Rhett’s restraint shattered.

A low, guttural moan broke from his throat, and then his mouth was on you.

He latched onto your nipple with zero hesitation–hot, wet, desperate. His stubble scraped harsh against the softness of your breast, but you didn’t care. You gasped, back bowing into the seat, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circled, sucked, licked you like he was drowning in the taste.

He palmed your other breast while he devoured the first, thumb brushing over the peak, just enough to make your toes curl inside your boots. His hips shifted–rolled–and that’s when you felt it. The thick, solid press of him straining against his jeans, hot and hard beneath the weight of your thigh.

The moment your hips moved–just once, slow, deliberate–grinding down over him, Rhett bucked.

He pulled off your breast with a wet, gasping sound, forehead dropping against your sternum like he needed a second to breathe. He huffed a breath against your sternum–half laugh, half groan– before lifting his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. His gaze was molten when it landed on the waistband of your jeans.

“Kinda feelin’ like that bull right now with you grindin’ on me like this.” Your laugh was breathless, broken by the heat still simmering between you, but it faded the moment his hand slid down your stomach. Slow. Purposeful. Thumb tracing the edge of your jeans.

You looked at him, head tilted back against the window, lips parted–but you didn’t stop him.

Not when he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband.

Not when he popped the first button open with a practiced flick.

Not when the sound of your zipper lowering filled the cab like a goddamn gunshot.

His eyes dropped, zeroed in on the reveal, and when he caught the first glimpse of what was underneath–matching purple lace, delicate and damp–he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered, almost reverent. “You really came dressed to ruin me, huh?”

You arched a brow, smirking lazily even as your skin burned. “Maybe I just had a feelin’ tonight was gonna get interesting.”

He let out a low whistle, fingers brushing the waistband of your panties now, rough pads dragging slow against the lace.

“A feelin’, huh?” His thumb traced the dip just below your navel, and then lower–teasing just shy of your center.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, letting your knees fall open slightly, brushing his thigh. “Turns out I was right.” His fingers dipped lower–slipping beneath the lace with a practiced boldness that sent heat blooming through your gut. And then he touched you.

Direct. Smooth. Just enough pressure to make your hips twitch and your thighs part wider.

“Oh, fuck,” You whispered, voice catching in your throat as his thumb found your clit and circled, slow and devastating.

Rhett groaned like he felt it too–like your reaction was dragging it out of him. “That’s it,” He murmured, voice thick, “Just like that… Jesus, you’re soaked.”

You whimpered as his middle finger slid down and eased into you, thick and slow, curling just right. Your whole body arched toward him, breath coming in shaky bursts, and your hand–god, your trembling hand–fumbled for his belt.

“I need—” You gasped, not even sure what you were asking for, just chasing the friction, the heat, the him of it all.

He caught your mouth with his again–kissed you open and messy and panting while his fingers worked you in slow, addictive strokes. Every curl of them was deliberate, precise, dragging moans from your lips that he swallowed down like a starving man.

Your hand finally popped his buckle open. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged the zipper down, the sound loud and obscene in the still air. Your palm found him, hot and hard, pressing against the cotton of his boxers, and he shuddered.

“Fuck,” He rasped, voice guttural now. “You touch me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

“Then don’t wait,” You breathed, thumb tracing the curve of him through the fabric. “Wanna feel you too.”

He cursed again–low and rough–and shoved his jeans down just enough for you to slide your hand inside. Your fingers wrapped around him, thick and pulsing and god, he was big. Hard. Leaking against your palm already.

Rhett bucked into your grip, forehead crashing against yours, panting like he’d just run a race. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart,” He groaned, voice breaking, “I swear to God…”

But he didn’t stop.

His thumb pressed harder on your clit now, circling tight and filthy while he pushed a second finger inside you, stretching you just right, dragging the kind of moan from your throat that made his hips jerk.

“Fuck, I love the way you sound,” He growled, mouth finding the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing there. “You hear yourself, baby? Soundin’ so fuckin’ pretty on my fingers.”

You rocked against his hand, desperate now, grinding down as your strokes on him faltered from the way your thighs were trembling.

Your breaths tangled in the heat between you–his lips on your cheek, your chin, your neck. The windows were fogged now, the whole cab heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and summer air.

“Don’t stop,” You whispered, eyes fluttering as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, sharp and hot. “Right there–God, please–”

“Say my name,” He begged, hoarse and wrecked. “Say it when you come, darlin’. Wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

And that did it.

The orgasm hit like a freight train–your walls clenching around his fingers, your thighs snapping tight around his hand as you cried out into his mouth. “Rhett–oh, my God–”

He groaned loud, hips stuttering as he watched you fall apart. His free hand clutched your waist, grounding you. He held you through every last tremor–jaw clenched, breath shaky, fingers still buried deep inside you. Your muscles fluttered around him, slick and pulsing, and he bit back another groan as you slumped forward against his chest, wrecked and panting.

And then, rough and low, like gravel in his throat:

“I need to be inside you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a confession. A prayer. A need so raw it cracked something open between you.

You didn’t answer with words.

You kissed him–hard. Dragging your mouth over his like you were trying to drink him down. And as you shifted in his lap, knees straddling his hips, he groaned into your mouth, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight. The moment your soaked panties brushed the length of him, he cursed, the sound punched from his lungs like he’d taken a hit to the chest.

“Fuck, darlin’–you’re gonna ruin me.”

You made quick work of it–shimmying your jeans down just enough, dragging the drenched lace of your panties to the side. His cock was already hot and heavy in your hand, slick from your touch, and when you lifted your hips and lined yourself up–

“Oh my God,” he growled, head tipping back against the seat, eyes rolling as you sank down onto him.

He was thick. Stretching you wide. Filling every inch.

The stretch burned in the best way, made your breath catch, made your thighs shake. And Rhett? He was gasping like it was killing him–like the feel of you clenching around him was too much to bear.

“Jesus Christ,” He choked out, nails digging into your hips. “You feel–fuck, you feel unreal.”

You started to move.

Slow at first–rocking your hips in slow, deliberate circles, watching his jaw lock tight, his hands twitch like he wanted to grab, to thrust, to lose it. His eyes snapped open, blown black with lust, fixed on where you were joined like he couldn’t look away.

“Don’t stop,” He rasped, voice shredded. “Ride me, baby–just like that–fuck–just like that.”

You ground down harder, the friction brutal and perfect, and his hips bucked up into you instinctively–meeting every roll with a sharp, hungry thrust that made you gasp. Your hands braced against his chest, nails digging in as you bounced now, full and fast and desperate, sweat slicking your thighs as the truck began to creak around you.

The windows were already fogged.

Then your palm slammed against the glass behind him, leaving a streaked, smeared handprint as your rhythm snapped into something wilder.

Carnal.

Unfiltered.

The truck rocked beneath you. His hands flew to your ass, gripping hard, helping you move, driving you down onto him with each thrust like he couldn’t get deep enough.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” He groaned, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his temples. “Ridin’ me like this–you tryna make me lose my fuckin’ mind?”

You moaned loud in answer, thighs burning, body trembling, chasing that second high with reckless abandon. His name left your mouth again and again, breathless and broken and gasping.

He fucked up into you now, faster, rougher, sweat-slick and savage, every slam of his hips making you cry out. The slap of skin, the creak of leather, the fogged-over windows–it was all heat and friction and nothing else mattered but this.

Rhett growled your name–harsh and desperate–before dragging your mouth back to his.

“I’m close,” He rasped against your lips, voice gone.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “Me too.”

And then it hit again–your body locking up, mouth falling open as the second orgasm shattered through you, your whole body seizing as you clenched around him, sobbing his name.

Rhett followed a heartbeat later, hips jerking up hard, burying himself deep as he came with a guttural moan, spilling inside you while your name tore from his throat like it was the only word he knew.

The truck went still.

Just the sound of your panting breaths, your sweat-slicked skin sticking to his, your heart pounding against his chest like thunder. Rhett’s arms slid around you the second the tremors subsided, pulling you flush to his chest like he didn’t want even the air between you. His breath was still ragged, chest rising and falling against yours, but his hands–God, his hands were gentle now. One splayed across the small of your back, the other curling around the back of your neck like a secret he wanted to keep safe.

You felt him exhale–deep, steady–his breath warm against your temple. The kind of breath a man took when the storm inside him finally broke.

“Jesus,” He whispered into your hair. “I ain’t never–” He broke off, let out a soft, stunned laugh. “Ain’t never felt anything like that.”

You smiled against his neck, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me either.”

There was a beat of quiet–intimate now, not charged. Just the hum of the world spinning outside the fogged windows and the slow, steady thump of his heart under your cheek.

Then Rhett shifted slightly, just enough to lean back and look at you. His eyes were soft now, hazy but clear, and his lips curled into the kind of crooked smile that made your chest ache.

“You, uh…” His fingers traced the edge of your jaw, featherlight. “You think maybe I could get your number? Unless this is the part where you climb out the window and disappear into the cornfield like some kinda beautiful ghost.”

You blinked–then burst out laughing, the kind that made your stomach ache and your chest feel too full. You ducked your head against him, shaking with it, and felt his own chuckle rumble beneath your palm where it rested on his chest.

“You asking for my number after all that?” You teased, voice still breathless with laughter. “Bit backwards, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” He grinned, nudging his nose against yours. “But I figure…Might be worth makin’ a habit outta seein’ you like this.”

You smiled, soft and slow this time, cupping his cheek.

“I think you’re right, cowboy.”

And there it was again–that look. The one that said he’d chase this feeling wherever it led.

Outside, the moon hung high over the field, casting the clearing in silver and shadow. Inside the truck, the heat lingered–on your skin, in your breath, and in the way Rhett looked at you like he’d just found something he hadn’t even known he was searching for.

And when he kissed you again–soft, slow, grateful–it wasn’t a promise.

It was a beginning.

[kugikizuchi]

"The doctor and his devoted assistant."♡

Warnings: I decided to make it so that the character in our story is not the main character in the game, two different personalities. Our character is a girl. This is done for convenience. Yandere. Partial Stockholm syndrome. Obscenity towards a young female employee. Sexual pressure. Slight compulsion. Excitement games. A vibrator. A weak current through the body. Binding. The girl's submission to the doctor. Murder and brutality. The orange text is Harley's words, the pink text is your words. English is not my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Volume : 8,2k. Sorry, I overdid it.

Have fun reading! 🐉

"Everything has to be perfect" - these were the words that were on your mind when you laid out Dr. Sawyer's supplies on the table, finally receiving the position of assistant to such an honorable person in the company. In your eyes, he was the epitome of rigor and perfection. His calm and tired voice could overshadow any fears that you might not be hired for this service, but also make you wake up and jump from his harsh cold tone and rare shouts at employees who did not satisfy his desires.

But you tried so hard to become the perfect employee by literally learning the doctor's daily routine. You were willing to do anything to stay in such a prestigious position at a toy manufacturing company. And unfortunately, Harley Sawyer knew about your fanaticism to prove to your family that you are an independent person.

The first few days were hard. It's even too hard.. Your legs are shaking from constantly wearing heels and running around the floors, but I would like to deliver certain reports to different employees. It annoyed you deep down that you looked like a dog on wheels even to yourself, forced to run back and forth just to earn the impossible trust from the owner. But despite the Doctor's indifferent gaze and the sometimes sarcastic smiles of other employees, you just smiled, brushing off all the problems.

What a pity you didn't see how Sawyer liked that you could barely walk on your already aching legs. It might have given him the motivation to finally give you a reward, but he was giving himself the opportunity to delay the moment to the peak of its accomplishment.

And unfortunately or fortunately, the "Peak Height" was reached after almost half a year of your working shift with this young man. You're tired of being the secretary who was always described in jokes and anecdotes as the boss's girlfriend, who was ready to do anything for his pleasure, descending even into the very niche of debauchery. The way you tried to talk to Harley at first, always saying respectfully, "Dr. Sawyer, please, could we talk a little bit about my work shift and my responsibilities?" You always got a calculating look from under the glasses of the man who filled out the next document for you and his slight manic smile that made you twitch a little. "No, Assistant, I don't have time for idle conversations right now if they have nothing to do with the idea of improving the company. And judging by your words and body gestures, you clearly don't want to talk about the happiness of the company, so please take this document and don't try to disappear for more than 10 minutes. It's just another building. You'll get there fast. "he said it over and over again, while you were biting your tongue in your mouth, so as not to spit out the poison. He never even addressed you by your first name, although it was always written on the badge like all employees, but he took it for a special occasion.

And now your patience was over, you were ready to start swearing if you even needed to turn on your artistry, because it's not just your boss who can pretend to be a second person. But as soon as you crossed the threshold of his office, closing the door behind you, the man seemed to be already ready for this meeting and, without looking up, ordered you to close the door in his usual empty manner. You did so, as if out of habit, which was reflected on the doctor's lips with a smile and a relaxed look, to which you flinched slightly, not knowing how you spoiled him with your obedience. As soon as you got closer to the main figure in this room, your body was pressed against the table, your hips were painfully pressed against the table, and your hands were twisted behind your back, while the second man's hand covered your mouth, preventing you from uttering a whisper or a cry of pleading for help, judging by your frightened darting eyes, while you were trapped between the table and the tall figure. "Don't shout or deny it, the more resistance you put up, the more brute force I'll have to use on you, Assistant. " he was talking and you couldn't understand - your legs were shaking so much from fear because of the current situation or from the discharge of excitement, being in such a precarious position that it was not clear whether you would really quit tomorrow, or remain an obedient assistant.. Unfortunately, you both knew the answer from his calm smile and your heavy breathing when the dialogue began, although no one let you out of the man's strange embrace.

And now you have achieved your goal. Isn't that right? Now you didn't have to run around the floors, rub your feet to the knees and whine to your friends about the idiot boss. No, you didn't even have to wear heels now, because they would only get in the way while you were sitting on the elder's hip, watching his well-honed hand movements with a listless look as he drew another monst- ...toy for children. The silhouette of a huge purple-colored cat loomed while you read its name, sometimes disinterestedly swinging its legs dangling from the edge of the chair. Your hips, waist, and hair suffered the most. When someone infuriated the doctor by bringing him to a white knee, you could only stifle a groan, which the elder never liked, while his hands squeezed your hips, moving to your waist and hugging tightly, as if the child did not want to let go of his favorite plush toy at night, which could ensure his safety in the dark. The most unexpected thing was when the sadist's elegant hands found their way to your chest, squeezing it, and someone else's lips stopped right in front of your ear, red with embarrassment and shame." What do you think is worse for those employees who can't even complete their assignments properly, like being fired or getting a lot of work, much more than usual? " he asked you, massaging your chest through the fabric of your shirt, forbidding you to wear any additional fabric in his office in the form of a jacket, vest or dressing gown, " I think it would be better for them to do more work than usual" you say, swallowing, having already learned that your words could often acquire weight and leave employees with torn nerves and a nervous breakdown, or, which was rare, because the company needed employees, to throw out completely poorly working people from the company.

But the worst part, as you convinced yourself, even though you were grinning nervously alone, was remembering the events that happened to you when you unknowingly flirted with some of the staff, leaving Dr. Harley in a bad mood. What can you say? He was furious. You could get used to the compressions that left bruises on your body later. But you couldn't get used to the man's jealousy when you re-entered his office, kicking off your heels and closing the door, as per the usual ritual. You wouldn't have entered this room knowing what was waiting for you. In less than 15 minutes, you were standing on trembling legs, leaning your torso on the table, not completely, but only with your waist and arms, whimpering and slightly swaying your hips from how pleasantly and painfully the elastic and smooth head of the vibrator slid, caressing your femininity, and the body of your boss pressed close did not give you a chance to move. And all I can do is choke on moans and sobs. Sometimes getting slapped on the hips, you twitched, whining, but rather from how at such moments it was pleasant and humiliating for a toy to torment your clitoris, pressing against your labia, but focusing on a lump of nerves, bringing you to tears and removing the vibrating object from your body again when you had a little bit left before climax, and your natural lubricant was already flowing down your legs, staining the floor. "Repeat what a good assistant should do and how he should treat his boss, even if he is not in charge of the company, but in charge of a subordinate" the man whispered threateningly in your ear, hearing with sadistic pleasure your hoarse apologies for allegedly cheating, which you did not allow, but in the perverted mind of the elder, you could do anything wrong, just to untie his hands and give him a reason to torment you and bring you to the edge of ecstasy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dr. Sawyer" you apologized in a trembling voice, moaning, rolling your eyes with treacherous pleasure when men's hands squeeze your bare breasts thanks to your removed shirt and bra, which makes you bite your tongue, which you shouldn't have talked much to other people, while your knees are weak from rough play with your nipples. "Please forgive my assistant, I will never again pay so much attention to those who do not deserve anything, but I will give all my attention only to the genius of science and surgery, you, Harley Sawyer" you begged with a hoarse voice, pleasing his ego, rolling your eyes when the toy returned to your clitoris. get the long-awaited orgasm, but the doctor's silence never ended such evenings of punishment and obedience. You could only lie down on the table with your chest, trying to catch your breath, and with excitement and horror you could hear the sound of your fly being unfastened and the almost lightning-fast pressing of the elder's erection with a languid sigh, which meant that for you it was not at all the end of re-education.

"You got what you wanted. You're not overworking anymore" the man said carelessly, holding you in his arms, while Rob ran a pencil over a piece of paper, drawing out different poses for an entity called "Yarnaby." "Yes, it's true and I'm grateful to you for that, but maybe you'll still give me at least a little contact with the staff, I spend time with you from morning until late at night" you timidly answer, looking away and not daring to get up from someone else's lap while his head rests on your shoulder. your shoulder, and your back is pressed against his chest. You hold your breath, hearing that grin right in your ear again, "Is there something you don't like, Y/N? You really wanted to avoid running around platforms and seeing the smirks of some employees. I'm just fulfilling your wish. "he was saying, which made your toes feel a little tight, because even though he fulfilled your wish, he did it in such a sophisticated way and turned everything around to his advantage, as always. Once again, you were left without the opportunity to argue your answer, sighing and continuing to rest in strangely caring and proper hands. You could only bite your cheek and reflect that both you and the young man know about your situation with trying to appear as a higher person in other people's eyes and that Harley would use this against you every time you had at least one thought about leaving him. Only sometimes, glancing at the notes on different sheets left at some time to the owners of this office, you are distracted from dark thoughts. And an intriguing question for you was - who is Riley and why do I need to check her every day on.. bouts of aggression?

You were distraught when you were fired from your job right after Sawyer went missing. You couldn't answer what hurt you more, the fact that he ran away, the fact that you were fired because of him or because of his possible report on you, because if he's not in the workplace, then you shouldn't be either. At least that's what he kept saying when he dragged her into his bed, arguing that if he had a day off, so did you. And it means that you will limp again later in the evening from making love to him. But now. You were broken and confused, returning to the apartment, which was now so lonely without yours.. A lover? You didn't even know what kind of relationship you were in with him before he disappeared. That's all you could say for sure. You've become more attached to him than you planned, wanted, or could have been.. It scared you and made you cry without the affection of your beloved doctor. And his sometimes persistent kisses.

But here. After almost a few years, returning to the factory with your employee, having overcome so many dangers and living creatures that you saw only with children and only with smiles, thinking that they were harmless. You could only realize with horror that all this was an illusion, and judging by the tapes that you listened to with bated breath with your colleague, each of the experiments suffered. And you suffered the same way because of your former boss Sawyer, which made your heart sink into your heels and you were ready to collapse on the floor, not realizing that you had always been so close to a real monster.

And now. While you heard your friend running away from the mechanical bodies, you only screamed faintly into the fabric of your skirt, which was torn off at your bottom and covered your mouth from the way the wires bound your body, tightening the same on your miniature figure, clasping your hands behind your back again, while other bare wires slid over your though and a body covered with clothes, but still sensitive to weak electric shocks. And these blows were imitation kisses, while you stared wide-eyed at the humanoid creature standing above you, not allowing you to move or get up from the table on which you were sitting like a prisoner. Just the way he likes it... You just stared with horror in your eyes at the TV, which displayed a single eye that described all your features and the fact that you had hardly changed in any way over the years. His mechanical hand rests on your chin and with deliberate tenderness presses on it, forcing you to swallow out of habit from the learned signal sign - to be closer to the boss, which you do, leaning towards the figure, not even giving yourself an account of the actions, but only mechanically doing the work itself. "I've been waiting for you for so long, my beloved assistant. You've missed and missed me too much, Y/N, but don't worry. I won't leave you alone anymore. Never. "

[magnagaruzenmon]

Hybrid Theory XIV

Well this came out earlier than we thought.

The heavy scent of sandalwood and expensive liquor clung to the air of the private lounge as Sejeong—sleek, poised, and every bit the predator in heels—leaned back against the velvet couch. Her nine tails twitched behind her in irritation, the golden rings adorning them chiming softly with each movement. Her gaze, a gleaming amber, swept across the room with thinly veiled contempt.

She tapped a clawed finger against the lacquered armrest, the sound sharp as a blade.

“Someone want to explain to me,” she said coolly, “how a single deputy sheriff managed to shut down a third of our operations in one night?”

Silence answered first. Then, one of her lieutenants—a wiry rat hybrid named Mikko—finally spoke, his voice shaky.

“I-I think it was that new guy, ma’am. The rookie. Tohru something. We underestimated him.”

Sejeong raised an eyebrow, her lip curling.

“Underestimated?” she echoed, her voice like frost. “He’s a deputy. Not a warlock. Why hasn’t this eager little badge boy been dealt with?”

Mikko grimaced, exchanging nervous glances with the others. “He’s always one step ahead, boss. It’s like he knows our moves before we make ’em. He even busted the drop at the docks before we unloaded.”

Sejeong’s tail snapped with agitation. “So either we have a mole, or this Tohru’s a damn oracle.”

Fed up with the incompetence in the room, she stood up, heels clicking against the marble floor as she crossed to the nearest tablet. With a few swipes, she pulled up a video—“Deputy Sheriff Tohru: The Future of Hybrid Law Enforcement”—a glossy PR piece with drone footage, dramatic music, and a B-roll of Tohru handing out balloons to children after drop-kicking a gang member into a dumpster.

She stared at the screen. Her ears flattened. The air around her went still.

Her expression twisted.

“…Nope,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Nope. I quit. I’m done.”

She turned off the tablet with a dramatic swipe and spun on her heel.

“Boss?” Mikko blinked, stunned. “Wait—do you know Tohru?”

Sejeong didn’t answer immediately. She paused at the threshold, her voice low and venomous.

“I know that face,” she said. “That man is a psychopath with a smile. And I’m not getting dragged into another chapter of his redemption arc.”

And with that, she stormed out of the hideout.

Two hours later, she was curled up on the couch at her mother’s house in sweatpants, a glass of wine in hand, muttering to herself, “I should’ve continued my career and education…”

The office was quiet—too quiet. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as I finished signing off on a mountain of reports for Sheriff Anubis Krueger. Most of the team had already clocked out; the bustle of hybrid and human officers gradually trickled into silence, leaving me alone in the dim glow of my desk lamp.

The loneliness clung to me like an old shadow, familiar and unwelcome. It reminded me of the cold halls of Project Abraxis—the sterile silence, the feeling of being watched even when no one was there. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that memory anymore. Sometimes it felt like it belonged to another life… sometimes it felt like it was still happening.

A sudden knock broke the quiet, and before I could answer, a cheerful voice called out.

“Hey, hellhound!”

Eunbi strolled in like a breeze through a shut window. The ever-bubbly bunny hybrid’s ears perked up as she plopped down in the seat across from me, her oversized hoodie swishing with the movement. She offered a bright grin, one of the few things in this world that still felt uncomplicated.

“I heard you took down another mafia outfit,” she said, nudging a folder on my desk with a finger. “Word is the Fior family’s officially disbanding. That makes what—four this month?”

I sighed, not looking up from my paperwork.

Eunbi laughed. “What’s wrong, Mr. Hero? You save the city, and all you get is a medal and depression?”

“You know it’s not about the glory,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, her voice softening. “My poor lonely buddy who still pines after the only girl he ever loved—the one who disappeared without a trace.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t blame her. After Abraxis… everything changed. I’ve felt alone ever since.”

There was a brief silence before Eunbi leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You wanna go on a date?” she teased, flashing a wink.

I laughed, the first real one all day. “Your boyfriend would love that.”

“He’d get over it. Maybe.” She giggled. “Anyway, here’s a better idea. Go to Nayeon’s this weekend. I might know someone—someone better. You trust me, right?”

“Always,” I said, smiling faintly. “Alright. I’ll go.”

“Great!” Eunbi said, hopping up from her seat. But before she left, her expression shifted—more serious, more grounded. She turned back to me and said quietly, “Mycroft… it’s not your fault. What happened in Abraxis… you did what you had to do.”

I looked at her for a long second before nodding. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I believed it yet.

After Eunbi left, her gentle reassurance still echoing in my ears, I returned to my desk only to notice one of the case reports still glowing on my screen—unclosed, unresolved.

A black cat burglar.

I remembered skimming it before, assuming it was another petty thief just nimble enough to avoid the average patrol. But as I reviewed the details with fresh eyes, I noticed a pattern—or rather, a lack of one.

She didn’t just steal valuables or weapons. She took specific, curious items:

—An experimental enhancement drug from a biotech lab.

—Tactical claw attachments developed for hybrid enforcement squads.

—A prototype stealth suit, reportedly decommissioned but still fully functional.

—And strangest of all, a family heirloom—a timepiece belonging to the now-defunct Duvaincourt lineage, obliterated in the mafia wars.

None of the thefts were violent. No guards injured. No civilians harmed. Just holes in walls, missing equipment, and security camera loops erased like chalk off a board. She was precise. Purposeful. Yet inconsistent.

Either a highly competent criminal… or someone desperate. Homeless, even.

I leaned back, pinching the bridge of my nose as the headache settled in. After several more hours and a dozen cross-references with other unsolved cases, I gave up for the night.

⸻

A few days later…

The CONHA Gala was in full swing. Velvet drapes, chandeliers, and a thousand polished shoes pacing across marble floors. I didn’t even remember which award I was getting—something about “bridging enforcement gaps.” It sounded nice. Decorative. Like the badge.

I barely made it through the entrance before Jiwoo swooped in and looped her arm around mine. She looked radiant in a silver-blue gown, her sliver fox ears poking through artfully done platinum blonde hair. “There he is! Mr. Public Safety himself.” her white fur tail wagged happily.

“Jiwoo,” I greeted with a nod, but she was already dragging me toward the ballroom. I noticed that there was a spattering of wait staff with different color ties than the other wait staff and wondered what it was about.

“No one’s asking me to dance, and I refuse to let this dress go to waste. You’re my rescue date now, okay?”

I smirked, helpless against her energy. “Alright, alright.”

As we moved through the dance floor, swaying under soft lights and orchestra strings, I started to relax—at least, until I felt it.

A presence. Watching.

I glanced subtly over Jiwoo’s shoulder. Nothing obvious. But I knew eyes when they lingered too long.

“You keep scanning like we’re on patrol,” Jiwoo teased, pulling me closer. “Relax. Breathe.”

“I feel like I’m being watched.”

“You are,” she said casually. “You’re an award-winning human hybrid peacekeeper. Half the room wants to shake your hand. The other half wants to know how you smell so… safe.”

That pulled me up short. “How I smell?”

Jiwoo laughed softly. “You didn’t know? Your scent’s naturally calming to most hybrids. Subconscious, probably tied to your time with Krueger . You smell like safety. Like—” she squinted, sniffed jokingly near my collar, “—like rain after a fire. A lot of us pick up on it without realizing.”

I blinked, caught between confusion and flattery. “Is that why you’re always finding excuses to sit near me at lunch?”

She gave me a coy grin. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like the view.”

I chuckled, shaking my head, but the warmth of the moment was fleeting. That presence hadn’t left. Someone was still watching. Hidden in the crowd.

Jiwoo noticed my shift in mood. “You okay?”

“I will be,” I said, scanning once more—slower, more deliberate. “Eventually.”

As we moved, she leaned in closer than necessary. Her cheek brushed my shoulder, and I could feel her smile through the subtle shift in her scent—earthy, sharp, playful.

“You know you smell really good, right?” she said softly, chin tilted up to meet my eyes.

“Uh… deodorant?” I offered, genuinely confused.

She rolled her eyes, then smirked. “No, dummy. Your scent. It’s calming. That’s rare. Most humans smell like stress, chemicals, or fear. But you? You smell like Petrichor after a massive wildfire.” She inhaled as if confirming it. “You’re like an emotional support human.”

“Uh... thanks?” I said awkwardly. “Good to know I’m a walking aromatherapy session.”

She snorted. “Don’t undersell it. I’ve seen aggressive hybrids ease up just by standing near you.”

I scratched the back of my head, not quite sure how to take that. “I mean... I guess that’s useful on patrols.”

“It is. It’s why a lot of hybrids open up to you. You’re like…” she paused, searching for the right metaphor, “...like a soft-blanket-in-the-middle-of-winter type of presence.”

The band switched to a slower tempo. Jiwoo pulled me closer, arms now looped lazily around my neck as we danced. Her eyes shimmered with mischief and something else—hope, maybe.

But I missed it completely.

“Reminds me of my little cousin,” I said with a soft laugh. “She used to cling to me like this when she was scared of lightning storms.”

Jiwoo blinked. “...You’re comparing me to a scared ten-year-old?”

I smiled fondly. “No, just saying you’ve got that same tough-but-soft energy. Like a big-hearted bruiser.”

She buried her face against my chest with a muffled groan. “You’re so dumb sometimes.”

“What? Did I say something weird?”

“No, Torhu,” she muttered, “you said exactly what someone would say when they don’t realize they’re being hit on.”

I blinked. “Wait, wha—?”

She just chuckled, content to rest against me a little longer, even if I was hopeless.

A few moments later, Nayeon—fellow Shepherd and owner of the karaoke bar/arcade I frequented after long shifts—drifted through the crowd toward me, glass of soju in hand and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Well, you clean up nice, Mr. Hero,” she teased, giving me a once-over that made me self-conscious despite the praise.

Before I could respond, Jiwoo clung tighter to my arm and pouted up at her.

“Please, unnie, let him be mine tonight?” she whined, the exaggerated tone just shy of playful begging.

Nayeon exhaled in mock exasperation, then leaned in and kissed Jiwoo on the cheek. “Sorry, Jiwoo-ah. I need to borrow him for a grown-up conversation.”

Jiwoo groaned dramatically before peeling herself off of me and flouncing away into the crowd, already scanning for someone new to shower her affection on.

Once we had a bit of space, Nayeon grabbed my wrist gently, steering me toward a quieter alcove of the event hall.

“So,” she said, tilting her head, “the Deputy Star Sheriff’s all alone tonight. Why?”

I gave her a dry look. “You of all people know why.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah… I do. I’m sorry Sejeong ghosted after the whole Project Abraxis mess. That wasn’t fair. But there’s a sea of eligible bachelorettes out there tonight—human and hybrid alike. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly.

I snorted. “Sure, maybe I’ll finally talk to Jeongyeon. You’re always going on about how amazing she is.”

Nayeon choked on her drink mid-sip, eyes wide. “Jeongyeon is my husband, you absolute jerk.”

I grinned. “I know. Not so fun when the teasing’s on the other foot, is it?”

She smacked my arm with the back of her hand, then smiled with reluctant amusement before her tone shifted.

“Have you been monitoring the situation with the good doctor?”

I nodded, voice lowering. “Yeah. She’s panicked, but also being a lot more careful. That’s a win for us. The predator spirals and prey paranoia syndrome outbreaks were getting out of hand. Plus, with Mina tailing that lion-komodo hybrid full-time, nothing... should surprise us.”

“Good.” She nodded, visibly relieved, then took another sip from her glass. “Alright, I’m heading back to my actual husband now. Have fun tonight. Maybe seal the deal with Jiwoo. Girl’s clearly interested in you.”

I chuckled. “She’s a little too young for me.”

“Oh? The infamous voracious hellhound of rigorous appetites finally has a limit?”

“Nay. I’ve always had limits,” I said softly, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment too long.

Nayeon caught the note in my voice, studied me, then offered a small, sincere smile. “That’s why we trust you, y’know. You burn hot, but you burn clean.”

She squeezed my arm gently, then turned to leave, her heels clicking against the marble as she vanished back into the crowd.

After that I felt the call of nature and excused myself from the dance floor with a polite nod to Jiwoo, who itching to cling to my arm for just a moment longer than necessary before reluctantly letting me go.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, unaware of how Jiwoo watched me leave with a soft sigh and a pout that was anything but sisterly.

The soft lighting of the gala hall gave way to the cooler, dimmer corridor leading to the restrooms. I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as I walked, the weight of the evening catching up with me. The scent of polished marble and expensive cologne clung to the air, but there was something else, too—something more natural, faintly floral and wild. I paused for just a second, eyes narrowing. A shift in the atmosphere.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, not far away on an upper overlook, two hybrids stood partially behind a curtain near one of the decorative indoor trees. One was lithe and lean, draped in a fitted satin dress that shifted like liquid smoke—Chaewon, a sleek blend of clouded leopard, tiger, and cheetah. Her gold-flecked eyes tracked my every movement with trained caution. Next to her, resting her chin on the railing like a lazy cat, was my friend Eunbi, a rabbit hybrid with soft, bouncing curls and a glint of mischief in her gaze.

“There he goes,” Eunbi whispered with a grin, nodding toward my retreating back. “You see what I mean?”

Chaewon scoffed quietly, her voice a low rumble. “That’s just the golden boy sheriff. Look at him. Straight-laced, polite, law-abiding. Probably makes his bed every morning and drinks protein shakes.”

Eunbi leaned in closer, her smile widening. “That’s what you think. that's what he wants everyone to think. But he’s not what he looks like on the surface. I’ve known him for years. There’s something under all that restraint. Something... with bite.”

Chaewon crossed her arms under her chest, her pout deepening. “He doesn’t even look at hybrids that way. I mean the way he shut down that cute dog fox hybrid who's clearly into him. He's not into us. At least not seriously. Probably just sees us as civilians to protect, not people to—”

“run wild with?” Eunbi offered, waggling her eyebrows.

Chaewon gave her a flat stare but her ears twitched slightly in amusement. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re curious,” Eunbi shot back, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “And I’m telling you—Torhu might play the good guy, but you should see the way he grips a chair when he thinks no one’s watching or how he acts when the chips are down and the facade of the perfect hero cracks. he’s holding something back. Something strong, but also something needy.”

Chaewon tilted her head, eyes drifting back toward the corridor where Torhu had disappeared. “He hides it well.”

“Which makes it more fun, doesn’t it?” Eunbi leaned in conspiratorially. “Just keep watching him. You’ll see what I mean.”

Chaewon didn’t answer at first, her sharp eyes flicking back to the dance floor, then to the corridor again. Her mouth pressed into a slow, skeptical pout—plush and annoyed and undeniably intrigued.

“…Fine,” she muttered with a huff. “I’ll watch.”

Eunbi smirked and wrapped an arm around her waist. “That’s all I ask, darling. Just watch.”

“You may not want to go this way,” he said coolly. “We’re about to begin our demonstration.”

His tone was polite, but firm—rehearsed. And then I saw it: the blue insignia stitched into his lapel. The symbol of TOPH. The Order of Pure Humanity.

I gave a casual nod, feigning compliance, and turned on my heel—only to pivot smoothly behind him and slam him into the ground with a sudden suplex. He gasped as I drove the air from his lungs, and I followed up with a swift kick to his chest, just enough to knock him out cold. No lethal force—not yet. Not unless I had to.

I straightened my jacket and scanned the area. Three more—two men, one woman—all with ties subtly different from the rest of the guests, mismatched shades just enough to catch the eye. Operatives, clearly. They weren’t here to protest—they were here to send a message. And if I didn’t act carefully, someone was going to die.

I had no weapons. Neither did they, most likely. TOPH was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. That meant this wasn’t about brute force—it was a targeted strike. Judging by their eyes and posture, they were already zeroing in on someone.

I couldn’t go in guns blazing. Not in front of this crowd. Not while I was still wearing the “Golden Retriever” smile of the town’s cheerful deputy. I needed to work around them—distract, misdirect, stall.

Or maybe...

A plan started forming. Sloppy. Stupid. Perfect.

I let my shoulders sag, drew in a loose, wobbling breath, and stumbled forward like I’d had one too many. The swagger of a man who was two drinks past his limit and one belt short of his pants staying up.

The main hall was already packed. On stage, the leader of TOPH was droning on with all the faux-righteous fury of a man who'd never faced real pain. His voice rang with venomous conviction:

“Hybrids are a blight upon humanity, the result of arrogant science playing god. It’s our sacred duty to cleanse this world—”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy drunkenly zigzagging toward the bar.

The bartender—a young terrier hybrid, no older than twenty—looked like she’d rather vanish than serve a drink. Her ears twitched nervously as I slouched onto the counter.

“One beer, pwease,” I slurred, my eyes half-lidded in a tipsy daze.

She hesitated, then shakily handed me the bottle with trembling paws before ducking down beneath the bar, eyes wide with fear.

Good girl.

That’s when the speech paused. Silence spread. All eyes turned to me.

The leader stepped off the stage, clearly irritated.

“I think it’s best if you leave,” he said as he approached, his measured voice barely hiding his contempt.

I swiveled lazily on my barstool to face him and grinned wide. “But I’m gettin’ a stupid award. For bein’ the bestest sheriff—wait—no. Deputy sheriff.” My voice wobbled like my stance.

He blinked. “Torhu,” he said with a rehearsed familiarity, “we’re conducting something very important here. I’d hate for you to get in the way... or get hurt.”

I reached out, wrapping an arm around his shoulder like we were old drinking buddies. He tensed.

“Ohhh,” I slurred, my grin lopsided. “Are you gettin’ an award too?”

He gave a thin, confused smile, unsure if I was mocking him or just drunk.

“No,” he said smoothly. “But we do have business with Mr. Savitar.”

He gestured behind him.

There, bound and gagged, was a hybrid eagle. Strong. Proud. Wings trembling, eyes filled with fury and panic.

And now I knew their target.

I leaned in, still playing the drunk.

“Well,” I muttered, voice just low enough for him to hear, “this is about to get real messy.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Before he could react, I headbutted him—hard. I slamed my skull into his chest leaving him disoriented before smashing the beer bottle into his skull. the glass shattered knocking him out cold. the man collapsed.

As I did that Eunbi and Chaewon continued to watch from the vantage point. Chaewon confused by my act said,

"He's literally had nothing to drink not even water. Why is he acting drunk?"

Eunbi smirked as she answered, "to preserve the illusion," she said as I hit the leader with an RKO. Chaewon pouted her curved lips pursed with intrigue,

"What facade?" she asked as she watched me run to another TOPH Member before hitting them with sweet chin music and suplexing another right after, while I carried my

"The Facade you hate, the goody two-shoe deputy sheriff. He hates playing it, but is really good at playing it,"

Chaewon looked at me as I threw another TOPH member into another one,

"So then what is he?"

"A predator like you, he just uses camouflage and ambush tactics," Eunbi said with a smile as I finished the rest of the TOPH members before sighing and faux collapsing onto the floor and faked sleeping the crowd cheered as they all focused on freeing Mr. Savitar.

Aurelio and Amalia were also watching and he turned to Amalia who watched in terror, and said, "See he's a dumb officer who lucked into that victory,"

but both Amalia and Chaewon knew that that was only an act and it sent a shiver down both Hybrid's spines.

After the other partygoers had gone off to check on Mr. Savitar—and to make sure the TOPH members were properly arrested—I found myself at a table tucked away from all the chaos. That’s when Eunbi approached, bringing another hybrid along with her.

"Impressive display, Torhu," Eunbi said with a smirk, then gestured to the girl beside her. She was clearly a blend of several big cats—cheetah, leopard, tiger—each traceable in her features.

The hybrid gave me a coy smile as she slid into the seat next to mine.

"Enjoy," Eunbi said, then disappeared into the crowd.

I turned to look at the girl—she was definitely cute, but guarded. Her feline ears twitched slightly on top of her head, and her twin tails flicked behind her with nervous energy. Then I noticed the timepiece hanging around her neck—the same one the infamous cat burglar had stolen not too long ago.

She caught my gaze and tilted her head.

"See something you like?"

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring. "Not really into family heirlooms."

She smirked. "You're not as dumb as you look."

I chuckled. "My dad used to say, ‘When people want to act a fool, you show 'em you're not one.’"

That got a reaction—her posture relaxed just a bit. More open, still sharp. But closer now.

Now that I could really see her, I realized—she was adorable. Those golden eyes, the ears, the faintest whisker markings at the corners of her cheeks. Damn.

"So Eunbi calls you ‘Mycroft.’ What’s that about?"

"It was my codename during Project Abraxis," I said, trying not to sound like I cared about the title.

"Wait. You were in Project Abraxis?" Her brow furrowed. "But you're so... soft."

I gave a mock sigh, stood, and stretched. "Okay. I like you now. We’re dating."

Her eyes widened. "Oh? And when exactly was that decision made?"

"About five seconds ago. I’m getting ice cream. Are you coming? My treat."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to figure out what game I was playing. Then she stood and nodded. "Fine. But only because I want mint chocolate."

"Blegh" I feigned retching as I opened my arm so she could loop hers with mine. She took it and began purring. I smirked as we walked out

As we walked off, Eunbi watched from a balcony above, shaking her head with a sly grin.

"Oh, she’s going to rail him tonight," she muttered before strolling off to find her own pack.

The neon lights of the city smeared across the windshield like melting paint as we drove toward the old ice cream parlor—one of the few places still standing that didn’t reek of gang tags or blood. I glanced over at the hybrid beside me, her ears twitching under her hood like she was still expecting to bolt.

“So,” I started, keeping my voice casual. “Do you want me to call you Cipher, or do you have a regular name that doesn’t sound like you’re about to hack into a corporate vault?”

She blinked, surprised. “Chaewon,” she said after a beat, her tone sharp, like I’d just taken a swing at her defenses.

I grinned, leaning into the name. “Chaewon? As in the Kim Chaewon? Like the old dynasty princess before the gangs bulldozed this city into a warzone?”

She gave a crooked nod, amused but cautious. “Yeah. Something like that.”

I kept my eyes on the road but could feel her watching me, tense like a coil ready to snap. “Alright, then, Chaewon,” I said, drawing her name out. “Let’s drop the performance. You gonna tell me if this is a setup, or am I walking into a trap flirting with you?”

She snorted. “Me? Please. You’re the one who’s the damn deputy. Spill it, Sheriff Saint. Is this your ploy to get me alone so you can slap cuffs on me?”

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair. “No! I only go after bad people, not criminals.”

She arched a brow, like I was speaking some strange dialect. “What’s the difference?”

“Bad people hurt others. Criminals just break laws. You can be one without being the other.”

That stopped her.

She went quiet—too quiet. Her head tilted slightly, cat-like, like she was reading between the lines of my soul. Then her pupils dilated, wide and dark and wild. For a second, I thought I’d scared her. I eased my foot off the gas, ready to stop if she needed air—

And then she pounced.

In one fluid motion, she was out of her seat and in mine, straddling my lap as the car coasted to a halt on the side of the cracked road. Her thighs pressed against mine, hot and tense with adrenaline. Her hands grabbed either side of my face, fingers trembling with intensity—like she’d been holding this inside her way too long.

“You’re trouble,” she whispered.

I barely got out a breath. “So are you.”

Then she kissed me—desperate, fevered, like something inside her was breaking and I was the only thing holding it together. And I kissed her back, because God help me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

She broke the kiss, her breath catching as her golden eyes widened—her pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed her irises. The sharpness of her feline features softened, her expression blooming into something equal parts shy and predatory.

“You know,” she murmured, voice low and syrupy, “you’re the first person who’s ever pieced together who I really am.”

“Seriously? Just me?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded slowly, like she was savoring the weight of the truth. I couldn’t help but grin. And before I could second-guess myself, my hand reached up and gently scratched behind her ears. The moment I did, her head tilted into my touch and a deep, rumbling purr vibrated through her chest—so loud and content it almost made me melt.

She closed her eyes, smiling like she hadn’t smiled in a long time. But after a moment, she pulled herself away from my lap with reluctant grace and settled back into her seat, still watching me like I was some confusing puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve yet.

“You’re a bad guy,” Chaewon said suddenly, narrowing her eyes at me with a mock-accusing tilt of her head.

“Wait—what?” I blinked at her. “How?”

“You’ve got a scent like warm blankets on a freezing night,” she said, voice featherlight. “And you knew exactly where to touch me. You’re evil.”

I stared at her, then smirked. “Oh yeah? Well if I’m evil, you’re just as bad. A cute, crazy girl with sharp teeth and a sweet little heart.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, flustered. “How do you know I’m sweet?”

“Easy,” I said with a grin, putting the car back in gear. “Anyone who’s friends with Eunbi has to be sweet. It’s like a rule of the universe.”

Chaewon laughed, soft and genuine. It made my chest feel too small for my heart.

“So,” she said slyly, “why aren’t you dating her then?”

“She sees me as a little brother,” I shrugged. “But you’ll do.”

I let the last part hang in the air, delivered with a teasing edge. I didn’t want her to think I was pushing too fast, but I also didn’t want to pretend I wasn’t feeling something real between us.

Chaewon gave me a playful glare and smacked my arm. “Okay, Mr. Deputy. Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, smiling as I pulled us back into the quiet rhythm of the night drive—though my mind was anything but quiet.

The bell above the door jingled as we walked into the parlor, a little joint that somehow still stood untouched amidst all the upheaval. Neon signs hummed overhead. The sweet, heady scent of waffle cones and fudge swirled through the air like a trap, and Chaewon looked around like a kid in a candy store—if that kid also happened to be sitting on your lap kissing you five minutes ago.

We slid into a booth. She chose the seat across from me, but sat sideways, one leg curled up under her, chin resting on her hand as she watched me with those eyes that knew too much. She looked deceptively casual, but there was a fire flickering under the surface. I was trying not to catch it.

“So,” I said, trying to ground us in something—anything. “You strike me as a mint-chocolate kind of girl.”

She blinked, then gave me this crooked grin that hit way too hard. “What, because I’m refreshing and a little bitter?”

“Because you’re unconventional but with charm.”

She laughed, really laughed, and leaned over the table. “Okay, okay, Deputy Smart Mouth. What does that make you? Vanilla?”

I smirked. “Vanilla’s underrated. Everyone loves vanilla. It’s dependable.”

Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. “You don’t strike me as very dependable.”

I leaned forward, just a bit, caught her gaze. “Only because you don’t know me yet.”

And there it was again—that pull. That damn tether between us, tight and hot and sharp around the edges.

The kid at the counter called out our order and I was grateful for the interruption. I stood to grab it, but she trailed behind me, not even pretending to keep her distance. Our fingers brushed as she took her sundae from my hand, and it was electric. She didn’t pull away.

We returned to the booth, but this time she slid in next to me instead of across. Way too close. I could feel the warmth of her thigh against mine.

Chaewon swirled her spoon in her bowl without looking at me. “So what’s your deal, Torhu? Are you always this… gallant? Or am I a special case?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be. “You’re not what I expected.”

She gave me a sideways glance, eyes glinting. “You expected someone more dangerous?”

“I expected someone I wouldn’t like so much.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned her head against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I let her. No—I wanted her to. The air between us was thick with all the things we weren’t saying, and the silence felt like a held breath.

“I’m not good for you,” she murmured, like it was a warning.

I stared ahead at the neon glow reflected in the window. “Well lucky me I’m in the mood for something bad for me.”

She turned her face toward mine, so close I could feel her breath. My heart was pounding like it didn’t know who it was beating for anymore.

Neither of us moved to kiss. Not yet. But the space between us was a live wire, and we were both wet from the storm, cold and electric.

Chaewon’s hand brushed mine. I held it.

Not because it made sense. Not because it was safe.

But because it felt real. And because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was pretending to be anything at all. She smiled then recoiled as if holding back. I furrowed my brow but didn’t push as I felt Chaewon clench. I sighed but let her do her thing.

The ride back was quiet, but not in the uncomfortable way. More like the kind of silence that thrums with energy just under the surface — a shared tension neither of us could quite name without making it too real.

Chaewon sat tilted in her seat, one knee pulled up, eyes flicking between me and the window, like she was bracing herself for something. The warm lights of the city flickered across her features, casting her in a golden glow that made her look equal parts dangerous and divine.

I could still taste her laugh in the air from earlier — bright and sharp, the way it slipped out when I made a dumb joke about leopard spots being nature’s camo for mischief. She rolled her eyes then, but her smile betrayed her. She liked it. She liked me.

When I pulled up in front of her place — a small, weathered loft perched above what looked like an abandoned flower shop — she didn’t move right away. Just unbuckled her seatbelt and turned slowly toward me, eyes huge and gleaming in the low light, pupils dilated, chin dipped ever so slightly. Watching me like something between a lover and a predator.

“What, no goodbye kiss?” I asked, trying to sound teasing, light — like my heart wasn’t hammering hard enough to crack bone.

She blinked once. Slow. Then leaned in, warm breath ghosting along my jaw. “You sure you want that?”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t wanted anything else all night.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t flirty. It was… haunted. Like she was already grieving something neither of us had said aloud. Her fingers brushed the door handle, then stopped. She hesitated. Turned back toward me, voice soft but vibrating with something raw and caged.

“If you come up… you’re mine.”

The words struck like a bullet made of silk — not a tease, not a threat, but a claim. A vow buried in instinct and need.

She looked away, just for a second, then forced herself to meet my gaze again. “I mean it, Torhu. Hybrids like me… we don’t play. We don’t try people on to see how they fit. If I take you — even for a night — I keep you. It’s how we’re wired.”

I swallowed hard, a noise escaping me that could’ve been a laugh or a growl. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me.”

“It should.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t get to walk back out. There’s no ‘let’s take it slow,’ no backup plans, no reset buttons. You come upstairs… you’re mine. Or you’re dead.”

Her eyes flickered, not with cruelty — but with the bone-deep truth of it. A sacred law written in her blood.

I could see it then. The nervous energy rippling under her skin. Not fear of me — fear for me. Because if I crossed that threshold, she wouldn’t hold back. She wouldn’t let herself.

And she didn’t know if I could handle that.

She shifted, maybe thinking I was about to bolt, maybe trying to give me the chance to — but I reached out, fingers gently curling around her wrist. She froze.

“Give me a second,” I said quietly, “I need to organize my thoughts.”

She didn’t pull away. Just stood there, waiting, ears perked slightly.

“Chae,” I said, her name strange and intimate on my tongue. Her ears twitched at the sound.

“If we do this… I need you to know a few things. First — Torhu’s not my real name. Neither is Mycroft. Second — I’m not a hero. I’m not a good man. But I would never hurt you. Not on purpose. If I say something dumb or call you a stupid nickname, it’s not because I’m trying to make you feel small. I just… forget how to be soft sometimes.”

Chaewon’s eyes narrowed fondly. Then she rolled them, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Babe… you’re rambling.”

I exhaled, a low huff of a laugh. “Right. Okay. Last thing. If we do this — really do this — I need to know you’re just as locked in as I am. No halfway. No exit ramps. We do this… it’s ride or die. Forever. Are you sure you want that?”

She tilted her head at me, feline and curious, like she couldn’t believe I’d even ask. Then she whispered, steady as steel wrapped in velvet:

“Why would you think I’d leave?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her — really looked — and then let it out.

“Because everyone has.”

The words landed like a bruise. She winced — not because she didn’t believe me, but because she did. Because now she understood.

She wasn’t the only one putting her heart on the altar tonight.

We both were.

My hand found hers instinctively. “So if I come in… what happens?”

Her lips brushed my cheek as she whispered, “Then I make you mine. Body. Soul. Every breath you’ve got left.”

The silence after was thick with heat. My heart thundered in my chest like it was trying to warn me and urge me forward all at once. She stepped out of the car, then looked over her shoulder, her eyes daring me.

And all I could think was:

God help me, I hope she does.

I stood in the hallway outside her apartment, the hum of the city muffled by thick walls and a flickering light overhead that made everything feel strangely intimate. Chaewon’s keys jingled as she unlocked the door with practiced ease. She turned to face me, the light catching in her amber eyes like embers barely contained.

Her tails twitched once. Twice. Then stilled.

“You sure?” she asked softly. “If you come inside, you’re mine.”

I tried to play it cool. “That a promise or a threat?”

She didn’t smile. “For my kind, there’s no difference.”

I swallowed, feeling that hot flush rising again, the same one I’d been fighting off since the moment we left the ice cream parlor. She had this wild, restless energy to her—like a storm in waiting. Beautiful, unpredictable, dangerous in the way cliffs are dangerous: you know it’s dumb to get close, but something in you wants to leap.

She stepped back, just far enough to let me pass through the doorway if I chose.

I hesitated. I should’ve turned around. Should’ve gone home and locked that heat in a box again, like I always do.

Instead, I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded more like a seal being drawn than a lock turning. Her apartment smelled like citrus and cedarwood—warm and sharp. She tossed her bag on a chair and turned to face me, slowly pulling her dress off, revealing a lacy number that did nothing to hide the swell of muscle and curve beneath.

She watched me like I was prey.

“I told you,” she murmured. “Now it’s too late.”

I raised an eyebrow, heart pounding in my ears. “For what?”

Chaewon took a step forward. “For you to pretend this isn’t happening.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Her hands were on me in the next breath, one pressing against my chest, the other curling into my shirt like she could drag the truth out of me.

I met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time. It was desperate, like we’d been holding something back all night and now the floodgates were open. She moaned against my mouth, dragging me toward the couch, her tail curling around my leg possessively.

“You smell like restraint,” she growled between kisses. “I want to rip that off of you.”

“You’re not the only one holding back,” I whispered, gripping her waist, feeling the heat of her skin through her clothes.

She pushed me back until we fell together into the cushions, her weight straddling me, hands exploring like she had every right—and I didn’t stop her. Couldn’t.

“I meant what I said,” she warned again, even as her lips grazed my jaw, her breath hot and ragged. “You’re mine now. I’m not built to share. I won’t let you go.”

I stared up at her, dazed, wrecked, exhilarated. “Then don’t.”

Something in her snapped at that—maybe it was relief, maybe it was hunger. But it made her growl, low and reverberating through her whole chest as she kissed me again, deeper this time, more than lust, something primal and claiming.

“Take off that stupid suit!” Chaewon growled. I did as she asked with her staring at me the whole time ravenous.

The moment her restraint snapped, it was as if a locked door burst open within her mind, unleashing something primal and unfiltered. Her eyes flashed with fire, pupils expanding to swallow the amber iris, her breath ragged and ragged, and that growling vibration rumbled from her chest, deep and reverberating like war drums pounding in the storm’s undertow. It was hunger—more than hunger for flesh or blood, but for connection, for release, for claiming what had been denied for too long.

She lunged forward, and before I could even process it, a low growl escaped her throat, a sound rooted in feral territory—both warning and invitation. Her lips curled back, revealing sharpened teeth that shimmered menacingly under the dim light, a predator in her natural state. Her claws—long, curved, gleaming—slashed through the fabric of her resolve, piercing the air as she yanked me roughly into her arms. The fierce possessiveness in that moment was undeniable—she wasn’t just acting on instincts; she was asserting a claim, staking her territory in a way that left no room for ambiguity.

“Take off that stupid suit,” Chaewon growled, voice thick with suppressed fury and desire. Her voice was a command, commanding and commanding—an order from an alpha who had tasted the sweetness of surrender and now demanded it fully. Her eyes burned into mine, unblinking, hungry for vulnerability, for rawness. I hesitated only a second before obeying, unfastening the buttons, peeling off layers of fabric with trembling fingers, feeling her eyes burn into my skin, dissecting every movement, every inch exposed.

She watched every second, ravenous, as my hesitation turned into compliance. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, a hint of sharp amusement flashing across her features. “Fuck,” she purred, voice trembling with anticipation and something darker—something that transcended lust. “All mine now.” Her words were a vow, a curse, a blessing, but above all, a declaration of mastery.

Her claws—long and wicked—scratched along my shoulders as she pulled me into her fiercely. Her hands, trembling but driven by desperate need, pawed at my body, pulling and clutching, as if trying to tattoo her claim directly into my flesh. Her feverish kisses consumed my neck, my collarbone, my chest as she pressed her lips and teeth into every exposed inch, marking me with her scent—wild, dangerous, and intoxicating.

“I’ve been so lonely without a mate,” she stammered, voice choked with emotion, her lips brushing against my skin as tears—or maybe just the intensity—welled in her eyes. She maneuvered me backward, deeper into her den, into her sanctuary of plush blankets, cushions, and flickering candlelight. Her hunger was palpable, raw and unrestrained, as she left hundreds of desperate kisses on my shoulders, collarbone, and chest, her tongue tracing fiery streaks of her presence.

When I reached out to pull her closer, to deepen the moment, she sharply barked, “No!” her voice cutting through the thick air like a whip. Confused, I looked at her, searching her expression for softness or some hidden message—only for her to respond with a fierce, almost hypnotic command: “Fuck me now. Maybe we’ll kiss later.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, unambiguous in their primal tone.

Without hesitation, I nodded. Her eyes, wild and luminous, were locked onto mine. She took control fiercely, pushing me down onto a bedchamber of pillows, wrapping her arms around my waist, her body a heat signature pulsing with raw energy. She yanked my underwear down, her gaze hungry, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she slid downward, staking her claim in the most direct, unfiltered way. Her lithe, feral body moved with divine rhythm—graceful, intense, savage—each of her movements both sexy and raw, as if she reveled in the act of possession itself.

Her walls—hot, wet, impossibly tight—clenched around me, igniting sensations that burned and soared simultaneously. Her moans—deep, guttural—matched her fiery movements, her lust turning into a poetry of primal demand, as she whispered, “You feel better than my toys,” her eyes blown wide, pupils dark as night. Her claws—long, sharp, and deadly—trailed along my chest, leaving trails of anticipation and promise before she leaned down, her lips pressing hard against my shoulder, then sinking into it with teeth bared in a feral grip.

“Whoa, Chae,” I whisper-shouted, my voice trembling as her claws raked over my skin, intimidating and electrifying in equal measure. Her gaze, all pupils and wild intent, told me that rationality had long since left the building—she was entirely consumed by the storm inside her, a tempest unleashed.

She roared softly, a growl of triumph or hunger or a mixture of both, as she ground herself fiercely against me, the slick heat of her desire coating us both in a shivering, sizzling dance. “Mine,” she growled through clenched teeth, repeating it like a mantra, bouncing rhythmically atop me—moving with fierce intensity that warned of an inevitable collision with ecstasy.

The second she hit her peak, her claws—extended in clear warning—dug into my flesh, marking me with her raw strength. Her groan was guttural—satisfied, victorious—and her body clenched around me so powerfully I thought I might be ripped apart. A gush, hot and sticky, spilled over us both, sealing her unfinished claim with another wild, blissful shudder. Her eyes remained blown out, pupils dilated to infinity, as she looked down at me with unfiltered possession, her glow wild and unrepentant.

“Mark me,” she commanded in a whisper thick with multiple meanings—her voice sultry, raw, and unyielding. I followed her command without question, pressing deeper and deeper into her, feeling the incredible heat, the unearthly wetness that seemed to consume everything. Her walls tightened again and again, the crescendo building like a violent storm reaching its zenith. She begged me—silent and ferocious—urging for release, for my own surrender.

And then we plunged together, her eyes meeting mine as her body betrayed her in an explosion of passion—flying over the edge, shuddering fiercely, her claws sinking into my chest in a stake of carnality and conquest. Her scream of release echoed through the room, primal and raw, as she spilled herself onto me, riding the waves of her ecstasy with abandon.

Her victory—her declaration—was etched into her trembling form, her drenched, glowing eyes still wide with wild triumph. She looked down at me, a perfect chaos of lust and pride, and whispered fiercely, “Mine.” Not a question. Not a plea. An unshakable vow—divine in its raw, animal truth.

In that moment, I felt the full weight of her claim, her unrelenting need to possess what she desired—and her need to be possessed in return. This was not merely hunger; it was a fierce, unmitigated declaration of belonging, a bond forged in blood and sweat and forbidden fire. Neither of us could deny it now—once she towered over me, claiming her prize with claws and teeth, surrendering to the darkness within her that craved not just passion but possession.

Morning sunlight bled through the gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the tangled blankets. My eyes blinked open slowly, the haze of sleep giving way to a mix of soreness, warmth, and something...sticky? I looked down.

Lipstick kisses, pink and red and occasionally smudged with a fang mark, dotted my chest. Faint claw lines raked over my sides and shoulders—not deep, but deliberate. Possessive. My thighs were covered in fading bite marks, and my collarbone bore the unmistakable imprint of her mouth.

Gods above, I thought, running a hand through my hair. She was thorough.

Carefully, I started to sit up, wincing slightly as muscles I didn’t even know could ache did just that. I had barely lifted myself off the mattress when a hand darted out—nails grazing my lower back, just enough pressure to warn, not wound.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Chaewon's voice was husky, sleep-thick, but still laced with that purring dominance from the night before.

I tilted my head and gave her a tired grin. “Getting water.”

She let out a soft whine, more feline than human, and buried her face into my back, her arms snaking around my waist as she pressed herself flush against me. “Too far,” she mumbled. “Mate doesn’t leave bed without kisses.”

“Well,” I said, trying not to laugh, “I think you covered your quota already. I’m wearing half of them.”

She growled—playfully, but with a hint of real need—and nipped my shoulder before trailing her nose along my spine. “Doesn’t count if you’re not awake for them,” she said, clearly not letting go.

I shuffled forward with her still clinging to me like a sleepy, overly affectionate backpack. The cool wood floor met my feet as I stumbled toward her tiny kitchen nook, dragging her along inch by inch. She didn’t protest, just sighed and nuzzled into the crook of my neck, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

“You’re seriously going to cling to me all the way to the sink?” I asked, reaching out for a glass with one hand while balancing her weight with the other.

“I’m in recovery,” she said, voice muffled against my skin. “Bonding is exhausting.”

I turned my head slightly to kiss her temple. “Yeah? Then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill me with affection.”

She hummed, finally loosening her hold just enough for me to fill the glass. But even then, she didn’t stray far—her cheek resting against my shoulder, eyes half-lidded as if daring the universe to pull me away from her again.

“I’m yours,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chaewon didn’t reply right away—just curled her arms tighter around me, her tail wrapping lazily around my thigh.

“…Good,” she finally whispered. “I’d hate to have to claw you again.”

i chuckled as I finally grabbed my water and smiled, "Okay"

The water was cold and crisp, almost too clean, too still compared to the whirlwind of last night. I leaned against the kitchen counter, letting the glass rest against my bottom lip, the coolness grounding me in the present after everything Chaewon and I had... become. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache, pleasantly sore and marked in ways that felt more like ceremony than chaos. She made me hers.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Chaewon sat on the edge of the couch, one of her legs curled under her, wearing nothing but an oversized tee—my tee, actually—that clung to her curves in places it had no business doing. Her amber eyes were locked on me, head tilted like a content predator watching her prize stretch its limbs. I saw the possessiveness there, the lazy hunger even now, but it was gentler than before. Still intense. Still undeniably hers.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Eunbi.

I sighed, smiled, and answered with a tired, amused: “You really couldn’t wait till morning?”

“It is morning, dummy,” Eunbi’s voice rang out, chipper and smug. “How’s your first day with your new wife?”

I laughed, setting the phone on speaker as I leaned back against the counter. “Well... the parts I can remember were pretty great.”

Chaewon chuckled softly behind me, her smirk unmistakable even without looking. She padded barefoot across the room and wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, her cheek pressing into my bare back.

“Ohhh,” Eunbi cooed, clearly catching on to the movement. “Is that her I hear breathing down your neck? You sound marked up, Torhu.”

“I am,” I admitted, running my free hand over the side of my neck where I could still feel the faint ridges of her teeth. “Thoroughly.”

Chaewon kissed the middle of my back in response, possessive and unhurried. Her tail flicked playfully against my leg as she nestled closer, arms tightening just slightly.

“You sound happy,” Eunbi said, her tone softening.

I looked down at the girl clinging to me, her claws gently resting against my hip like she was afraid I might drift too far. I smiled.

“I think I am.”

It’s been three days since I… moved in. Or maybe “got claimed” is more accurate.

I’m sitting at Chaewon’s tiny kitchen table — if you can call this sleek little thing a table — sipping coffee while she paces like a caged cat. Her tail is twitching at the tip, shirt half-buttoned, eyes locked on me like I might disappear again. I won’t, but it doesn’t stop her from watching.

“We need a plan,” she announces for the third time. “A real one. Not this loose maybe-you’ll-come-home-after-work bullshit.”

I raise an eyebrow, resting my cheek on one hand. “You do know we’ve spent every night together since, right?”

“That’s not the point,” she mutters, a little too quickly. “You’re mine now, Torhu. I need to know when you’re coming, when you’re leaving, how long you’ll be gone, and what part of me you’ll be sleeping on at night.” Her cheeks flush as soon as she says it, but the possessive glint in her eye doesn’t fade.

“…Sleeping on?” I can’t help but grin.

“You like my thighs, don’t act brand new.”

I nearly choke on the coffee. “I’m not disagreeing.”

She crosses the space between us and drapes herself across my lap with dramatic flair. Her scent hits me like a familiar drug—lavender, heat, and something uniquely her. She nuzzles against my neck, her claws gently grazing under my shirt like she's reassuring herself I’m still real.

“I don’t want to be apart. Not even for a night. Not after… that.”

I know what she means. The bond. The haze. The primal blur of sweat and sound and wild devotion.

She clings tighter. “I feel weird when you’re not touching me.”

“I know. You pounced on me in the shower because I closed the bathroom door.”

“You didn’t have to close it.”

I chuckle, brushing a hand through her hair. “Chaewon, you’re adorable. A little intense, but adorable.”

She lifts her head to glare half-heartedly. “Intense?”

I cup her cheek, running my thumb along the corner of her mouth. “I’m not complaining. I like you like this.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Really. I’m just trying to help you breathe through the bonding part so you don’t spiral into kidnapping territory.”

She hums like she’s actually considering it. “Would you even mind?”

“Honestly? Depends on the quality of the rope.”

She smirks, purring as she curls deeper into me. “You shouldn’t say things like that, husband.”

“Technically, we’re not married.”

“Technically, your neck has my teeth marks.”

I laugh out loud at that. “Fair.”

“That’s kinda hot.”

She let out a breathy laugh, and I could feel her whole body soften against mine. “I’m serious,” she said, voice low. “I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore. My body won’t calm down unless you’re close. I woke up last night and you weren’t touching me and I almost cried.”

“Guess I’m not going back to my place anytime soon, huh?”

“Nope,” she said with smug satisfaction, popping the ‘p’. “You’re mine now. I’m not letting go.”

I turned slightly so I could catch her eyes. They were half-lidded, a little wild. Still riding that post-bonding high. Still drunk on instinct. And I couldn’t lie—I liked how possessive she was. I liked that it was me who pulled this side of her out.

“You’ll let go when you’re ready,” I said gently, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “But until then…”

I leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath her eye, then down to her jaw.

“I’m right here. Yours.”

She exhaled shakily, clinging tighter again. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

She made a small noise in her throat—part growl, part purr—and I swear I felt her vibrating.

I guess we weren’t building a relationship so much as hurling ourselves into one. But honestly? It felt good. Dangerous, intense, a little messy—but good. And if this was what being loved by a leopard hybrid felt like?

I wasn’t going anywhere.

[aseaofyoongi]

my heart did | jjk

jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: e2l | bully romance | smut | angst

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: as soon as senior years comes to an end a lot of teens shed who we were and strive to be flourish into a more polished version of themselves. although, broken hearts aren’t so quick to heal what happens when thoughts reveal all we need to know?

warnings: lets begin.. themes and mentions of bullying; brief physical violence; brief mention of blood; bickering; denial of feelings; mention of less than ideal parents; cliche high school themes (in flashbacks); foul language; oral (m. receiving); penetrative and unprotected sex; clitoral stimulation; nipple play; thigh riding; vag fingering; overstimulation; sub!jjk themes - he is a good boy; he uh.. arrives on her face.. anyways; i hate this trope ugh but miscommunication; jjk has a big d!; not edited.

word count: 25,5 thousand words

posted: wed sept. 6, 2023 at 12:28PM

notable songs: like i want you - giveon | thinkin bout you - frank ocean | like or like like - miniature tiger | war of hearts - ruelle | sunday morning - maroon5 🎧

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The sun is now setting. 

Behind you as the last hours of the late summer evening approached the sun was beginning to finally pucker its lips against the horizon, as a result, the sky became dusted with hints of deep orange, yellow and purple. The clock finally struck nine o’clock and you couldn’t help but slump down on the palms of your hands, sitting behind the main desk on the same stool you had been since the beginning of your shift. Your pupils followed as the little hands on the clock hung on the opposite wall seemed to move slower and slower, completely freezing you in time. 

Fucking Mondays. 

You sighed. When you had initially signed up for the work study position at the library you thought things would be just a bit different. 

For example, you thought being a staff member here would get you free access to course books and materials but that wasn’t the case. Right before you’d been hired, some idiot named Yoongi who worked behind the help desk at the computer lab was caught selling copies of the course materials to multiple students on campus. 

Like—right before you were hired and now that privilege had been swiped right off the tip of your fingers the moment your member badge had been printed. 

Secondly, time behind that rotating door at the main entrance just stopped. No, more like slammed down on the brakes abruptly the moment you crossed that threshold. There were no warnings or brake lights or even a bright sign to apprise in advance. 

Another drawn out sigh escaped your lips. 

There was no exaggeration in your boredom, however, besides the ‘promises’ of saving money on school materials vanishing entirely, you still needed the monetary earnings so you hid behind a fabricated smile and immediately accepted the job offer happily. 

Well, as happily as you could be. 

God, you were jaded. Five after nine. Only five minutes had gone by yet it felt like an eternity. 

Your mind was on overdrive yet your body remained stationed in the same exact place—in the same exact position. Not a single tendon transposed and they constricted your muscles in place. You were there sort of glued to the metal surface of the stool but fuck did you wanted to move. 

Needed to actually. You needed a sort of mobile stimulation but still you couldn’t seem to get your arms and legs to comply. Not until your focus circled around your extremities and your need to just fucking. . do something. 

You crossed your legs to the left, then to the right, then you hung your legs on the wooden bar under the desk to give them a rest from just hanging on your side, then you sat with your legs spread open before realizing you wore a skirt and you quickly pressed your thighs together tightly. Shift after shift you grew more angsty, more impatient, more exasperated with the sluggish speed the hours of the night adopted. 

Slowly, you reached into your bag and unwrapped a piece of gum before sticking it in your mouth. You chewed slowly. Seven after nine, only two minutes have gone by since you last looked at the time. 

Okay, maybe if you number your chews to the rhythm of each second then time will somehow speed by. Right? You began your countdown backwards from sixty. 

You chewed down on the watermelon flavored stick of gum. Sixty. 

Again, fifty-nine. 

And, again,  fifty-eight. 

Once more, fifty-seven. 

In just a matter of minutes the sky behind you turned pitch black and finally the stars came out to play, they pranced around dancing in the sparkling delight and you couldn’t really help but envy their freedom as they lived without confinement. 

“Tell me something. .” You quickly registered that irritating tone, that very familiar and insipid, absolutely annoying and vexing tone. The same one which sent a bubbling shot of acid to course into your bloodstream every time you were faced with the disdain of hearing it, “should I reprint you a copy of the employee manual? Last time I checked skirts above the knee and gum chewing are strictly prohibited in the work place.” 

You leaned your head to the side, narrowing your eyes in his direction as he stood by the doorframe, “you’re not the supervisor, let alone the manager,” you murmured through gritted teeth, “fuck off.” 

He shook his head slowly while clicking his tongue. He was mocking you, the little shit was mocking you, “Not a manager. Just someone who likes to enforce the rules especially comes to you.” 

“Rule enforcer?” you scoffed, chewing louder and louder as you chomped down, purposefully smacking your gum in the process, “sounds a lot like you being a little bitch. I guess it’s all just the same to me.” 

“Bitch?” he guffawed. 

“Yes, that’s what I said,” you challenged. 

“Mini skirt, gum chewing, and foul language. You’re really making this so easy for me,” he mocked. 

The extent of your interactions were always, always, reduced to this. Just the endless streaks of taunting, the continuity of poking at each other buttons beyond forgiveness, and to top it all of the boiling irritation cooking up in the pit of your stomach. 

As far back as you could remember there wasn’t an ounce of amiability in the mixture of your interactions together. 

You and him met the summer before the ninth grade. From there on you knew him once classes began. Well ‘knew’ was a very loose term in this situation. The two of you were just teens, fifteen years old to be exact, in the same school, in the same home room, yet from different cliques. 

His brown eyes drank you in like he was consuming every inch of your soul—it was invasive, intimidating, and exactly what you deserved. Deep down you were one hundred-percent sure of the fact. 

“What?” you barked. 

“Just remembering the good old time,” he smirked, “the ones where words remain your preferred and deadliest weapon.” 

What transpired from that night was nothing compared to his cold gaze and punctured words. 

Faint lights of that night sparkled into memory, years have passed but you remember every detail as if it was just yesterday. 

The school bathroom was your least favorite place in the building, it was usually crowded with destined criminals, the stench was horrid and it was the obvious root of every ridiculous rumor to ever be birthed within the walls of Oakwood High School. 

You leaned against the white ceramic sink, your back faced the stained plastic mirror as you faced him sitting on top of the toilet tank. He was the personification of trouble, the very synonym of everything you needed to stay away from. 

The two of you came from two different worlds. 

He was draped and wrapped up in a black hoodie, complemented by dark distressed jeans while his rugged and muddy boots stained found camp on the toilet seat, staining it beyond repair. 

“What exactly is it that you need from me?” he asked, his tone wasn’t as stern or deep as you usually heard around the halls. There was a slight stutter; a falter. 

“It’s more than one thing,” you exhaled, your eyes flickered between him and the stall just to the right of him, “. .that I need from you.” 

He hummed, “go on.” 

The sun trickled in through the foggy windows and it embellished very detail, every feature that you had never once before noticed on the boy before you. His eyes were giant orbs almost doe like, his lips were a deep taint of roseate the same one which dusted the apples of his cheeks. There was a certain delicate look behind the dark aura he cemented within himself. 

You took paced steps in his direction feeling just a bit dizzy the closer you became. 

Perhaps, it was that overbearing piss smell. 

Or, perhaps, you just didn’t want to go through with this. You wanted to call this off but there was this fervent exhilaration burning just below your skin—you wanted to continue speaking to him, you wanted to envelop yourself in the softness of his lips. 

But this wasn’t right but you couldn’t help the guidance of your feet, until finally you stood right before him. 

Up close his eyes were prettier, shinier yet darker and you easily found yourself swimming in them engulfed in vastness simulating the bottomless sea. 

He was everything you wanted and everything you needed to stay away from. 

Two different people. Two different worlds. 

“Are you going to tell me what you need?” 

“I think,” your palm landed on his knee for support as you climbed onto the toilet seat taking a seat on his lap, “it’s much better if I show you.” 

By now, and by the radicle of his reputation you expected for him to push you right off his life, for him to gargle the disgust in the back of his throat and regurgitate it right back on you. But he didn’t instead his gaze intently followed you every move, he probably already noticed your quivering figure hiding behind your confident facade. 

There was no shaking off this nervousness, even but in your mind you reminded yourself that you were you and he was simply him. 

“Show me what exactly?” he swallowed, his Adam's bobbed distinctively, “you know this is the first time you’ve ever uttered a single word in my direction.” 

“I highly doubt that,” you hid your nervousness behind the security of your confident tone. 

“It’s true,” he continued, “I bet you have never even noticed that my locker is directly across from yours.” 

“Wait. .” You hooked your bait, hanging it low over his head attempting to reel him in once and for all, “do you spend your time in the halls looking at me?” 

“I never said—“ 

Your palms found their way up to towards the back of his neck and you inched closer to his face vividly detailing the golden tone of his glowing skin. 

You never noticed before, he was always an arm’s length away, which was probably your fault to begin with, but he was truly beautiful. 

“You did kind of imply it.” 

“I don’t think it works that way.” 

“Does to me.” 

His eyes remained on your lips as you tucked your lower lip under your upper teeth.  There was an unreadable expression ignited behind his pupils, something you’ve never seen before, not behind the frigid gaze of your best friends and it certainly wasn’t present in the way your boyfriend looked at you either. 

It held the comfort of tenderness and it wrapped you right into his warm embrace. 

“You know, you keep averting my question.” 

“Remind me, once again,” you smiled softly, “what is it that you wanted to know.” 

“What do you want to show me?” you pursed out your lower lip before licking them agonizingly slowly to almost emphasize their plumpness. While coating them in a thin layer  of the sheen shininess from your saliva. That put him in a trance, his eyes were locked on you intently. It’s working. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your lips hovered right over his, the waft of your paced breath fanned one another. His mouth was enveloped with the cool aromatic scent of mint. You liked that a lot—it drew you in. 

He froze against the white tiled wall behind him, his eyes were closed and he waited in anticipation of your lips finally meeting his. Instead, you took the liberty of snapping a mental picture. One you knew you would hang in the forefront of your mind for a very very long time, because after today, after the tones of both of your pink lips finally meshed together everything would go to shit. 

And it would all be your fault. 

“For someone who’s begging to kiss me you sure are taking your sweet time.” 

The pads of your fingers brushed against his velvet lips as they spread wide depicting his smile, in turn you’d notice the way that very smile trickled to everyone of his features. From the dimples impaling his honey cheeks to his scrunched up nose and brows scrunched up together. 

“I’m not begging,” you objected, laying against his chest—he was broad you could tell even under the dark clothes and he felt firm. All you wanted was to be cocooned in his heated touch. 

Even in the scorching summer his warmth is.. a solace. You didn’t mind being consumed by it burning in the flames ignited by his touch. 

“I asked. Just curious to know if you would even want to kiss me,” say no, run away, run away from me, you yelled at him in your head. 

“Curious?” 

You hummed, “So.. Do you wanna?” 

“Kiss you?” 

You hummed again, “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. It’s just one kiss.” 

“Just a kiss?” He asks a lot of questions. 

“Okay,” he breathed. 

There were many things you forbid yourself from submitting to at the expense of your insatious desires. This included consuming sweets past eight o’clock, drinking any type of soda, and even suppressing anything you’ve ever felt for anyone in return for the validation of others. Deep behind the rhythmic beating of your heart you knew this should’ve also included kissing him. You knew you should’ve backed off, said no, avoided him as if he was something you ran away from. 

But you couldn’t help but be guided here by the pure delight of getting to have this for once. You wanted to be selfish and drown in those very desires you didn’t dare act on prior to today. Not under self-induced circumstances instead something you know could hurt him right after you pulled away from his lips. 

You were a wretched person but all you think about, all you cared about was the way he inched closer towards you, rapidly closing the gap between the two of you. The only sounds bouncing off the walls were your needy pants and the thump thump which composed a song out of the beats of both of your racing hearts. 

His head tilted slightly as he leaned in, his eyes explored every inch of your face taking in every depiction of your features. And no matter how many times you could attempt to hide it—he would know. He could clearly see the birth of the flames rampant behind the tones of your eyes. 

He nudged his nose against yours, and your mouths fell together, soft and open. You closed your eyes instantly and they felt heavy, almost as if your eyelids were glued together. Though, you urged to open them, to live in every single second your lips remained connected with his, because you knew this wasn’t likely to happen again. Not after today. Not ever. 

You couldn’t help but want to bear witness to the perfectness of your lips dancing against one another. 

His mouth was silken, you found yourself melting into his body, into his lips, into his touch. Nobody had ever kissed you with the unspoken one passion he was. 

No one. Certainly not your boyfriend. 

You allowed yourself to become drunk under his trance and he fed the butterflies flapping their wings against the lining of your stomach rapidly. 

You wanted to camp in the fondness of that moment forever, and ever. and ever. . . 

Vacating the stool you stood by the large windows facing the parking lot behind the library. However, your attention was clutched by the sparkling stars, it was a form of a distraction. You wanted to stop thinking of him, his gaze seizing your figure tracing the outline of your legs, the curves and dips between your hips and waist and finally the sneaky peaks of your collar bones under your crop top. 

His eyes were hard to read making it impossible to decipher whether he undressed you or condemned your being.  

Though, you knew you deserved the latter. 

“Words were never my weapon,” you whispered the fib hoping that you would believe it if you heard it outloud. It didn’t work. 

He chuckled, “right. . your lips were the blades that pierced my heart and your words were the bullets that finished me off.”

“Jungkook. .” you trailed off. 

“What?” he spat, “can’t handle the truth?” 

Fuck, that hurt but you deserved it.  

“Jungkook, just shut up.” 

But his back was already turned towards you and his eyes no longer scanned you like you were the phrases typed on the pages of his favorite book. 

“I’m so. .” you began but you just couldn’t get it out. 

“There it is again,” Jungkook shook his head, clicking his tongue. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you sighed, collecting your thoughts why did you always manage to say the wrong fucking thing, “I’m just trying to apologize to you for. . everything.” 

“Right. . now?” he wore a puzzled expression, his eyes squinted with skepticism. Back in highschool Jungkok was quiet, shy and mysterious. He could’ve easily flown under the radar and lived his life in the seclusion of being a wallflower. But then you happened. You in that bathroom, on his lap with his lips on yours. 

Even now, years later, you could still feel their phantom softness on yours. 

You played with the loose thread on the hem of your top averting the scrutiny of the judgment in his eyes, “better late than never.” 

“You put me through hell and I’m supposed to act as if all is forgiven. Today, because you can no longer live with that guilt?” there was a smirk plastered on his face while traces of venom laced his words. 

“That’s not the reason why…” 

“Then, why… Why?” 

Words failed to roll off the tip of your tongue, and there was a cloud of shame hanging over your head but Jungkook was resentful and cold with his words and you knew that at this point your apology would do nothing to fix what was already broken. Nevertheless, you stood there like a child being scolded because the least you could do was be the receiver of his resentment. 

“Are you looking for a shot at self redemption? To feel better about yourself? Or maybe the guilt really is eating you bit by bit. Whatever it may be I don’t forgive you and I never will. You wanna know why? Because unlike others I’m not convinced that people like you can change,” he continued, there was a rampant anger burning in his eyes now, “you look back on our time in high school and feel this sense of. . relief that you were who you were. There is not an ounce of your being that would go back and change things and if we were to turn back time you would still choose to be the viper who could go around injecting your venom into others at free will. I know you just want to leap over that stepping stone and prove to yourself that you have grown-up but you can’t fool me and you will not make an example out of me.” 

“That’s not. .” you drifted off, tears swelled behind your eyelids but you blinked them away, “That’s not why I wanted to do Jungkook. .” 

“No?” he asked. 

“No,” you muttered through gritted teeth, mad at your past self for being a piece of shit, mad at him for not allowing you to speak, mad at life. Everything. 

“You want me to forgive you?” 

You remained quiet. 

“Then, beg.” 

“You know what?” You quickly wiped the tear that trickled down your heated cheek, “I actually did mean to apologize but I’m not sure that you actually deserve it anymore.” 

They say what comes around goes around and you were certain this was the circle of justice you would forever be looped in the extent of your interactions with Jungkook because, this is pretty much how they always played out.  He would never forgive you and you would never be able to form the right words to ease the pain of what you have caused. There wasn’t anything that you could do or say. 

Things would always remain this way. 

He turned away from you once again, “if I don’t deserve your apology that only proves you don’t deserve my forgiveness.” 

You looked at the clock on the opposite wall, it was now finally thirty minutes past nine and you were due to go home. To be embraced by the comfort of your sheets, to bask in their warmth, something less chilling than his frigid words. 

Grabbing your bag you slipped past him hoping that you would now stoop to becoming nothing but an insipid wallflower. 

Entirely, invisible. That’s all you wanted to be. 

Fucking invisible. 

Your cloak of invisibility was short lived because as soon as you crossed the threshold to your dorm you were met with a crowded living room. Amongst the faceless features of the random strangers spread out in the tiny space you spotted a similar face belonging to the biggest pain in your ass and roommate adjacent, Hobi. 

You trudge through the ocean of bodies, resisting the sway of the waves leading to bump to those in your way, simply wanting to get as far away from whatever this was as soon as possible. When Hobi’s eyes finally met yours you signaled him towards using your pointer finger—quickly, his smile dropped, beads of sweat adorned his temples and his head hung low. 

A party on a Monday was… Definitely, Hobiesque. 

With paced strides he stumbled towards you following you down the small corridor and into your room. Hobi’s eyes hung low, the buttons on his shirt hung open all the way down to the pit of his stomach, his cheeks were red and puffy, his hair the right amount of disheveled, and he had a tight grasp on a nearly empty red solo cup (it definitely didn’t look like it was his first or last drink). The  lights were dimmed but even under the shitty lighting there was a bright glimmer outlining his figure. 

“Now, before we begin this intervention,” his words were a bit slurred, “I had a really shitty day.” 

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” you hung your bag on the hook behind the door and threw your keys on the desk. 

He slumped down on your bed and stared up at the ceiling with a blank expression—you weren’t sure if the shift in his usual energetic charisma was due to the alcohol but you didn’t like it. You were so used to seeing his heart shaped lips spread into wide curves showcasing the amiability of his colorful personality. 

“Okay, which one of us should go first?” he asked. 

“Don’t you have a party to get back to?” you sat by the pillows on the bed, your back leaning against the headboard, your legs pressed up against your chest as you laid your head on your knees. 

“I’ll get back in a minute,” he replied nonchalantly, “just tell me about your day.” 

Hobi laid his head closer to your legs, quickly you found your fingers combing through the dark strands with a thin layer of sweat. There was a cool draft slipping in the room through the window left slightly ajar. The bittersweet flashes of your time in that library behind the main desk played back in your mind. 

“I saw… spoke to Jungkook tonight,” your voice was soft, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. You and Hobi have been friends since your senior year in school and while he wasn’t there for the horrid days of your freshman year tyranny you confessed to everything you had done during those dark days—everything that happened with Jungkook. 

“Spoke?” 

You nodded. 

“You two have the same work study you’ve spoken to each other before right?” 

“Yeah, but our conversations are always reduced to nonsensical banter. He pushes my buttons and I push his, sometimes we even land a few jabs at each other when the other isn’t looking but today,” you felt at ease sitting there in Hobi’s company, the only noise surrounding the two of you came from the booming of the loudspeaker stationed in the living room, “…it was personal.”

“How personal?” he continued peering up at you with idle eyes. 

“I tried to apologize for, well you know.. everything,” you sighed, “and things didn’t really go as planned. Stupid of me I know.” 

“Definitely, not stupid. You tried to make things right. There’s no harm in that,” his thumb rubbed your hand softly as it wrapped around your shins. 

“There was definitely a lot of harm done.” 

“You’re right,” he mumbled, “what you did is not justified, but all that matters is that you are trying to make things right and we can only hope he is willing to forgive.” 

Jungkook’s vicious words played on a continuous loop in your head. He was not willing to forgive. He never would be and sincerely you couldn’t blame him for him. 

This guilt. 

It will eat you alive and as a result you will experience a slow and excruciating death. A well deserved demise and one that became written in the stars for you the moment you kissed him in that fucking bathroom. 

Still, a timid smile slowly creeped on your lips. Hobi’s hopefulness is your safety net, the only thing you could ever need to keep pushing forward. 

“Enough about me and my self-inflicted issues,” you cleared your throat, “what’s got you so down today, sunshine?” 

“We broke up.” 

You laid beside him on your bed, reaching down taking his hands into yours hoping he’d feel the same deal of comfort you do by him. 

“What happened?” you offered. 

“I was in my dance practice and he—“ he paused, “he just fucking texted me. Said he couldn’t do it anymore.”  

“Did something happen before all of this?” 

“We’ve been on a bumpy road lately,” he hesitated before continuing—you guessed it was because he was trying to structure his thoughts, “two dancers dating bring a conflict of interest into a relationship.” 

“Please tell me you guys aren’t just fighting over your choreography.” 

He remained silent before continuing. 

“You two are going to send me into cardiac arrest,” you shook your head, “I need details, Jung.” 

“Don’t call me, Jung,” Hobi poked out his lower lip, frowning, “makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” 

“I can’t be mad at you when you’re so adorably tipsy,” you pinched his rosey cheeks.

“Stoooop,” he swatted your hand away from his face while stretching out the letter ‘O,’ “I’m being serious though. I think it’s really over between Jimin and I, forreal this time.”

“You’ve said that every other time the two of you have broken up over dance.” 

“Right. .” he yawned, cozying up under your sheets while his eyes began to close. 

“Oh, no,” you smacked him upside the head with one of your cushions, “get up and go host your little party.” 

He brushed it off turning before turning away from you, his soft snores now a remix to the music playing just outside of your door, “who the fuck throws a party on a Monday. . Hoseok, get up!” 

“I know, you’re so irresponsible for letting me throw a party on a weekday.” 

“Bitch.” 

As it turns out, kicking people an hour after a party had started wasn’t as easy as it looked. Leaning against the front door you finally came face to face with the mess left behind. The music still played, though, much lower now and there was an array of empty beer cans, red solo cups and other waste decorating your living room. 

It was as if you were standing in front of the mirror looking back at yourself, you were nothing but a mess of a human being. It was uncanny. 

Although, this mess you could clean, and you would, you weren’t sure if Jungkook would ever allow you to pick up all of those broken pieces that you had shattered all of those years ago. 

For what it’s worth you really wanted to try. You wanted to make things right. 

It is now Tuesday and the weather is horrid. 

The last time you checked, the forecast called for scattered showers and mostly cloudy days. But, now it’s one in the afternoon and as you settle down on the bench by your bay window overlooking the narrow street, the sky was overtaken by the torrent clouds weeping viciously accompanied by the occasional strikes of loud thunder. 

Usually, when the weather looked as shitty as you felt you opted for staying home and becoming enveloped in the comfort and warmth of your sheets, today would have been no different but of course luck is never present in the deck of cards paving your life, also having an irresponsible roommate usually doesn’t help in any way.

“Please, don’t forget my ginger ale,” he coughed dramatically, running his hand through his disheveled hair, “I can’t believe I feel like literal shit.”

“You can’t believe it?” You sneered, “you drank half of your alcohol supply before I even made it home and the party had only been on for like thirty minutes.”

“Fuck, I did that. Didn’t I?” 

“You did,” you playfully yanked your covers off his body, “you drunk fuck.” 

“That was my nickname in highschool,” he smiled. 

“It was,” you zipped up your rain jacket and grabbed the umbrella sitting on your desk, “now go take a hot bath and don’t throw any more parties while I’m gone.” 

You heard his infectious giggles as you closed the front door behind you. The two of you lived on the third floor so the walk down the stairs to the lobby wasn’t too unbearable. Through the clear doors of the main entrance in the rain you saw how the downpour fogged up the path ahead. Namseok’s Kitchen is only a five minute walk, you can do this. 

Walking out you opened your umbrella and stood still for just one minute paralized by the pitter patter of the droplets meeting your umbrella. 

It was the beat to a dreadful song you knew too well. 

You pushed past the blue metal doors of the gymnasium. Your nostrils are no longer consumed by the smell of sweat and dirty laundry and the muffled conjunction of laughter, voices, bouncing balls, and whistles died out the minute the door closed behind you. 

Gym class was a drag and there was truly nothing worse than an hour long class period with sweaty kids in such a tiny space. Usually, you opted for walking on the track for the duration of class but that option became futile the moment it began to pour an hour ago. 

In fact it was still raining, but you stood under the navy awning covering you from becoming soaked. Your eyes are closed and you lean against the red brick wall inhaling the scent of petrichor, the resulting smell of the parched earth just as the pouring rain continues to beat anything standing right below it. The sweet aromas seeped into the air sweeping past your nose with the soft breeze that blew by. 

It was as if the earth had exhaled, emanating its distinct fragrance from millions of pinpoints all at once. Inside that smell, the seconds slowed and each moment seemed to dilute. It filled you with relief.  

Then, suddenly the remnants of your heaven became blurred and the walls holding up the roofs began to tumble down and with it a whiff of nicotine became tangled in your nose. 

Your eyes shot open and there he was, Jungkook. The boy you’d kissed a week ago in the boy’s bathroom. 

“Cigarettes are bad for you, you know..” You felt a knot in the pit of your stomach as soon as he turned. You heard what happened to him but you hadn’t gotten around to seeing him yet, you’d been avoiding him. 

“Yeah, I keep thinking I’ll quit and I can’t seem to make it past a couple of hours,” he was honest and he smiled, two characteristics you thought had died the moment your boyfriend’s fist met his face. He still had a soft purple bruise under his eye to prove it. 

“You need something else to get your mind off of it.” 

He threw the butt of the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to put it out and leaned right beside you on the wall. Up close you saw a deep gash on the apples of his cheek, it was still red but stitched up. 

“I know.” 

“Are you really littering right now?” You eyed the discarded smoke under the tip of his chunky combat boots.

“Right, sorry miss president of ‘i love earth’ or whatever,” he bent over, picking it up and placing it in the pocket of black jeans, similar to the ones he wore that day minus the rips around the thighs. 

“It’s actually called, ‘advocates for planet earth’ for your information.” 

“I love earth sounds better,” he shrugged, “should consider the name change.”

“I’ll bring it up in our next meeting.” 

“I’m surprised,” Jungkook began, his eyebrows furrowed together and you could tell he was in a mental battle to continue, “that he lets you join cute little nerdy clubs.” 

Twenty minutes before you entered the boys bathroom last Thursday, you and your friends sat in the library during study hall, your homework long forgotten and with continued complaints of loud talking all of you had settled for a game of quiet dare or die. 

The set-up was easy. 

There were two piles out in-front of you, one die, one dare. The object of the game created by your friends was to choose a dare and record yourself completing it before the end of the school day or else you’d have to do something even more embarrassing from the die pile. 

Your dare was to graffiti the side of the school. A bit excessive, compared to the other ones which only called for kissing each other, going against school dress code for the rest of the day or skipping the last period. 

Ditching the crumpled up paper you chose a die deciding that whatever it was at least it probably wouldn’t come at the expense of being expelled. 

‘Kiss Jeon Jungkook (loser)’ it read. 

You could’ve said no but you didn’t. Instead you fed into the taunts of the very boy you’d find your eyes lingering after. The same boy who occupied your thoughts day and night, the same one who kissed you like no one else has and whose touch (though, brief)—permanently marked a trail of goosebumps only he could procure. 

“He doesn’t control me, Jungkook.” 

“He doesn’t,” Jungkook nodded, registering every gravity of your words which felt heavy on his tongue. If your boyfriend didn’t control you then that meant you had also dealt a hand at the countinuously fucked-up encounters between him and your boyfriend. But this also finally cemented the idea that you had kissed him willingly; you saw it in the way his eyes sparkled even when the sun had been hibernating for the duration of the day. 

He seemed to have finally realized that both of those could be true. That love and pain could dance together hand in hand when it came to the two of you. 

Your eyes scanned his chocolate ones, slowly reaching up using the pads of your finger to caress his cheek. They were full and warm and you were careful not to inch too close to the purple and green-ish spot under his eye. 

“Will you believe me if I tell you something?”

“Tell me.” 

“I really did enjoy that day.” You clarified, “our kiss despite what I said afterwards.” 

He chuckled, “hopefully saying me too doesn’t get me another black eye.” 

The tightness in your chest squeezed tighter and immediately you felt like you couldn’t breathe. When Jungkook was around you felt as if your heart and mind collided against each other and you were left in a daze, castaway in your own body and mind. Like, right now, your brain urged you to walk away and get as far away as possible from him but your heart called out to him and down that same path it set out a route leading to his silken lips. 

Your heart beat to a deep crescendo nearly synching to the sound of the beating rain against the awning just overhead. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to class?” 

Snapping out of your daydream you replied, “uh, yeah, I should get back.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll see you around.” 

Jungkook smiled, “I’ll see you around.” 

The hefty winds blew your umbrella yet you remained in the same exact spot just a couple of feet away from the entrance to the dorm building. You were drenched from head to toe causing your gray sweats and hoodie to stick to you all while they weighed you down. Although you were inclined to move away from the droplets adorning your figure, your legs just would not submit to the command. 

The smell, the dark skies, and the feeling of the rain on your skin all ignited a sense of familiarity, contentment yet melancholiness. 

There were too many feelings jumbled into one. 

“If you stand here, like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes were closed until the moment his voice overshadowed the roaring screams of the pouring rain. Jungkook’s outfit mimicked yours slightly but even you could admit he looked much better than you. He wore gray sweats and a gray hoodie draped off his shoulder over a white wife beater. His tattoos peeked through outlining the beginning of the sleeve following the length of his extremity down to his fingers. 

He’s breathtaking, he’s always been. 

“I wasn’t aware that my well-being was any of your concern.” 

Jungkook combed his slender digits through his jet black hair inching closer to you until his umbrella covered the both of you, “it doesn’t,” he said, “ I just figured you were either drunk or too much of an idiot to be out in this storm.” 

“Well, in that case that makes us two idiots standing out in this weather.” 

“I was not out. I’m not crazy,” he cleared his throat, “I just so happen to see you through my dorm window.” 

He came down for you, “yet here you are now.”

“Need I remind you, if I wasn’t, you’d still be out here getting soaked.” 

“Soaked,” you snickered.

“Grow up,” his voice was laced with annoyance but the rose tint on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know. 

“Where did my umbrella even go?” 

He pointed to your feet where your Converse swam in a puddle and there was your unbrella was looking as fucked up as ever. Immediately, you made a mental note to never buy umbrellas at the dollar store ever again. You supposed that’s the only thing you were good at; making one wrong decision after the other. 

You huffed, “ah, I’m okay. It’s okay, I got it from here.”

“Were you going somewhere?” 

“You don’t have to help me, Jungkook,” you didn’t dare look at him because Jungkook was good at one thing, it was peeling back at your layers with his piercing eyes. He made you feel vulnerable—bare. And you always feared the psychedelic enchantment wiring in your brain whenever he looked in your direction. 

Back then that was your excuse for not helping him, for not being a better human being. It was a shitty excuse, you know that now but you always feared your willingness to succumb to your hearts’ cries. 

You feared falling into him—falling for him. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” He laughed, “just lead the way. I have nothing better to do anyway.” 

“I was just going down the street to Namseok’s Kitchen to get Hobi some chicken noodle soup. He isn’t feeling too well this morning.” 

“That’s only a five minute walk,” he nodded toward the path ahead, “Let’s go.” 

Five minutes felt like an eternity as the two of you walked towards your destination in utter silence. The street was pretty empty—only Jungkook, yourself and the rain remained. . And your thoughts, of course. They ran at record speed as you tried to relive every single moment from your past, you know; divulging in all the good times and wanting to fix every fucked up thing you’ve ever done. 

If only you could turn back time you’d make things right. 

In an attempt to skip another puddle, to prevent your socks from becoming sodden you accidentally moved closer to Jungkook and your elbow brushed against his. The feeling wasn’t foreign to you and it transported you to those nights, all of those moment when your bodies were so close you could smell the soap he’d used that morning, cardamom and vanilla, the scent still lingered around in your nose and you wondered if you were just hallucinating or if he actually still used the same soap. 

“While you order I’ll get us something hot,” he walked you to the glass door of the small diner, then turned towards the coffee shop across the street. 

“Jungkook!” You called out and he looked back in your direction, “Hold on,” you dug in your pocket reaching for a ten dollar bill, “Here.” 

“Just worry about the soup and get one for yourself. Your body will thank you tomorrow morning,” he shouted back. 

He disappeared into the shop as cars sped by in his shadow. You almost didn’t believe he was just right there. With you. Was he?

The bell on top of the door chimed as you walked into the restaurant, the squishing sound of your drenched shoes against the white tile bounced off of the baby blue walls. As you walked closer to the counter you wrapped yourself in a tight embrace to provide yourself with some warmth against the blasted AC. The place has always been light on decoration and made to feel more homey than anything else. There was a faux wall with photographs of customers hanging from loose thread, next to that there was a small circular table where the polaroid and its film was stationed. The remaining walls held all sorts of artworks in different shades of azure from Seokjin’s boyfriend, and Hobi’s brother, Namjoon. Towards the front was your favorite place, a bench stationed in-front of the floor to ceiling glass window. 

Namjoon approached the register, “oh no, what the fuck did he do now?” 

“He threw a party and woke up sick as fuck. I was just coming to get him some soup. He’s said he would puke anything else.” 

“And that little shit made you walk?” Seokjin walked up behind Joon taking a seat on the stool beside him. “Look at you…” he motioned towards you and you took a look at yourself in the circular mirror hung behind the two guys, a fucking mess, “you’re all wet. Did he make you come here alone?”

Before you even had the chance to answer Jinnie continued, “I’m going to kill him. You hear me?” He turned towards his boyfriend, “I am going to kill your brother.” 

Joon mumbled, “I might just join you.” 

“Before your two go on a killing spree…” you leaned against the wooden surface of the counter, “I kind of offered because I felt bad for his dumbass.”

“He still let you come all the way down here in this weather and that is enough to plan a crime,” Seokjin hissed, “Joonie will you get her a towel from the back?” 

Joon disappeared behind the beaded curtain. 

“Okay, so one soup for the idiot and one for you?” 

You nodded, “yes, chicken noodle soup please. Can you make that three though?”

“Who’s the third one for?” He raised an eyebrow staring you down like you had an intimate secret you were keeping from him. Well, technically, you were keeping some things to yourself but you weren’t lying just withholding the truth. It wasn’t the same thing. 

“It’s for the person who accompanied me here today.” 

“And who is that?” Joon asked, they were both overprotective, like older brothers, “you only have one friend and unfortunately I am related to him.” 

“Not a friend. . Just someone I know.” 

They hummed in unison exchanging suspecting looks between one another. Then, the bell on top of the door chimed once again, the same way it did when you walked in. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, his scent gave him away immediately. 

“Hi, welcome to Namseok’s kitchen,” Jin greeted him. 

“Hey,” he walked deeper into the restaurant until he finally stood right next to you as you continued drying off, “here. I got us lemongrass tea. I didn’t know what you like so I figured I get you the same as me.” 

Grabbing the to-go cup from his hand, you reply, “yeah, I like lemongrass tea.” 

You took a sip, basking in the heat of the piping hot liquid as it traveled down your throat and into your tummy. A tired whimper escaped your lips,  as you became entirely immersed in the flavors of the lemony taste exploding on your tongue. There was silence around you but you could feel three sets of eyes on you and instantaneously your eyes shot open. 

“I almost forgot Jin, Joon, this is Jungkook. Jungkook, this is Jin and Joon, Hobi’s brother and brother in law.”

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You, too,” Jinnie smiled in his direction and Joon followed suit, “Jungkook..” He repeated, “why does your name sound so familiar?” 

“I went to highschool with Hobi and..” he pointed at you, avoiding even the utterances of your name. There was no disgust lingering in his face but then again his expression was unreadable and you were sure he was masking his true feelings at the expense of the two men in front of you. 

“I knew it,” he clasped his hands together but as soon as you saw the thoughts wiring in his head and connecting together you shook your head to prevent him from continuing. Thankfully, he understood immediately, “yeah, I thought I had seen you before.” 

Jungkook also connected the dots because Jin hadn’t been in high school at the same time he was. Jinnie was three years older than you guys were and by the time he and Hobi had moved into town Seokjin had already graduated. But he was now aware that you had mentioned him in passing—now he knew that you had to have mentioned something about that time. 

“I’m going to go check on those soups,” Jin announced walking back towards the kitchen, “Joon, come on join me.”  

You walked past Jungkook with the brown cup held tightly in your grasp before taking a seat on the bench by the front window. The storm still ran rampant outside and the streets remained barren. Jungkook sat two tables down, near the wall, far away from you. 

“Do I owe you anything for the tea?” You mumbled holding up the cup in his direction. 

“I told you to not worry about it..” 

“I didn’t know Seokjin would bring that up,” you didn’t look at him, eyes lulled by your dusty white converse, “I didn’t know he would remember you.” 

“Just forget about it,” he shook his head, “you don’t need to explain.”

“No, I feel like I do.” 

“You don’t.” 

“Jungkook, please let me,” your eyes watered and your voice faltered. 

He sighed, taking a small sip of the tea before continuing, “please don’t explain. I don’t need an explanation. I have buried it all, it still lives in my head but it’s buried and I don’t need to resurrect the tsunami of emotions that comes along with that..” he pointed at his temples, “it’s still here but please do not awaken them. I don’t want to brush the brush off of those memories.” 

You two were the only people in the shop but you knew Joon and Jin were behind one of the walls eavesdropping. It was silent and the only noise in the small space was the whirring of the AC. 

“Are our good memories also buried somewhere?” You knew better than to ask but you needed to know. 

“I put those to rest first,” he admitted and your heart sank, “those memories, although good, were an incitement to everything else that lingered right behind. I had to get rid of those memories to get rid of everything else.” 

“Okay,” tears were beginning to swell up in the corners of your eyes and you tried your best to blink them away, “yeah, that’s okay. I understand why you had to do that.” 

“I’m sorr—” Jungkook began. 

“Don’t, please, you’re not the one who should be apologizing to me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you do that.” 

The bell at the front desk chimed, ripping your attention away from Jungkook. Seokjin stood behind the counter holding two paper bags, “order’s up.”  

Walking up you thanked him and grabbed the bags, “thanks. I’ll have Hobi venmo you for this.” 

“Don’t even worry about it,” he smiled softly, “free lunches till you guys graduate remember. That goes for you too now, Jungkook.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to,” he handed him the smaller bag, “I mean it. I better see you around here more often.” 

“Thank you,” he smiled brightly, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen him wear in years. It was radiant and lit up his face with warmth. The indents on his cheek were deep and they framed his rose lips like they were a work of art. Not even the silver hoop piercing his bottom lip shone as brightly as he did when he smiled. You almost forgot how good it looked on him and you couldn’t help but stand there and admire him taking mental pictures to keep forever. 

He deserves someone better. Someone who’s going to make him smile like that until the end of time. Someone who wasn’t you.  

“And thank you for coming along with her since Hobi couldn’t.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I would offer you guys a ride back home but Jin and I walked to work today. Guess we didn’t really think things through either.” 

“It’s okay, Joon,” you zipped up your rain coat and pulled the hood over your head, “it’s only a five minute walk back.” 

After thanking Jin and Joon, the two of you exited the store and cut in through the alley way before landing on the road leading back to the dorms. Once again, the two of you stood dangerously close to one another radiating off each other’s body heat and before you knew it the building came into view and Jungkook led you up the walkway leading you to the main door. You didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want him to leave you but it’s not like you could actually say that. 

You were a mere burden jumbled into bad memories and the worst years of his life.

“Thank you for coming along,” you pushed the thoughts although you don’t think you could ever really get rid of them. 

“No thanks needed. I couldn’t let you take the trip on your own, especially not in this weather.” 

He couldn’t let you. Your heart began to race as you tried to keep yourself from reading too much into his words. They probably didn’t mean anything… But what if he still cared? What if Jungkook still cared about you? 

“See you around.” He nodded before heading off in the direction of his dorm. 

I shouldn’t have said anything.

You turned around, but Jungkook was no longer near. His back was turned in your direction as he continued trotting down the sidewalk. Great! Now you’re hearing voices, after reaching for the metal door handle the voices reappeared. 

 Our memories are flavored in bitterness but I still can’t get her off my mind.

Jungkook was gone. 

The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfires and no matter how hard you work to extinguish that fire it is always too little too late. That’s how you felt as soon as you crossed the threshold from the bathroom and into the congested hallways. Everyones prying eyes read you so intently condemning you for the hypocrisy of allowing someone like Jungkook to permanently ink his lips on yours. The passionate dance the two of you composed left behind the imprints of his lips as he tattooed your skin with each one of the pecks he left behind.  

Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of your jeans. You pulled it out, unlocking it, quickly seeing the photo your friend had snuck of you on his lap pop up. Your mouths devour one another and your bodies pressed together closely while your hand rests on his shoulder. 

You wanted to frame it—live in the pixels of that picture forever. 

‘Death complete bitch.’ Your best friend’s text read below the photo, ‘I can’t believe you actually kissed him.’

‘I can’t believe I did it either.” 

‘What was it like?’

The worst part about it is that it had to come to an end. Your mind traveled an hour back and you recall the velvet feel of his lips as they moved against yours mimicking the softness of clouds. At the sametime his tongue was saccharine tasting of the sweetness of strawberries and maple syrup leading  you to guess he had either waffles or pancakes for breakfast that morning. 

All you wanted was to run back into that bathroom. 

‘Nothing memorable. Just glad it’s over.’ 

‘Don’t worry you won’t ever have to kiss him again.’

Yeah, that was the fucking problem. You wanted to kiss him again, preferably you wanted to kiss him forever. 

‘Yeah, thankfully.’ 

You didn’t know when that kill switch that made you a complete and utter bitch was flipped on, but all you remember were those calamitous days when you didn’t really know who you were and who you were meant to be. Those days were marked with pen squiggles, they were blurred and you chose to permanently turn the light off and lock the door behind you in that section of your brain. 

Middle school was rough to say the least. But that was the beginning of your novel and you knew perfectly well who you were now. 

You had the friends you did because they made you look good, you had the clothes you did because you had a reputation to uphold and you had the boyfriend you did because someone like you is supposed to be with someone like him. Those were the simple unspoken rules of high school and at first they  were easy to follow until they weren’t. 

Everything was simple until that summer before freshman year. The day you visited the park near your house and you spotted him, with his chunky black boots and signature black outfit matching his jet black hair. The two of you were only fifteen then but he already had a tattoo on his wrist peeking out of the sleeve of his crewneck, back then he didn’t have his lip piercing—not yet at least. 

“I thought you only hung out in abandoned buildings and sketchy alley ways,” you remembered telling him that and the two of you spent hours on those swings talking the afternoon away. Back then, you learned Jungkook was a gentle giant disguised in an intimidating disguise. He was thoughtful in the way he looked at life and dreamt about the future, he was caring in the way that he spoke about nature, tattoos, music and everything else he held a deep passion for and lastly, he was attentive in the way he listened to you thoroughly drinking in every detail you had shared.

That was the Jungkook that made you fall for him in the blink of an eye but back then you didn’t know who he was and you were certainly not made aware of how things would end up. 

 The bell dismissing you from your last period class snapped you right out of your thoughts and you dashed out the door of the classroom wanting nothing more than to escape home and be left alone to bask in your thoughts. 

“There’s a fight outside!” a few students called out running past you. 

“Let’s go!” someone else yelled across the hallway. 

You were nervous to ask but you did anyway, “fight? Who’s fighting?”

“Your boyfriend’s fighting someone,” a girl you didn’t quite recognize replied, “Jungkook, or something like that I think.”

By the time you made it to the parking lot there was already a crowd of people forming a circle around both boys. Jungkook held his bloody nose while your boyfriend clenched and unclenched his hand, likely to relieve the pain of hitting Jungkook. You ran in their direction but as you neared them you saw as the boy you called yours landed another punch on Jungkook’s face causing him to fall back on the concrete. 

He didn’t fight back, didn’t even respond to the other boy’s insult. He just sat on the ground holding his face waiting for it all to be over. 

“Hey,” you finally reached him, shoving him back to prevent another callous attack on the boy behind you, “what the fuck are you doing?” 

“I saw the fucking picture,” he muttered through gritted teeth. 

“The girls and I played a game of dare or death,” you explained, “it was only part of the death I had to complete. It didn’t mean anything.”

He lunged towards you and poked at your chest, “you still kissed him.” 

The crowd went silent and your boyfriend’s anger highlighted the very thing you’d intended to place under lock and key—your pretty little secret no longer a secret or even pretty for that matter. You felt light headed and you weren’t sure if it was the punishing rays of the sun or the mental strain this was all causing. 

You didn’t regret that kiss; you never would but you also thought that picture would stay between you and your friends.

A wave of murmurs swayed all around you and you knew your reputation was descending by the second. 

You didn’t dare look at Jungkook, you knew his hypnotizing dark eyes would make you crumble. Seeing him like that. . The way he did all helpless and unprotected would compel you to care for him and cradle him in your arms until nothing or no one else could hurt him, “It meant nothing. Okay?” You heaved, “It meant nothing.” 

Instead, you were dragged away from the boy your heart screamed out for. 

Fuck, do I still like her?

Just shut up, Jungkook. It’s too early for this. 

I shouldn’t be asking myself that. Ever. 

Presently, you’ve gotten to know Jungkook for being reserved and fairly quiet, similar to how he was in high school except back then he actually spoke to you. But now, he is quiet and he doesn’t bother uttering a single word in your direction. The only times he ever addresses you is when he throws continuous jabs at you, landing every single one—he spews spiteful words of retaliation as a result of the shitty person were years ago and although you knew it was well-deserved that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Unlike his recently reserved outer shell, you quickly learned Jungkook’s mind traveled at the speed of light and for two days now, you could hear the constant battles of  thoughts breaking out in his head. 

Words crashed against each other; phrases were left abandoned half way through and ideas were left unfulfilled. 

You groaned smacking your silk pillow over your face, your mind was exhausted on overdrive and increasingly overheating all because Jungkook couldn’t ease his thoughts and empty his mind at five in the fucking morning. Who. . Thinks this much at such ungodly hours of the morning, the sun isn’t even up yet. 

The scattered clouds invaded the dark blue sky dusted in shades of purple. 

Does she think of me? 

I do. 

Did she ever feel what I felt when we kissed?

I did—I do. I still feel it. Similar to how the sun feels on you on a hot summer day, the sparks on their ignited route as they traveled through every single inch of your skin setting it alight even today. You felt it then and you could feel it now. 

Finally, his thoughts ceased and you guessed he’d probably drifted off into a slumber. He probably looked so peaceful you thought, grabbing one of your extra cushions, laid on your side and placed it in between your legs like a mommy pillow. Sleep came knocking on your door and your eyes began to feel heavy. 

Jungkook probably looked like an angel as he slept. You could picture him laying in a sea of his messy sheets against his golden tone. 

By the time you woke up once again, it was nine in the morning and the sun peeking in through the windows ripped you right out of your sleep. 

Your room door burst open, “hey! I knew you’d be awake. What do you have planned for the day?” Hobi took a seat on the edge of your bed. 

“Whatever happened to knocking? I could’ve been naked you know..” 

“We’ve seen each other naked plenty of times.” 

“Fair enough,” you laid facing the ceiling, “I wasn’t going to do much today just going to check Mr. Kim’s list. He posted it on the bulletin outside his class for our upcoming project.” 

“Do you want me to make you something to eat before I go?”

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.” 

He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, “I’ll be in the dance studio. You wanna come see me later?” His heart-shaped lips did very little to cover his pearly whites as he grinned, “I’ll give the front desk your name so they can let you up when you get there.” 

“Please, don’t forget like last time or I’ll have to fight someone for real this time,” you said. 

“Won’t,” he called out as he strutted towards the front door, “I promise. See you later.” You heard the door open and shut before you began falling asleep once again but the peace and quiet was very short lived because you heard him again. 

What did I even dream about?

You wondered the same. Was he the type to dream up cute scenarios in that pretty head of his as he drifted off for the night? Did your face invade his mind in the late hours of the night? You hope you did. 

Your name echoed in the basis of his mind followed by the emission of thunderous groans. 

He seemed. . frustrated. 

Ah, fuck. Yes, Jungkook just imagine it’s her. 

The image in your head was impure as soon as  you finally realized what Jungkook was actually doing. You’d imagined his hand disappearing under the base of the pyramid forming through his duvet. Stroking himself slowly, his head lolled back against his headboard, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead, while his eyes fluttered closed as his eyelashes batting away all reminders of reality. 

I want her touch—need it. So bad. 

You’d become too enthralled in the symphony of Jungkook’s whimpers that you hadn’t really noticed the death grip you had on your bed sheets as your knuckles turned white and the way your legs rubbed against each other in a desperate plea for some friction. 

This was private. Jungkook needed privacy and while your mind opened a portal which prevented that, the best thing you could do was ignore him and the sensual persuasion laced in his bedroom voice, no matter how desperately he called out for you, it wasn’t right. 

Ignore. 

God, I would fuck her so good. 

Think of something else. 

With my cock buried deep inside of her. Fucking her into my mattress until she’s shaking with the overbearing stimulation of pleasure. Until, even her own name becomes a mere afterthought. 

You grabbed your phone from the night stand but your lame attempt at a ‘distraction’ was useless. His words were addictive and you were already soaked right through your panties. Your sheets began sticking to your sweaty skin while Jungkook’s ardent words continued heating you up. 

She would take me so well. Fuck! 

A shower! That’s what you’d do—just take a cold cold shower to ease those thoughts and shut him out until he finally finishes. 

You hissed as the hard pressure of frigid water hit your body from the shower head, even this wasn’t enough to mask the way your body shuddered as Jungkook continued. It was even more enticing that after everything—after his hostile gazes and cold words your face was in the forefront of his brain as he touched himself.

His alluring thoughts kept on playing one after the other and your cunt became the victim crying out to him with patterned pleas he would never hear. Your juices strolled down your inner thigh mixed in with the streaks of water and you could no longer bear the desperate thumps of aching cunt. You were going mad, honestly his stamina and self control were all to blame. The combination was torturous.  

While you weren’t one hundred-percent sure of what he was doing the way his thoughts became sporadic weathering winds of pleasure and then tranquility. It was a cycle, he would be on the verge of succumbing to his peak and then all of the sudden he would stop. Before beginning once again and again and again. 

The viciousness of his desire lasted until right around the time you turned the shower off and you couldn’t tell if for the past twenty minutes you had been in your own personal heaven or hell. 

I hate how much I still want her. 

I hate that I can’t have her. 

You can have me, Jungkook. You can have me now, tomorrow and forever.  

The heat was overbearing and you could feel the way your tank became soaked with sweat and the thin fabric stuck to your body. You heaved as you pushed open the glass door into the English building. Mr. Kim’s room was on the third floor and the bulletin board was stationed right next to his door. After opting out of climbing three flights of stairs you ride the elevator up and exit out to look at the posted partners for Mr. Kim’s upcoming project. Walking down the main hall you turn left and there it is—there he is. 

The simplicity of his outfit was composed of a plain white tee, gray sweat shorts, and over the ankle white socks tucked into black slides. The colorful ink adorning his skin still peaked under the sleeve of his shirt, his black wavy hair rested on the nape of his neck. 

The hallways were completely empty and his back still faced you so you kind of just stood there unsure of what to say or do. I mean you’d heard him masturbating just a few hours ago and while you truly did not mind even the slightest you weren’t quite sure how to even interact with him moving forward. While he seemed to despise you for the events that unfolded back in high school this morning was a complete change of events. His voice was dipped in sex as he moaned your name until he finally came. 

God, why was it so hot in here? Is the AC really off mid-summertime? 

“Hey,” his doe eyes stared at you, studying your off-putting exterior. Your eyes were blown wide, your tank was still soaked with sweat and you just stood there ogling him, “are you okay?” 

He stepped towards you with worrisome eyes. ‘Oh yes Jungkook, I’m okay. I’m just picturing the way your hand climbs up and down the length of your dick, head tilted back, mouth slightly opened as groans form at the root of your throat. You know, the way you probably looked this morning.’ 

Instead you decided on a soft, “I’m okay.” 

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he placed his hand on your shoulder and you nearly fainted at the intense heat emitted from his skin to yours, “here, sit down,” he guided you to one of the lounge chairs sat opposite Mr. Kim’s class, “have you drank anything today?” 

How could you kindly explain that was not the kind of thirst you were looking to quench. 

“No. .” you shook your head.

“Okay, okay,” he grabbed a water bottle from the black backpack sitting at his feet. You hadn’t even noticed it before, you had been so focused on him the entire time, “here drink some.” 

The bottle was half empty meaning his lips were on it and now your lips would be on it too. This wasn’t really what you meant when you said you wanted to feel his lips on yours but you didn’t really mind either. 

“Yeah, sorry, I got thirsty on the way here,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I can get you one from the vending machine.” 

You must’ve been looking at the bottle resting in his grasp like an idiot, “no, it’s okay Jungkook,” you rested your palm on top of his hand, “it’s not like we haven’t kissed before right?” 

His eyes turned a shade darker than their usual brown and he cleared his throat, letting go of the water bottle right into your grip, “right.” he stepped back as if you were a cactus ready to nick him with one of your spines, “I was looking at the list for Mr. Kim’s class and we are partnered together with Jimin for the project.” 

“Okay, should we meet at my place tonight or tomorrow? This is due this Monday,” you took a sip of the water tasting the remnants of Jungkook’s strawberry chapstick left behind on the rim. 

“I have a basketball tournament due tonight but we can meet tomorrow if you’d like.” 

“Tomorrow,�� you repeated, “any time?” 

“After four?” 

“See you then.” 

For the first time in forever Hoseok had actually left your name at the front desk of the studio on campus. After being left up you walked in through the double doors of the dance studio where the music blasted at highest volume and your best friend’s shoes squeaked against the shiny wooden floor as he moved throughout the room swiftly executing his choreography with perfection. Hobi was a force to be reckoned with and dance was his element. 

“You’re here,” his professional and focused aura peeled back as soon as he saw you enter the room, “I need a break anyway.” 

You sat on the floor with your back resting against the wall of mirrors. 

“I’m here and I cannot believe I witnessed such perfection,” you clapped your hands, “I still cannot believe my best friend is talented enough to finally snatch me away from poverty.” 

“You know I got us,” he sat beside you before laying his head on your lap. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat from head to toe, “but let’s not forget you chose to be poor.” 

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I can’t really help having idiotic parents,” you shrugged. 

“I know baby,” he cooed. Hobi was quiet which was definitely out of his usual nature where he radiated a blinding luminescent orb around his being. He fidgeted with the strings on his sweatpants and opened his mouth only to say it again. 

“Hoseok, you’re anxious and it’s making me anxious. Just say what you need to say.” 

You combed your fingers through his damp hair, “I saw they, your parents, left a voicemail for you last week. Did you ever get back to them?” 

“No,” you sighed, “and I don’t think I want to either. Everything they tried to do and were willing to do was truly wicked and unforgivable.” 

“You never told me what happened.”

“It involves Jungkook, of course, and everything we did while in high school, Yeonjun’s party the summer before senior year.” 

“The one he threw the week before school started?” 

“Yes.”

“To this day I still can’t remember shit about that night.” 

You chuckled, “a lot of our classmates don’t remember that night at all but I do. I remember every single detail.” 

He didn’t say anything so you continued. 

Yeonjun’s lake house was like a maze. There were numerous narrow halls with an array of doors carved on each wall and it was the same for every single corner you’ve turned into so far. The little bit of alcohol you had began clouding your mind and you felt more intoxicated than you actually were. Your kitten heeled black sandals clacking against the hardwood floor sought a way out of this elaborate labyrinth and back to what you originally came for. 

The music playing just a floor below faded as you traveled deeper and deeper into the second floor, although you could still feel the booming bass vibrating right under your feet. 

You just needed a bathroom—not because you actually needed to use it but because you needed to take a minute to yourself. . to breathe. Every other corner of this house including the back and front yards and even the fucking lake are already invaded by massive seas of drunk teenagers. Their voices were too loud, the music was headache inducing and the atmosphere adopted a stench of sweat and b.o. 

After ditching the red solo cup on a nearby console table, you leaned against the off-white walls closing your to block out the dim lights making you a bit lightheaded. 

Seriously, who even had this many fucking rooms in one house. You mumbled. 

Sure, your family was wealthy but you were nothing like the Choi family. Your parents were both doctor’s devoting their time to the tiny private practice the two of them founded but on the other hand Yeonjun’s family came from a long lineage of  businessmen and they practically owned a handful of the businesses for miles and miles around. 

You weren’t jealous of all of the extra zeroes attached to his parents’ net worth, you and your own lived comfortably enough to not have any financial complaints. However, his parents were more liberal and they didn’t clip his wings. They weren’t clingy or demanding and they certainly did not push anything on him that he didn’t want to do. Your parents were not this way, they were controlling, and they told you what to do and eat, who to hang out with and date. With covetous thoughts you wondered if there would ever be a point in your life where you could feel as free as Yeonjun did. 

Maybe now that you’ve turned eighteen things would be different. Doubtful—your birthday was a month ago and nothing has changed. Unfortunately, you still lived under their roof and relied on their money. 

You removed your shoes and hesitated whether to travel back down stairs and out somewhere into the depth of the forest but immediately erased the thought from your mind as you looked down at your bare feet, mini skirt and crop top. This wasn’t really an appropriate outfit to go off exploring the woods in the middle of the night. 

The minutes continued ticking by and finally you spotted a door at the end of the opposite hallway with a vertical rectangular piece of frosted glass cut right down the middle. Your feet traveled down the heated floors before your hand reached out for the black knob; turning it slowly. 

It was a rooftop balcony. 

The railing was wrapped in garden lights, while two sets of black cushioned reclining beach chairs sat around a propane fire pit. There was a massive grill to the other side, a bar that would put a nightclub to shame and a huge patio furniture set. 

Your eyes thoroughly scanned your surroundings before landing on the boy leaning against the rail staring at the idiots swimming in the lake below. For the first time since you met him approximately four years ago his legs were exposed under the light washed knee length jorts, he wore a white t-shirt and a pair of black and white checkered vans. Still, right up the alley of what his style embodied but you had to admit you missed his signature chunky boots. 

He still hadn’t noticed you so you walked up slowly, “I never thought I’d see you at a party like this,” you whispered in his ear before jumping right beside him. 

The moon rays reflected a twinkle in his dark eyes, “Yeonjun and I are cool.” 

“So, why aren’t you down stairs?” 

“Why aren’t you?” his gaze traveled from your black painted toes all the way up to your eyes as if he was studying you intently. 

“Too crowded,” you shrugged, “and not enough room to breathe.” 

Jungkook looked ahead, his vision once again consumed by the dark green and brown shades of the dense forest once again, his side profile put artworks all across the world to shame. 

“Yeah, same,” he added, “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret but parties aren’t really my thing.” 

“No way. . I’ve seen you at every party for the past three years,” he dramatically rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in your voice and you chuckled before continuing a bit softer, “is this your first one?” 

Jungkook nodded, “first one I’ve been invited to and the first I’ve ever attended too.”

“We’re breaking records tonight aren’t we.” 

“I guess I’m feeling a bit audacious.” 

You sneered, “audacious? Big word.” 

“Don’t tell me you think I’m stupid like the rest of our classmates. .” 

“I did my internship in the main office last year which included sealing report cards and sending them off,” he walked to one of the chairs and laid on it placing both of his palms under his head. Was he flexing? Couldn’t be. “You’ve practically taken every AP class offered at our school and aced all of them too. It’s a miracle how you have managed.” 

“What can I say?” he smiled and his cheeks rose like two loaves of bread in an oven, “I’m all brains baby.” 

“Brains and beauty,” you corrected. 

“I can’t also be ‘beauty’ when you’re here; living, breathing, being,” Jungkook is the personification of all of your desires and his aura worked hard to draw you closer and closer in his direction no matter how hard you worked to stay away, for his sake. Even when you tried to repel away from him the gravitational force he exuded called out your name and your tympanum became inundated by the wails of his being. 

Only he lived in your thoughts. 

The video-like memories you have shot of him throughout the years loop in your mind day and night. It was dizzying but you didn’t want it any other way. 

“You are beautiful,” you let your thoughts roll off your tongue freely—too tipsy to care and too enthralled by his striking features to lie about what you truly felt. What you’ve been working so hard to suppress for the past few years. You were tired of hiding, so fucking tired, “with your big beautiful eyes, and your cherry lips and rosey cheeks and all of these tattoos,” you carried on, “oh, and those piercings. Don’t you know that Jungkook?” 

He was flushed and his head became tilted down as he played around with the silver rings on his fingers, “know what?” 

“That you are more beautiful than life itself.” 

Jungkook scooched over on the chair and patted the empty space beside him inviting you to sit near him and you did. He laid on his side while his face rested on his left palm. 

“Are you drunk?” he asked. 

“I only had two sips of Hobi’s drink,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “I’ve been on cranberry juice most of the night.” 

“So this is not a case of drunken words you’ll forget once the sun comes up?” he leaned in closer and you could see the faint freckles dancing on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. 

His eyes sparkled projecting bright constellations never before seen in the heavens, “I could never forget anything about you.” 

“You know I can’t believe that right?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’ve forgotten about me for the past year,” he smiled devilishly, “you haven’t spared me the time of day. I’ve missed your sneaky glances. The way you’d drop your pencil half way through algebra just to bat those pretty eyelashes in my direction kind of like you are now.” 

“I didn’t do that just to look at you,” you clutched the thin gold chain hanging from his neck, guiding him closer to you, “I was just genuinely clumsy.” 

“I’m just saying it’s funny how the pencil always fell in my direction,” 

“Forget the pencil, Jungkook,” shivers cascaded down your back as his lips hovered over yours—his breath fanning against them. The aroma of lemon, and mint, with woody and balsamic undertones tickled your nostrils. 

Jungkook shook his head, his eyes remained on your lips as you swiped your tongue along them, “it’s not about the pencil?” 

“It’s not,” you added, tucking the few strands of hair that framed his face behind his ear. You just wanted to lay there with him forever, to be consumed by the warmth of his embrace, to lose yourself in the tenderness of his kisses, to wake up next to him tomorrow and also every single day after that. 

“So just admit you wanted to lo—”

You lips landed on his and finally you remembered just how magical kissing Jungkook was except unlike that day in school the bathroom, today, it wasn’t a game. You were there on your own free will and you didn’t care who was around to see. The only concern clouding your mind was how much more of him you craved. The way your mouths moved each other made you feel inebriated, even more than alcohol ever could and you weren’t afraid to admit his lips had you addicted. 

The silver metal hoop hung onto the corner of his lip felt cold, but so good in comparison to his heated kisses. Despite where you were or how many people currently invaded Yeonjun’s house it felt like you and Jungkook were the only two people on the entire planet. Just the two of you with your lips dancing on each other with the moon and the stars baring as your only witnesses. 

Jungkook pulled away slowly—panting slightly, “please shut me up like that more often,” he held your face, resting his forehead on yours and pecking your lips continuously, “tell me you’ll do it. Tell me you’ll always kiss my stupidity away.” 

You nodded, “Jungkook, how about I kiss you like that always and forever. Not only because of your stupidity as you call it but just because.”

“Are you trying to confess something?” 

He sat across from you on the beach chair taking your legs onto his lap, his soft hands massaged the soles of your feet. You swallowed back the guttural groan riding up your throat melting deeper into the chair due to his therapeutic touch. His fingers moved higher and higher up the length of your extremities, halting right above your knees, yet he continued kneading his fingers into your skin. 

“Tell me.” 

You hummed. 

“I need you to be an open book with me. What are you looking to confess?” 

Your eyes remained closed as he continued touching you gently—almost feather-like, “Jungkook, I can’t really think when you’re doing that. .” 

“Should I stop?” 

“No, please,” you pant. 

He continued kneading your thighs, “tell me.” 

From the tips of his fingers currents of electricity trickled onto your skin, “ah, fuck. .” you breathed, “I like you Jungkook. I like you. Okay?”  

Hobi sat up beside you, now leaning against the mirrors as well. The sun has begun its journey towards the horizon and its rays peaked through the slightly drawn blinds,  “wait so you guys. .?” 

You nodded but said nothing else. That night had been a secret between you and Jungkook. 

“On the roof of Yeonjun’s house during our senior year back to school bash?” The surprise in his tone was evident but you weren’t taken back by it all. 

“Yes,” you smiled faintly, unwilling to hide the giddiness you felt from the memories of your time together from Jungkook, “it was our little secret. We swore to each other we wouldn’t  say anything to anyone. That’s why I didn't mention anything to you before but obviously someone saw and word got out that same night.” 

Hobi sighed, “don’t tell me another fight broke out between him and your dumbass ex-boyfriend.” 

You shook your head, “this time it was different. I wasn’t scared of what others thought anymore. In that moment I decided I would stop caring. I wanted to stop hurting him,” your clammy hands began to shake slightly and Hobi placed his palms on top of them to stop their trembling, “that night after the party we rode around all night aimlessly. Enjoying each other’s company and truly I was the happiest I had ever been all my life. Everything went to shit as soon as I made it home and walked in through the door. My parents waited for me to get in, they sat me down and began rambling about my change in behavior and how different I had become.”

He hummed and you took that as a sign to continue. 

“As soon as I sat on the chair that night they slid over my mom’s phone and there was a picture of Jungkook and I kissing on one of the longue chairs. I swear I had dejavu from freshman year.” 

“Did you ever find who took the picture?” 

“I never did but I always figured it was one of my ex’s minions or something,” you shrugged, “to be honest, trying to figure it out was the last thing on my mind. They started talking and talking rambling on about my personality change and rebelliance and how Jungkook was the cause of it or some shit.” 

“How did they even come up with that?” 

“I asked myself the same thing,” you snickered, just thinking about it even now makes your blood boil, “but it didn’t matter. Being eighteen didn’t matter; they just wanted to keep us away from each other at all costs. They made all types of threats to make me press charges and file a restraining order which I obviously refused. Then, they vowed to make his life hell if I didn’t stay away and I didn’t want to find out what they meant so I decided to comply and stay away.” 

“Okay, now I’m beginning to understand why you moved in with my family half way through senior year,” his thumb rubbed circles on the dorsal side of your hand, “were they mad when you left? I used to ask my mom if your folks ever reached out but she always avoided the question.” 

“They were livid but nothing they could ever say or do would ever make me stay in that place.” 

“Did they manage to leave Jungkook alone?” 

“Well, after the big cut-off Jungkook and I were never able to find our way back to each other,” your voice was low, almost as if you couldn’t hear yourself it just wouldn’t be true, “and I moved in with you and your mom and I completely blocked them out of my life.” 

“Good. I’m glad you ditched them,” he pinched your cheeks, “you deserve better than them and their money’s no good to you anyway.” 

“I just wish I would’ve kept in contact with him. Maybe tell him what was going on or something,” you scratched the back of your neck obviously frustrated at your lack of communication skills as a stupid eighteen year old. You were such an idiot—why couldn’t you open your fucking mouth? 

“We all make bad decisions at one point in our lives but you had no choice, baby. You were sandwiched into the wall one bad choice up against another. You made the best decision you could with the circumstances at hand,” he snuggled closer to you, wrapping one hand around your shoulder, “don’t beat yourself up over it please.” 

“I love you. Seriously, I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” 

He kissed your forehead, “I love you more.”

Today Jungkook’s highway of thoughts has eased and though you liked how calm the morning has been you also kind of missed the feeling of his lingering presence—almost as if your own shadow was missing. 

You despised waking up towards the early hours of the afternoon but today you couldn’t seem to peel yourself out of of your bed, until finally you couldn’t fathom the idea of napping your day away—plus couldn’t do that even if you wanted to because Jungkook and Jimin would be over in about thirty minutes to begin working on Mr. Kim’s project. 

Jimin had been the middle man in this entire set-up, he had both of your numbers so he took it upon himself to text the two of your separately (because he knew you and Jungkook were physically impossible of initiating a social exchange amongst yourselves), and get you both on board with a neutral territory to meet at. Of course, Jimin’s idea of a neutral territory involved a place where he could catch glimpses of his ex strutting around which meant your apartment was his ideal meeting spot and although his thoughts hadn’t revealed anything so far you just knew Jungkook wasn’t ecstatic about this whole arrangement. 

After taking a quick shower, getting dressed and setting up a plate of sliced fruits and a couple bags of snack size chips and cookies you heard a light knock on your door. 

Taking a deep breath you turned the knob before pulling the door open. It was Jungkook and as always he looked breathtaking. You were beginning to think comfort was his go-to because yet again, he wore sweats and a simple t-shirt—tattoos still peeking out at you, his bottom lip still pierced with the same small silver hoop, hair half up half down and his book bag slung on his left shoulder. 

Removing his headphones he stared back at you as you continued ogling him, “hey. .” he greeted in his deep tone. 

Why is she staring at me like that? 

Do I have a stain or something? 

He looked down at his shirt but when he saw nothing he just stared back at you tilting his head slightly. 

“Hi,” you stepped out of his way and he finally crossed over the threshold into your apartment, “you’re the first one here so we’re just waiting on Jimin to make it before we begin. Please sit anywhere.” 

He nodded. 

The apartment wasn’t necessarily big but it wasn’t small either. An open floor plan made up the space between the kitchen and living room area with a rectangular island separating the two rooms. Immediately to the right of that was the door leading to Hobi’s room, then your room sat at the end of that hall just a couple feet away and the bathroom was just across from your door. 

Yet even as you walked towards the kitchen and Jungkook made strides towards the love seat in the living room you felt like the two of you were cramped in a tiny box with the temperature hiked to the highest setting. God, there were about a million things you could say or offer him but nothing could ever mend his broken heart and that was enough to keep your lips sealed tight. 

Where the fuck is Jimin? 

I don’t know if I can be here alone with her for much longer. 

And it’s so fucking hot. I’m gonna pass out. 

Fuck, you knew it. He’s upset. Though you already figured coming here was probably  hard for him, you didn’t imagine it would hurt you as much as it did to actually know how much he despised being in your vicinity, but it did. 

Jungkook sat rather stiffly on the couch, bag still slung on his back as if he was ready to leave, staring off into the distance while his leg bounced up and down anxiously. Strolling past him silently you nearned the thermostat and cranked the AC up higher.  

That’ll literally fix nothing at all. 

You turned around taking a seat on one of the accent chairs near the row of windows on the opposite end of the living room. If it wasn’t for the invasion of his thoughts, the silence would be killing you softly. 

“Have you heard anything from Jimin?” he finally looked in your direction but not into your eyes instead they lingered lower—in the direction of your legs. The hunger displayed in his eyes took you back to the night before when he moaned your name so sweetly. 

“Nothing,” you tapped your screen to show him the lack of texts and placing the phone back on your thigh, his gaze followed almost like he was hypnotized. 

You would give anything to hear him just one more time—Fuck, just once more. 

He cleared his throat, snapping out of those sinful thoughts cooking up in your head, “yeah, same. And I’ve texted him like three times.” 

“I’m thinking that little shit bailed even though he planned this whole thing,” you were scared to form your thoughts into actual words, “do you want us to start or would you rather wait for him?” 

He breathed out almost exasperated—damn, you should’ve kept the suggestion to yourself. You were about to take it all back but then he finally spoke up, “We’re both here now. I think we can begin and then fill him in. . If that’s okay with you.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s the best we can do,” did he just willingly comply with staying alone with you, “I’ll go get my notebook. Gimme one second.” 

“Okay.” 

Right. . Okay. Just here to get our work done. That’s all. That is all. Yeah. 

You sat beside him on the couch startling him just a bit—he seemed tense, “so we’re supposed to pick a movie, and match no less than three scenes to at least one of the emotions listed.” 

“I say we do the very minimum and pick the movie I’m sure we’ve all watched,” he asked, unzipping his bag and pulling out his notebook. 

“Titanic?” you asked. 

“No, The Blind Side,” he scoffed, “do we really want to sit here for one hundred hours just to recap the eternity that is Titanic?” 

“But the emotions for Titanic are so easy to dissect; we have happiness, love, and jealousy right off the bat,” you argued, “the assignment is practically done for us already.” 

“Yeah, but everyone’s going to do Titanic. We need to stand out. Be different.” 

“It’s an intro to writing class. I vote for taking it easy, weren’t you just moaning about taking it easy anyway?” your tone was a bit condescending you’d admit but the way he scanned your figure was addicting. There was nothing you craved more in this world than to have his gaze drink you in as if you were his favorite drink. 

“I wasn’t moaning.” 

I was last night though. 

You swallowed hard, biting your tongue and holding yourself back from going along with begging him to moan the way you’d heard him do so the night before. His husk groans so low and sweet, so fucking sweet, “But you were.” 

“It was a suggestion. There was no moaning involved.” 

“Well, maybe if you did moan I would cave and take your suggestion,” the words rolled off your tongue before you could ever stop them. 

He smirked, “so you just wanna hear me moan.” 

Don’t smirk. 

Eternally mad at her, remember?

The internal conflict raging within him gave you at least a little bit of hope. As you mapped out the field of his thoughts you figured he wanted nothing to do with but distance himself; to be cold and standoffish but he also revealed he wanted you. He wanted you near—to hold you, kiss you, touch you. 

It was confusing and headache inducing but you liked that you still lived in his mind the same way he lived in yours. 

You shrugged, “maybe I do.” 

“Please, don’t,” his eyes finally met yours. 

Look away. 

But he didn’t and you were glad he didn’t. 

“Do you want me to beg Jungkook?” you purred low and slow—the translation intended was desperation and you hoped he understood exactly what you were hinting at. You were tired of hiding behind your emotions. 

She’s a fucking pied piper and I’m the snake hyptonized by sweet song and mindlessly slithering towards her. 

Yes, Jungkook. Come closer, come to me. If only he could listen to your thoughts, this would be a whole lot easier. 

Fucking one way telepathy. 

“Uh,” there was a mere blank look plastered on his features. His pupils were blown and a soft tint of rose dusted his cheeks. It was as if your words had sucker punched him and he was still processing the hit. 

You moved closer to him on the couch, placed your hand on his thighs to balance yourself as you drew closer to his ear, “please, Jungkook. Please, I need to hear you moan again.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck! 

He groaned and the honeyed husk tone sent a trail of goosebumps up your thighs resulting in your panties becoming moist, “please.” 

“Jungkook, I want you,” it was the first time in years you’d heard those words adjacent to his name and fuck did it feel good. 

Fuck it. 

His calloused hands were now on your waist and he began guiding you to lay on the loveseat before your hand landed on his chest to stop him. 

“I said I want you,” you sat him back down before kneeling in-between his legs. The fit of his sweats got tighter, lifting and taking on the shape of a tent, “you didn’t reciprocate the sentiment so that means I’m in charge here today.” 

Tell her. It’s easy. 

Tell her you want her too, you fucking idiot. 

He never vocalized it but you didn’t mind—knowing the thought pranced around on his mind was more than enough for you. 

“Are you okay with taking these off?” he complied, taking his sweats off swiftly, letting the pool at his ankles. Jungkook is fucking big and you were taken back by the sight, “good boy,” you cooed. 

His head fell back on the headrest while his eyes were shut tightly and his breathing became uneven. Oh! He likes that. He likes being called a good boy; you made a mental note to call him that again if you find yourself in a similar predicament. 

You raked your nails along his inner thigh, “Jungkook?” 

He hummed. 

“What do you fantasize about?” you laid your head on his thigh, his dick just a couple inches away from your face and truly all you wanted was to take him all in your mouth. 

“Alot of things.” 

You reached up, taking his length into your hold and he winced at the contact as you began moving your hand up and down once and once again, “I need more details than that.”

“I think of. .” his words became jumbled in his throat as you continued your very mellow and teasing touch, “of you doing, ah fuck, of you doing all these things to me.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head at his semi-confession, “Jungkook, have you touched yourself while you think of me, hm?” 

Of course, you already knew. You’d heard it yourself but you just loved seeing him become so affected and so sensitive as a result of your lewd utters. 

Your palms traveled up to his pink tip and began rubbing circles with your thumb painting it white with his precum. 

“Good boys don’t touch themself.” 

Jungkook’s mouth remained agape but there were no words communicated instead he formed a sort of soft whimper, and that was the kind of motivation your body needed to go into overdrive. 

You wanted. . No, needed to rid yourself of these suffocating ass fucking clothes, you needed to touch yourself—to release that tension aching so painfully in between your legs. But you didn’t. Today was not about you. 

“I know. .” he groaned, digging his nails onto the black leather couch, “but when I have you invade my thoughts,” he paused looking for all of the right words, “I just can’t control myself.” 

“Hm, seems like I have a lot to live up to compared to your fantasies,” you kissed the head enveloped in your hand before swiping your tongue along his shaft and he hissed. 

His saccharine noises should be made into a playlist so that you could be able to replay them over and over everywhere you go but especially when  you lay under the covers of your bed in the late hours of the night. The only thoughts occupying your mind would be the compositions of his lustful cries as your fingers worked diligently to get yourself off. 

It was so tempting to just allow his hands to continue traveling down your stomach and waist, a few more inches and his fingers could be at the exact location where your body screamed out for his attention. 

You wanted it so bad. 

You tutted while clicking your tongue, “sit back, Jungkook,” you removed his warm feeling away from your lower back and placed them on his knees before patting them softly, “and keep your hands to yourself. Yeah?” 

“It’s really hard to,” he said, “nearly impossible when you’re working so hard to get me off and you’re just sitting there squirming whenever I talk about touching you. Cause the thought has lingered around in your mind, right?” 

“Jungkook, this is not how tonight is supposed to go.” 

“Then, how is it supposed to go?” 

Your hand began moving up and down his cock, pumping him once again before you felt the corners of your mouth beginning to sting as you wrapped your lips around him. It was painful. . Good painful though. With each passing second you bobbed your head on his cock working to take him inch by inch but no matter how much you tried, it was nearly impossible. 

His hand snaked around your neck aiding you, sinking himself deeper into the warmth of your mouth. With strings of saliva streaming down your chin, puffy lips, heated skin and a sort of fucked out look in your eyes you continued the repetition. 

Seeing him lose himself under the ministrations of your touch and mouth was overwhelming and drove you to the verge of nearly succumbing to the peaking orgasm lurking close by. Instead you diverted your mind to what you were doing instead of what you felt. Placing one your hand around the base of his balls massaging them into your touch, while you put firm pressure with your thumb on the perineum—and that’s when you saw the explosion of fireworks erupt in his eyes while his thighs began to shake. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Her mouth is—fuck! 

“I’m so close,” a needy whimper escaped his lips, “please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Please.” 

You complied, nearly choking on his cock. The feeling of being nearly rid of your ability to breathe was addicting and yes, if tonight were to be your last day on earth it would be a pleasure to die with Jungkook’s dick in your mouth. 

“I’ve been a good boy,” he cried out, “can I please cum?” 

Been such a good boy. So good. 

You hummed in approval right before he spilled into your mouth and you swallowed every bit of it before turning to see his splayed out body—all limp and tired. 

After wiping the corners of your mouth you sat beside him on the couch. Your knees were red and stung just a bit but honestly you could do it all over again—all night if you could. Slightly, opening his eyes he looked down, placing a kiss on each knee. 

“I never thought we would-” he paused momentarily, “we would do something like this ever again.” 

“Really?” your voice became hoarse, “because I’ve thought about it for a long long time now.” 

“You have?” 

“I have,” you continued, “and I’d like to think you do as well but if you’re ever ready to actually admit what you truly feel you know where I’ll be.” 

I do want you. So bad. 

And my feelings for you have always remained the same. I still have feelings for you, I feel everything for you. I always have and always will. 

He didn’t say a word but simply offered a sly smile before slipping away to get himself together in the bathroom. 

… But you were not disappointed. 

He needed time and that’s okay. You’d be more than happy to give him the time to dissect this peculiar relationship the two of you have. . developed. It’s the least you could do after all these years. 

In your heart you just hope he finds his way back to you. 

“So you sucked him dry and then you both continued to work on the project like nothing happened?” Jimin asked; his head laid on Hobi’s lap. Yes, they were back together. This was apparently the reason why he had missed the project session the night before.  

“We were kinda forced to when your ass was MIA from the very meeting you set-up.” 

He rolled his eyes, “nobody forced you to suck his dick.” 

“Fuck you, Jimin.” 

“Why don’t you begin by fucking Jungkook instead.” 

“Jungkook and I aren’t fucking anytime soon,” you sighed spinning around on your desk chair. The ceiling seemed to come crashing down on you even as you thought of gravity of your fucked up reality, “it’s like I can feel that he still feels something for me but he just won’t vocalize it.” 

Hobi caressed the apples of Jimin’s pink cheeks, stroking them lightly with his thumb. They were the picture perfect image of love—whenever they were not fighting of course. 

“So you sucked his dick at the expense of what?” Hobi inquired. 

“I really just wanted him in my fucking mouth,” you shrugged not really wanting to scramble for any other explanation because the truth of the matter is all of you would always calls out for Jungkook whether you wanted to or not. 

“Oh, baby,” Hobi abandoned his place on your bed and kneeled in front of you holding your hands in his, “while I support all forms of slut revelations and tendencies as your best friend it is within my obligation to require you to tend after your heart.” 

You nodded. 

“Jungkook is alluring, captivating, mysterious and absolutely handsome—” Jimin cleared his throat behind him, but he ignored his boyfriend and proceeded, “and the two of you have a lot of history both good and bad but you have to understand what happened in the past is yesterday’s event. Jungkook can break your heart or hurt you in any way and it’ll be just as fucked up no matter what happened between the two of you back in high school. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Hobi was right but how could you shut out the part of your brain which justified every single way Jungkook could tear you apart? Underneath the spark; shining bright in your eyes every single time he appeared in your line of vision you knew you deserved his wrath for every inconvenience you had a role in while inserted into his path. 

“Don’t just say it. Mean it.” 

The room felt smaller, suffocating, colder and Hobi’s words rolled around in your head in every single direction. The three of you were sprawled around your full bed watching a random movie Jimin had picked out. You sat up against the headboard while the two of them laid on their stomachs facing the television hung on your wall. You weren’t alone but your bed felt empty and as you looked off to your right you couldn’t help but be transported back to last night when you and Jungkook finally settled on the Titanic.

The tragic telling of two people who found their way to each other against all circumstances and the barrier of societal norms and expectations that stood in-between them. Of course, aside from Leo unnecessarily dying in the final act this could be a retelling of pinpoints on your relationship with Jungkook. You liked each other, your parents were against it, you lived in the moment and you let your heart lead a way here and there but as soon as the iceberg (your parents, your ex, and even you) became introduced as the antagonist the two of you found yourselves swimming in an ocean of heartbreak and despair. 

You would always assume responsibility for every single way you hurt Jungkook in the past but if one thing must be crystal clear is that you also love him. You did back then and you do now—the only difference is that back then you were looking to please all of those around you and you suppress your feelings in the deepest pocket of your heart but you wanted to liberate it all. You were finally ready to listen to your heart.

It was a composition to a beautiful song, one so loud it courses through your very being, awakening your nerves and causing your thoughts to explode into a frenzy. 

You wanted him here with you. Snuggling into you sharing longing looks and deprived touches. 

You wanted him to be open and push all of his fears away. 

You wanted him to realize that you were different now. Things were different and you would treat him so well. 

I need to talk to her. Yeah. 

Almost as if his brain and his phone were wired together you heard a ding go off right beside you. 

‘Hey, can we please talk?’

Your heart sank because in your experience that sentence never led to a good thing. Never. 

‘Sure. When are you free?’

‘Right now.’

‘Hobi and Jimin are home. You can come over if you don’t mind some company or we can meet somewhere else?’

‘Come to my apartment in 5.’ 

‘K.’ 

Jittery was the exact word you’d use to describe Jungkook at soon as he opened up the door to his apartment and stepped aside to allow you in. The length of his finger had a slight tremble and his eyes were blown wide. 

You hadn’t really seen him like that in a while. 

“Jungkook, are you okay?” 

He nodded, “yeah, just a bit stressed with everything going on plus I’ve had like five energy drinks in the past five hours.” 

“What’s got you so stressed?” you asked standing before him, you felt hesitant to sit anymore. I mean you did have his dick in your mouth like less than twenty-four hours ago but you didn’t want to push it and you certainly did not want to invade his personal space. 

“Too many things, honestly. School for one. .” he ran a hand through his hair taking a brief second to determine exactly what he wanted to reveal to you, “work study plus now I'll be co-coaching the swim team as well.” 

“You’re headstrong Jungkook,” you offered, “I’m sure you’ll do amazingly even with this hectic schedule you are so determined to take on.” 

“I went to this psychic once and she told me my ambition to take on everything would lead to my demise,” he chuckled airily, “I’m beginning to think she was right.” 

“Psychics are bullshit. Who says you can’t have cake and chocolate ice cream too?” 

“Right,” you hadn’t noticed before but casual was Jungkook’s new staple. Seems like he has drifted away from his black boots and particularly dark toned outfits. You liked that version of him quite a lot, although you hadn’t really shown it in the past. However, you also liked the version of him standing before you where he maximized comfort and migrated to mostly tones of white, gray and nudes, “of course you would make that comparison. Cake and chocolate ice cream have always been your go to dessert combination.” 

“Isn’t it everyones?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “for example my nutritionist might say it’s too sugary.” 

“Well, fuck the psychic and that nutritionist of yours too,” Jungkook’s laugh is just like the rest of him—inviting, sweet and genuine. When he laughs, it’s addictive enough to make you want to make him laugh again and again, just so you can hear that sound and see her giggly smile as much as possible, “forreal, but also just remember you gotta just live in the moment, don't worry about tomorrow or even yesterday. Today is all that matters.” 

“I definitely agree but funny enough I kinda wanted to talk to you about what happened last night..” He cleared his throat, “on the couch of your apartment. Well you and Hobi’s apartment.” 

You looked down at your dusty white converse before finding his eyes once again, “what exactly did you want to talk about?” 

Go on. Go on. 

“We’re good right? Are you okay after—well, you know,” was he worried about hurting you after you suck him off yesterday? God, you could suck his dick all over again and then once more after that or preferably until your jaw locks and your knees dissipate. Though, that still wouldn’t be enough to extinguish the burning desire in the pit of your stomach. 

“What exactly are you asking?” you took a step towards him, “shouldn’t I be the one making sure we’re good especially considering all of our history together?” 

“Forget that.” 

Don’t bring it up, please. Just forget about it. 

“I can’t Jungkook,” you sighed, “I wanna make sure we’re okay and I wanna apologize for what happened. Please, let me do it. I don’t want you to resent me for the rest of your life because of it.” 

“There’s no need to. I forgave you long ago. The cold stares and snarky comments were always just a front,” he confessed, “I forgave you the second after everything went down.” 

“And I thank you for that but I still need to do this. I need to get it off my chest,” you reached for his hand; the warmth of his hold settled your nerves and finally you were able to go on, “Please, forgive me Jungkook. For going through with that dare and kissing you in the bathroom. I did want to kiss you but I should’ve never let them take a picture; it only made things worse for you. I’m sorry for not comforting you after your fight with my idiot ex, although I wanted to. I was scared but you were too and it was my fault so I should’ve been there. I’m sorry for ghosting you after we spent the night together at Yeonjun’s party—my parents, they gave me an ultimatum and I was just a high school senior still very dependent on them and I know that’s not an excuse but I managed to make it one back then. Most of all I’m so fucking sorry for not reaching out to you sooner and making things right. I just hope it isn’t too late now.” 

His hands abandoned yours and instead he leaned over before cupping your face, “I told you already. I forgave you for everything a long time ago.” 

“I appreciate your kind heart and forgiving nature, Jungkook,” you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes in the process, “but still I needed you to know how truly sorry I am.”

“Please, stop apologizing,” he sighed, “the past is the past and you have no reason to be apologizing to me right now.” 

“You keep saying that but I did and I do,” Jungkook’s stare was comforting; his eyes felt like embers burning your skin under the sun rays shining bright during the mid-afternoon sun, “and I will continue to do so at any given minute. I need to make up for all of that lost time—every single minute; every hour I’ve let you slip through my fingers. You deserve to be treasured, loved and cherished for the rest of your days and I will do just that if you allow me to.” 

“What exactly are you asking me?” 

“I’m simply asking that we allow things to ride out and perhaps the tide might just take us somewhere beautiful.” 

He giggled, “do these sonnets just live in that pretty little head of yours?” 

“My head is more than just pretty,” you challenge. 

“I know that,” this is the giddiest you’ve ever seen Jungkook be. In recent times he had adopted a sort of hard shell, which he often wore like a shield but today as he leaned on his kitchen island with his head propped up on his palms he looked elated, “I just like the way you describe the potential of there being an. . us.”

“Do you like it enough to give things a chance? Maybe even go on a date?” the tremble in your extremities gave away just how truly nervous you felt, though you tried your best to hide it. You’d never asked anyone out before but for Jungkook you were willing to make the first move. 

She’s so poetic with her affinity for love. I like the way her eyes light up when she talks about us being together. 

“How about tomorrow?” 

“I’m free tomorrow.” 

The following day was a blur overshadowed by a nimbostratus cloud which swept in a vicious squall with gusts so powerful your room was left a literal mess as you spent hours prior to Jungkook picking up frantically looking for the perfect date outfit. 

Now, you sat in your little casual red dress in the passenger seat of the car Jungkook borrowed from his best friend. Your balmy sat atop your thighs and you tapped your fingers lightly on your heated skin. 

The night sky was beautiful—drowning with a million of bright stars and a moon so illuminating it spotlighted your path. Nightlife here roared with vibrancy and the sidewalks were congested with people bar hopping or looking for dinner spots among other things.  This scene had great capability in finally claiming your attention away from Jungkook and his sinful thoughts but it was hard. Every single image Jungkook painted within the beauty of his mind blasted in your head seemingly like a framed art piece in a gallery. Except, the only difference was that roaming around a museum was peaceful, whereas Jungkook's wandering thoughts made you quiver and sent glacial shivers down your spine. 

For the duration of the ten minute car ride he’s use the weapon known as his mind and managed to peel your clothes off, re-imagining the way your mouth moved on his cock, then, within seconds he painted a picture of what it would be like to fuck you against the hood of his car. You’d admit the depiction of you against the cold metal bumper with your dress hiked up to your waist, while he pounds into you relentlessly really was more than enough to ignite (with the man sitting behind the wheel; eyes hyper focused on the road ahead; and his tattooed knuckles gripping the steering wheel), about a million fantasies you wanted to fulfill with his assistance. 

But the urge to have the heat of his touch roam every inch of your body became abated when Jungkook parked his car and you found yourselves sitting across from each other in the red booth of a seafood restaurant on the pier. The incandescent bulb overhead did very little to irradiate the space between you and yet Jungkook still looked as radiant as ever. The muffled and incessant chatter of the patrons scattered throughout the establishment became similar to the buzzing of bumble bees and truly you weren’t really too sure you could make out conversations they engaged in. 

You were kind of nervous and although you’d hope it wasn’t too obvious you couldn’t help the way your eyes scanned the room and your body failed to comply with the simple order of sitting still. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Jungkook sat up on the leather seat and looked off outside the glass window drinking in the vicious waves as they crashed against the golden shore. 

You look beautiful every single day. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, “I see your signature black boots have finally made a comeback,” you followed his eyes out to get a view of the roaring sea, “I thought you might’ve grown out of them.” 

This look—tonight was the epitome of teenage Jungkook core and you couldn’t help but savor the brief stroll down memory lane. Of course, back in high school you’d always had a tiny little crush on him and while you worked to get over it; that was not an issue today. You were gawking—practically drooling at how amazing his biceps looked under the sleeves of his white tee, his black jeans hugged his thick thighs and his hair was tied half up half down and of course those damned black boots. 

“They’re my secret weapon. I just keep them in the back of my closet for special occasions.” 

I also know they were always your favorite look on me. 

“In that case, I’m honored that a night with me is considered a special occasion enough to bring out the boots,” Jungkook finally turned towards you, his eyes shining bright like jewels even in the shitty lighting. 

“I figured it fit our little slice of history perfectly.” 

“Don’t tell me these were the exact ones you wore that day? 

“They are the exact same ones.” 

“I thought you would have gotten rid of them with everything that transpired,” you whispered; talking about the past still felt taboo. 

“I contemplated that many times,” he shrugged then proceeded in a timorous voice, “but I just couldn’t. There is an abundance of bad memories attached to them but the memory of my first kiss trumps all negatives.” 

“Your first kiss?” Your shock was evident and for a second you had to look around just to make sure you weren‘t too loud but the people around the two of you were too into their own conversations. They were oblivious to the little corner you and Jungkook occupied towards the back of the restaurant—in your own little world, “I-I was your first kiss?” 

He nodded before taking a small sip of his water. 

“Jungkook?” 

He looked at you, “what?” 

“Are you being one-hundred percent serious. . I was your first kiss?” 

Jungkook pressed his lips into a tight line causing his cheeks to become impaled by his chasmic dimples; then, he closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath, “I was a loser in high school. Of course, I was spared a few friends but in the ‘love’ department I was lacking severely so naturally no one was ever interested in pursuing anything romantic with me. Until, that afternoon when the girl I’d been crushing on finally walked up to me in the bathroom.” 

“If I could go back in time and embrace the feelings that I had for you, Jungkook just to tell you how I actually felt I’d do it in a heartbeat,” your heart beat rhythmically in your chest and quickly you began feeling fatigued as if your air supply would be cut off if you didn’t peel back every single one of your layers and confess exactly how you felt. 

“If I could go back in time and tell you what I actually felt despite the consequences I’d also do it in a heartbeat,” he murmured, taking your hands in his. 

“Good evening and welcome to Under the Sea, can I get you started on anything tonight?” the server approached. Her hair was tied up messily and she wore a black polo and black pants while carrying around a small notepad and pencil in her hand. She seemed friendly but a bit overwhelmed—though, you couldn’t really blame her, this place is leaning a whole lot towards chaos. 

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Jungkook said, a fib of course, the two of you had been too busy talking to scan the menu before she came over, “I’ll take the Cioppino. Anything looking appetizing to you?” 

“I think I’ll take the Paella.” 

“And for drinks?” she asked scribbling away on her notepad. 

“I’ll have a Coke.” 

“Same here,” the two of you handed back the menu, “thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” she smiled before walking off towards the kitchen. 

The rest of the night at Under the Sea was brief and while you and Jungkook indulged in small talk here and there the two of you were starving and more concerned about getting something in your stomach. After leaving the busy restaurant Jungkook led you in the opposite direction of the parking lot towards the small park across the street from the beach. Right under the live oak tree there was a blanket laid out with numerous flameless candles flickering their feeble light around the very spot. As you got closer you noticed the basket sitting next to the blanket on the grass and the rose petals scattered around. 

“Jungkook. .” You became stunned at the attention to detail of the man before you. Everything looked so beautiful, “you did this all? W-when did you even have the time to set this up?” 

“I set everything up before our date and I know some of the workers from the restaurant and asked them to check in every once in a while and bring our snacks out like five minutes ago so nothing would spoil.” 

“You prepared snacks for us?” 

“More like I cut-up some fruits.” 

“In that case I’m judging your knife skills.” 

“Not too harshly though,” he tittered softly and airily. It mimicked the comforting tunes of lullabies, “come one, let’s sit. I have some things lined up for us tonight.” 

You sat beside him on the velvet fabric, you folded your legs to your side and used one of the spare blankets to cover your lap. Before you there were two medium sized tabletop easels and a selection of paints and brushes. 

Jungkook removed the white button up he’d left unbuttoned and kept on the white wifebeater. For the first time you finally had a full view of his sleeve; on full display. The black traces filled in with colorful shades adorned every inch of his right arm all the way down to his wrist. You had the urge to reach out and trace every single pattern but you held back—you and Jungkook were good but this is the beginning stage; first you have to dip your toe in and test the waters. 

She’s staring at my arms. . Be calm. 

Don’t flex. . Don’t flex. 

Dammit. 

He flexed, reaching up to brush a stand of hair back and out of his face. 

You smiled, “so, what’s supposed to be our inspiration for painting tonight?” 

“Each other. You paint me and I’ll paint you.” 

“Jungkook, I’m a lousy painter,” you whined. 

“The point isn’t for it to be good,” Jungkook began brushing soft strokes on the canvas, “it’s about the creative process. . the ideas that your mind interprets into art.” 

“That’s easy for you to say,” you scoffed. 

“Art didn’t always come easy to me.” 

“How did you know this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life?” you finally picked up a brush and squeezed a dash of paint on the wooden palette, allowing your hands to work freely—to create. 

“The first time I drew anything for others to see was in high school,” his eyes were gleaming with thoughts of reminisce, “Ms. Julie, reached out to me sophmore year, said she needed my help designing the yearbook cover for the seniors that year.” 

“I remember the cover that year,” Jungkook looked over at you and there was a layer of joy featured on his face, “it was absolutely beautiful and I also remember every single cover after that being just as amazing.” 

“Thank you,” his cheeks were a crisp crimson now, “I designed all of the year books every year after that as well. Actually, I still help Ms. Julie from time to time even now.” 

“That’s amazing. It’s truly a gift that your hands possess and I’m so glad we get to see what they create.” 

Jungkook stopped his movements all together, his gaze no longer set on the easel, instead he looked downward, his cheeks still burned bright, maybe a little more now than before and by the paced heaves of his chest he seemed to be calculating his every breath. 

“Thank thank you,” he stammered. 

“And just so you know I intend to shower you with compliments, so get used to it.” 

He beamed, “what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“What are your passions?” 

You shrugged, “Hm, I was never really good at anything back in highschool and while I knew I had to do something. I had a really tough time figuring things out.” 

“But then. .” 

“Then, I did an internship at the daycare on campus the summer before classes started and I realized how much I love being around all of the kids,” you said, “and at that moment I automatically knew what my major would be, come the fall semester.” 

“Funny how life works right?” 

“One-hundred percent.” 

The cool draft of the expeditious night swept by softly allowing you to leave behind the once scorching afternoon. Right now, you became a resident in your very own slice of heaven and in your head the only people around for miles were you and Jungkook. For the past thirty minutes, the two of you haven’t crossed many words, you were too focused on contextualizing the perfect artwork—one that’ll remind him of you wherever he sees it. 

Now, you were not an artist by any means but you tried nevertheless. The best interpretation of him you could come up with was to depict the sheer contrast between the different versions of himself. 

The two were slightly different yet when meshed together working symbiotically to make Jungkook the perfect mixture of tranquil, mesmerizing and lulling all in one. 

Your canvas was split in two—one side you painted baby blue with music notes substituting the clouds in what would be the bright afternoon sky and and a lousy excuse for a guitar sitting on the bottom. This was the version of him that lived inside and the one only a few people got to see. His mysterious aura and great passion for music. Then, on the opposite side you painted a black background in combination with it there was an abundance of colorful art supplies scattered all throughout. This one represented what he chooses to show and what many saw on the outside on his day-to-day course. 

After some finishing touches you moved back on taking one last look at your work, “okay. . Here, I tried my best but it’s not your face. Just some things that remind me of you.” 

“Let’s see,” he hummed excitedly, waiting for you to turn the canvas around. 

“Be nice, okay?” 

“I will, I will.” 

When Jungkook was excited there were a lot of distinctive actions that communicated with his body and expressions. His eyes lit up like the explosions of fireworks on a summer night; his shoulders were raised up past his jawline and his cheeks burned bright. 

“It’s not good, okay,” you beamed at his cheerfulness; it was cute how thrilled he was. 

“It’s perfect,” he leaned closer to sneak a glance, “come on. Let me see.” 

“Fine,” turning the canvas around felt like an invasion of privacy, although everything on it was solely about him, it was still like a clear window into your soul and how you saw him. 

You’d never been this vulnerable before with anyone. Never. 

He scanned the explosion of colors sitting in-between your hands. Jungkook’s lips curved up while the corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement. 

“This is amazing and absolutely the best depiction of everything I love.”

“Don’t lie to me, Professor Picasso.” 

“I don’t lie about art,” he reached for it and you placed it in his hands, “and this is a masterpiece.” 

You scoffed. 

“I’m serious,” he argued, “this is going up on my art wall. Front and center.” 

“This better be the only thing on your art wall,” you muttered. 

Jungkook finally grabbed his canvas holding it close to his chest. . Well, as close as he could due to the wet paint, “Here’s mine.” he still had not turned it around for you to see. 

“You know you actually have to turn it for me to take a look.” 

He chuckled, “I know but nervousness is contagious. . Just gimme one second.” He took a deep breath before slowly turning the canvas in your direction and there you were. Same facial features, hair style and red dress you had chosen for the night. The talent his fingers convey is jaw dropping. It is evident Jungkook is an amazing artist through and through. 

“Jungkook. .” You knew he was good; you’d seen the covers he had designed for the highschool yearbook back then, still, that didn’t prepare you for this in the slightest bit to see yourself from his point of view, “I don’t have an art wall but this will definitely be the beginning of one in my apartment.” 

He guffawed while passing his painting over. 

“I’m serious,” you continued, now closely examining his precise attention to detail. He got every single attribute down to the smallest scars and birthmarks, “your talent is impeccable. Just look at how amazing this is.  It’s actually not fair at all. I want mine back.” 

“No way! You can’t take back gifts you have already given away to someone.” 

“Yes, I can,” you argued, “especially if my gift looks like shit next to yours.” 

“It most definitely doesn’t. I already told you, I love it and it’s going up on my wall and there’s nothing you can do about it,” he leaned closer, placing a soft peck on your forehead and clutching the painting tight in his grasp. 

You groaned admitting defeat, “but I am expecting a lot more paintings from you.”

“Always.” 

Of course. As long as you’re beside me, and even if some day for some reason you aren’t, you’ll continue to be my muse forever. 

His muse. You love the sound of that. 

The sound of the pouring rain beat rhythmically on the glass window. For the next few hours your bed was your haven and Jungkook’s bare arms were your form of a warm blanket.

Although the clock on your night stand marked four o’clock, the day was as dark as night and as the sun refused to come out to play the dark nimbus clouds invaded the stretch of the expansive sky, refusing to allow even a single ray of light to illuminate your bedroom. 

The power had gone out but the two of you had lit up some candles in various locations of your room. You were both in your underwear, semi-sticky with a thin layer of sweat coating your entire body as a result of the air conditioner no longer being on. 

Even in the heat the two of you couldn’t untangle yourselves from each other. 

“We’ve been laying here in the heat for hours,” his fingers raked over your shoulder and down to the middle of your back. 

“There’s nowhere we can go to cool down for the day. I’m afraid these four walls are it for us today,” you complained. 

“And moving will only make us hotter.” 

“I think the two of us being tangled up like this is already making us hotter.” 

His hands tightened around your waist, “yet there’s nothing you can say to let me go.” 

“Then, it’s a good thing I don’t want you to let go,” you crossed your arms on his chest and laid your chin on them; looking up at him through your lashes taking in his figure as he laid back against the headboard. 

“Why are you looking up at me like that?” he asked though his eyes were still closed. 

“I just like having you. . here.” 

“In your room?” he asked. 

“In my life,” you confessed, “I guess I never thought we could make it here again.” 

“I had faith—hope. I knew that eventually we would get to talk and forgive each other.” 

Every fight and every bicker was a call to drive you closer to me. Immature I know, but it was all I could do and say to get close to you. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong to me, Jungkook,” you traced lines over his collarbones leaving before sparks of electricity; you felt as they traveled down to the tip of your finger, “if anything I was constantly praying you’d forgive me.” 

Forgiving you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.  

“I walked away after Yeonjun’s party,” he caressed your cheeks with the pads to his finger, “that was my worst mistake and I knew exactly how it looked too; like I just hit it and quit it.” 

“You didn’t hit it and quit it, Jungkook,” you sighed, “I did that to us. I was the one who walked away from us. None of it was your fault.” 

“But I let you walk away. I didn’t fight for us.” 

“Hey,” you cradled his face in your hands, “I didn’t let you fight for us. This is on me.” 

But I never went searching for you. I just let you—walk away. The night you got up from that longue chair on the rooftop of Yeonjun’s house I thought that was our beginning; I just never thought it could be our end instead. 

“It’s on us,” Jungkook leaned into your touch, softly moving his cheek against your palm, “but we can only work to overcome our past. . Together.” 

You held onto the gold link looped around his neck, clutching it in order to pull him towards you until finally your faces were just an inch away from each other, “Together.” 

“Kiss me, please,” his breath fanned across your lips as you continued guiding him closer and closer to you—his eyes were closed once again and he completely succumbed into this trance of your navigation. His lips were warm and velvet; parting slowly before they landed on yours. You became lost in the way your heartbeat continued beating faster and faster. The soft ballad of the steady thrumming tickled your ears and along with the taste of his mint lips on yours you began feeling a bit faint. 

The room was still hot, the power was still out and you still sat on Jungkook’s lap but now you became exhilarated riding off the feelings in the way your body connected. It wasn’t just the kiss—no, it was also the way his electric touch began tracing the lines outlining your body, traveling down between your breasts, then down your stomach and up your sides until they rested on your hips. Jungkook’s fingers teasingly toyed around with the elastic waistband of your panties, rubbing small circles on your lower back. 

You were breathless pulling away from that kiss but in between breaths you managed to pull his forehead against yours before allowing yourself to speak one again, “Jungkook, can I tell you something?” 

He nodded. 

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” your brain felt like it melted right into mush and there were no coherent thoughts in your head that didn’t revolve around Jungkook. 

You were dickmatized. Yes, you were. 

“You have me.” 

“I want all of you.” 

“Take it all,” he whispered. 

Do anything you want to me. Do everything you want to me. Do whatever you want with me. I am yours for the taking. 

You felt the beads of sweat strolling down your body accompanying the slight tremble in your every movement. Still, you moved with the facade of faux confidence and soon you found yourself straddling his thigh, sinking down against his heated and sticky skin. Indulging in a steady pace you began moving back and forth against his thigh all while holding onto his shoulder for support. Jungkook’s head fell back against the wall but his hands never left your waist guiding your movements to the quickened beat of desperation. 

“You look so pretty riding my thigh. You know that?” he smirked; his cheeks were the tone of wine. Jungkook bit his lip to maintain focus on the sloppy motion he continued to maneuver. 

You hummed entirely consumed by that heated feeling in between your thighs—entranced in the way his soft whimpers only guided you towards that very place where you could finally reach out and touch the stars. 

“Fuck—fuck, keep going, yeah?” you stammered never ever wanting him to stop being the root of your every desire. 

What gave her the impression that I’d stop? This. . Us, it just feels so right. I will never be able to live in a reality where the image of her getting off on my thigh could ever cease—not after today. Not ever. 

“Just-just let me guide you, baby girl,” his voice was low and husk followed by a series of unpaced breaths. 

“Take me there, Jungkook,” you moaned. 

Oh, fuck—I’ll take you there baby. I’ll take you there. I’ll take you there. 

His fingers dug into you while his fingernails left behind marks of deep crescents traced on your skin. The guidance of his movements was near animalistic and the fabric of your panties was now sticking to your juices and there was nothing you craved more than the desirous urge to unravel under the trance of Jungkook’s ministrations. 

Back and forth; back and forth you moved reaching higher and higher as your fingertips brushed touch the points of the luminous star and before you knew your teeth sunk into his shoulders suppressing your moans and your hips no longer followed the rhythm he previously set and you were finally swimming in the night sky—so high; so satiated. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “that-that was amazing.” 

“You tired yet?” he asked. 

“Not at all.” 

Jungkook hugged your waist and flipped the two of you over; your bodies pressing together heatedly against the ocean of sheets, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together once again. His hands quickly dipped under the waistband of your panties reaching for your inner thigh, until you felt him press the pads of his fingers in between your folds smearing the combination of your juices. After  his torturous teasing he slipped two fingers pumping them in and out of you quickly. 

“Oh, baby,” he finally pulled away from your lips, allowing a string of whimpers to slip past your swollen lips, “you feel so fucking good.” 

“Jungkook, faster please,” you rocked your hips to match the beat of his fingers moving in and out of you. 

“Is that what you want?” he hummed, “tell me. You want to cum at the mercy of my fingers?” 

“Yes-yes. That’s what I want please.” 

Jungkook laid beside you on the bed with his face buried in the nape of your neck. His hand still worked diligently to get you off as he whispered soft praises against the shell of your ears. You were in your very own depiction of utopia—euphoric with stimulation of endorphins. 

“I’m close-close, Jungkook,” you dragged your nails down his back, likely leaving streaks of red trails behind as he quickened his pace. Meanwhile, you felt your body temperature skyrocket and the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened until it could not become any tighter and for the second time that night you felt how the storm passed and once again you floated throughout the night sky. 

While Jungkook strove to read your body like the ink inscripted into the pages of his favorite book; the absence of his wandering hands made you feel empty—as if you couldn’t really breathe. At all. 

“What happened, baby girl?” his lips traveled downwards on your body while his hands finally worked to unclasp your bra, (two orgasms later you couldn’t believe you still had all your undergarments on), and now your breasts became the forefront of his attack and leisurely he took each nipple in between his teeth smirking at your gasps and shudders as a result of your sensitivity, “are you the one who can’t stand the rule of not touching today?” 

“Ah—,” he lightly bit the side of your left breast before kissing it better, “the only thing I hate right now is that your dick isn’t in me right now.” 

He laughed; the booming sounds struck just like the raucous cries of thunder just outside your windows, “what makes you think I’m gonna fuck you tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I can feel how hard you are against my leg.” 

“What? This?” Jungkook sat-up on the bed working to remove his boxers. When he finally did he discarded them to the pool of clothes somewhere on your bedroom floor while his cock sat before you like it had been a few days prior.  Jungkook laid back down in front of you, placed a tender kiss on your forehead before he moved closer towards you, lifting your leg up and allowing it to rest on his hip. Once positioned he began rubbing the head of his cock against your clothed slit —especially focusing on the sensitive bud. 

He traced the lines of your lips over and over until you couldn’t take it any longer and tears began filling your eyes and you chanted hastely begging him to fuck you right into the mattress. 

“Please, Jungkook,” a needy whimpered rolled off your tongue, “please fuck me, please fuck me please.” 

Jungkook was now on top of you and he reached down, moving your soaked panties to the side before he lined himself at your entrance. You closed your eyes anticipating that moment when his cock would slip in and stretch you out so good you’d feel full beyond relief. And just as you imagined he slowly pushed himself past your entrance, your mouth fell agape at the sensation of his cock invading you inch by inch. 

The feeling was immeasurable and better than anything you’d ever felt before. 

“Will you be okay if I move?” he asked almost out of breath. 

You nodded frantically.

“Just let me know if you wanna stop at any point, okay?” he remained still. 

You nodded once again. 

Jungkook moved cautiously, setting a lento rhythm—almost as if he thought you’d break if he fucked into you too hard. His tattooed hand brushed your heated cheeks as he continued his agonizingly slow thrusts. The room was still silent for the most part except now in company to the pitter-patter of the pouring rain the two of you contributed your very own duet composed of his guttural groans mixed and your shaky pants. 

His lips left sweet kisses behind on both of your cheeks, then your nose, your chin and lastly your forehead. 

She looks so fucking beautiful like this; all sweaty and aroused just for me. Fucked out just for me. I’m so lucky. So lucky. 

“Jungkook?” you tucked your bottom lip under your top row of teeth. 

“Yes?” 

“Deeper, please,” you whined, “not faster but harder. I want to feel you deep in me.” 

Deeper? Fuck. She’s gonna be the death of me. I swear she is. I’ll fuck you just how you’d like baby girl. I’ll fuck you right. 

“Okay—okay,” he stammered. 

Jungkook stopped his movements and pulled out momentarily as he adjusted his position in between your legs. He grabbed both of them and wrapped them around his waist before pushing past your entrance once again, and yes, it felt just as jaw dropping as the first time. Jungkook’s pace remained lento except now whenever he was about to push back into you he made sure to lunge himself deeper causing the sounds of his skin slapping against yours to echo within the walls of your room. 

“Oh, Jungkoook,” you let out a drawn-out moan, chanting his name repeatedly, “right-right there, oh, Jungkooook. Right there. Please don’t stop.” 

He continued penetrating you just as you wanted until once again, for the third time that night, you were on the very edge of the planet. You could see the exact place where the sky met the earth. Trotting towards the phenom you felt the way your heartbeat quickened and finally as you approached you began clenching around him until you witnessed an explosion of stars behind your eyes; a feeling so blissful your knuckles turned white as you clutched the sheets underneath you in your grasp. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. .” he hissed pulling out quickly. 

“What’s wrong?” you gasp at the feeling of emptiness now substituted by a ravenous void. 

“I almost finished inside of you and we forgot to wear a condom,” his cock was held tightly in his hand.

You swiped your tongue on your lips, “would you like some help with that?” 

“That is not how today is supposed to go,” he mocked. 

“Fine,” you shrug, “but I was going to offer my body as an alternative.” Jungkook’s  pupils become dilated, your words obviously peeking his interest, “come on my face, Jungkook.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.” 

Jungkook towered over you on the bed, kneeling right beside you on the bed—by now you were spent, too tired to do anything but lay there and admire the way his head hung back as he worked to find his release. The design of his tattoos followed suit beginning all the way from his shoulder blade, to his flexed and veiny bicep all the way down to the tight clasp of his finger around his shaft moving hastily from base to tip. 

“Look at you, baby girl. All eager for me to come on you,” Jungkook said through clenched teeth, “you’re so naughty for me. All for me.” 

“All for you, Jungkook,” you repeated, “I can’t wait to feel just how warm you’ll be on my face. Come on, baby. ” 

Your mantra of praises rolled off your tongue semi-automatically but you were needy to feel his seed on you so you continued using your words to aid him in the process of jerking off. He continued moving his hand up and down his length until the tip became painted white with drops of pre-come. 

“I’m almost—” he cried out; his guttural whimpers sent waves of glacial shivers interlacing with the ridges of your spine. 

“Yes, Jungkook. Be a good boy.” 

“I am a good boy,” his labored breathing came out in puffs, “I am. .” 

“Then, come on baby. I’m waiting.” 

Jungkook was immersed in what you knew was likely the build-up of his approaching release. His chest inflated and deflated rapidly, while the muscles in his stomach tightened accentuating his already sculpted physique while his cheeks turned a bright scarlet. 

“I’m coming!” He cried out. 

The spurts of his white semen painted your face as he worked himself to the very last drop. Even in his moment of release Jungkook was careful enough to aim towards your mouth and chin and you licked everything within reach of your tongue. 

“Let me get a wet rag and I’ll clean you up okay?” Jungkook stood from the bed and placed a kiss on your forehead before walking towards your bedroom door and opening it up. 

A few seconds went by and suddenly you heard a loud shriek and a plethora of muffled words which sounded a lot like your best friend, Hoseok. Not a lot of time went by before you saw Jungkook enter the room frantically before slamming the door shut and leaning against the wooden surface. 

“Hoseok’s home?” you laughed. 

“And Jimin.” 

“And they saw?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Please remind me to never leave this room naked again.”

“Yes! Please remind him!” Hoseok yelled from just outside the door. 

A bursting titter erupted between the two of you and Jungkook climbed back into bed with you before he helped you wipe off the mess he’d made on your body, then laid down beside you. 

“Can I ask you something?” You began snuggling deeper into his embrace. 

“Yes?.” 

“Will you stay here tonight?” You asked barely above a whisper—barely audible. 

Jungkook rested his chin on the crook of your neck, “of course, I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

There was no place you’d rather be than embraced in the solace of Jungkook’s warmth. 

Tonight, tomorrow, and forever after that. 

I’ll always stay with you.

-

-

-

an: you know what im about to say right? ignore the smut scene ~if you must~ it literally took me like two weeks to write because my brain wasn’t working >.<

i literally started working on this like a week before seven released…. *gulps*

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 2

Kara shuts the door of her car shut behind her, and smoothes her sweating palms down the front of her jeans. She should have stayed in uniform, she thinks. She’s no longer on shift, but she always feels more confident with a badge pinned to her chest. As it is, wearing jeans and a tee shirt, she feels exposed, as though anyone looking at her would be able to see just how fast her heart is racing.

But she’s come this far-- she can see this through. Exhaling deeply, Kara starts the short walk up the drive to the firehouse’s open bay doors. As she crosses the threshold sounds of activity fills her ears. She glimpses firefighters rolling hoses and mounting them on the engine, and others are buffing the chrome bumper of the ambulance. She catches the eye of one, she thinks she recognizes him from multiple calls– Brainy, she’s heard the others call him. He brightens at the sight of her, and to her horror comes trotting over to greet her. 

“You are approximately 32 minutes late, Sergeant Danvers,” he says precisely. He clasps his hands behind his back. 

“I–I’m sorry?” Kara asks. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming, let alone what time she planned to show up.

“Since I glimpsed you conversing with Lieutenant Reilly, I anticipated you would seek her out. Seeing as your shift ended one hour ago, and the precinct is 30 minutes from the firehouse, you are, by my calculations, late.”

Kara blinks. “There was traffic on the freeway… how did you–?”

“The lieutenant can be found in the gym,” Brainy clips, extending an arm towards the far corner of the engine bay. There, Kara glimpses a glass paneled wall and the outline of a pull-down machine. 

“Thank you,” Kara issues numbly.

“You are most welcome.” Brainy then turns and returns to the ambulance and his chores. By now Kara’s thundering heart has climbed to her throat, but it;s too late to back out now that she’s been seen.

Kara wipes her palms again, nodding to herself. “You can do this,” she murmurs. “Look sharp, Danvers.”

Kara follows the hum treadmills and the clink of weights to the back right corner, where a glass paneled room sat under the spiraling staircase up to the second floor. There she stops, mesmerized by a dark swinging ponytail. Lena.

Lena running.

Lena running in a tank top and spandex shorts. Muscled arms swing in rhythm with her bobbing head, and Kara can glimpse round earbuds nestled in her ears. 

She almost turns away, if only to keep from getting caught ogling. But a sweaty towel smacks Lena in the side of the head, pulling her attention to the young woman smirking off to Kara’s left. Nia, is it?

“Got a visitor, LT!”

Lena’s head swivels towards Kara without breaking stride. Her sweaty features brighten at the sight of her. 

“Sergeant Danvers!” she chirps. She hops onto the strats of the treadmill, taking a moment to tap the machine off before stepping down entirely. She uses Nia’s towel to wipe her glistening face and neck, her breath huffing lightly. Kara’s mouth goes dry. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Kara blinks, giving herself a little shake to re-orientate herself. Then she gives as easy a grin as she can manage. “And give up a free autograph? Not on your life.”

A smirk crosses Lena’s features as Nia steps up to stand at her shoulder. “Autograph?”

Kara plucks her calendar from her bag, giving it a playful flourish. Nia’s brow furrows, then lifts in delight.

“Oh my god! Miss March has a fan?!”

Lena turns towards her coworker with a roll of her eyes. “Nal…”

“Yeah?” 

“Give us a minute, will you?”

“But–!” 

“Nia.”

Nia sighs. “Fiiiiine…” She grabs her water and phone from beside the weight bench, and all but prances out with a smug, knowing smile in Kara’s direction. “Nice seeing you, Sergeant.”

They wait until Nia slips out, leaning them together with nothing but charged air between them. Kara gazes at Lena, who gives a soft smile in return. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lena smiles back. Her cheeks are flushed, and Kara feels a glimmer of satisfaction at the thought it might not be entirely from exertion. 

“So…” she says. “I have a place or two in mind for that drink. Someplace… friendly.”

Lena gives a slow nod. “I like friendly.”

“Someplace where we could get some privacy.”

Another nod, this time accompanied by a deliberate step forward. “Privacy is good.”

“And, ahhh… one of them just so happens to be walking distance from my place.”

Dark eyebrows lift in surprise, and suddenly Kara finds herself awkwardly trying to reel herself back.

“I mean, you know, in case we can’t drive after. I didn’t mean to imply– not that I expected… um, that.”

Pressing her lips together, Lena waits for Kara to talk herself out. It serves to jolt Kara back into herself; she chuckles. “You going to cut me a break here or what?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Lena returns, grinning. “I’m curious to see how far we’re not going to go on this date.”

Kara laughs. “Okay, okay. Look– what I mean is that I don’t expect anything more than a drink to get to know you better. That’s all.”

With a slow nod, Lena saunters even closer. “Message received,” she murmurs smoothly. “That said…”

She leans in close, until Kara can smell the tantalizing tang of sweat and the subtle fragrance of Lena’s shampoo. Her heart pounds so hard there’s no way Lena can’t hear it.

“If any of that,” Lena continues, “were to follow… I wouldn’t be averse to it.”

Unable to help her answering grin, Kara cocks her head. “Well, before we even get to that, we do have one order of business to get to first.”

She flips the calendar tauntingly between them, even going so far as to let the thing tap against Lena’s chest when she waggles it playfully. Lena glances down sharply, clearly having forgotten the “true” purpose of Kara’s visit. She throws her head back and laughs a full belly laugh that turns Kara’s insides to jello.

“Guess I’ll have to rustle up something to sign that with–”

A marker flies out of nowhere, bouncing off of Lena’s chest. She fumbles to catch it, and Kara lunges for it on reflex. Their heads crack together audibly, and they both stagger apart, cursing.

“Jesus fuck–!”

“Godammit!”

Nia’s voice calls cheerily from outside. “You’re welcome!”

Kara locks eyes with Lena, who grimaces at her. 

“You said something about privacy?”

[ambiguous-avery]

Chasing Shadows, Part 1

Dean Winchester x OC fem!Touched!Reader/You | WC: 2,999

Summary: She’s never been afraid of the dark, not really. She’s more concerned about getting lost in it. He’s haunted by every dark deed he’s ever done. It’s constantly nipping at his heels like a hell hound. He’s her light in the dark, and she’s the one bit of darkness he’s willing to embrace.

A series of murders has drawn the Winchesters to your small town, and for some reason, you’re at the center of it all. What are you hiding? And why does it seem to be painting a target on those around you?

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, eventual romance,  eventual smut,  fluff and angst, POV alternating (sometimes a little all over the place), no beta we die like men

Disclaimer: The base concept of Touched comes from @aylacavebear and is used with permission. I’ve taken creative liberties with it.

A/N: I’ve never posted any of my work anywhere before, so this is a huge leap of faith for me. I’ve just gotten into the Supernatural fandom, so forgive me if there are things that don’t line up with the canon. I’m still in the early seasons of the show! I’m also new to writing x reader fics, so feedback is always welcome! I'll probably end up adding warnings as this goes on. Chasing Shadows Series Masterlist

This was the fifth murder in two weeks. The reports Sam had found had hinted at possible ritual killings due to the bodies reportedly being bloodless, but really, the Winchesters knew better. Everything about the deaths screamed vampires, so the question was less about ‘what’ was killing and more about ‘how many’ were doing the killing. Dean adjusted the collar of his suit and squared his shoulders before knocking on the door in front of him. Their initial snooping into the cases had led them to the most recent victim’s best friend. You.

“Hello,” Dean said your name and flashed his fake FBI badge with practiced ease. “I’m Agent Ehart; this is Agent Greer. We were hoping we could ask you some questions.” You gave each of them a quick visual once-over before you stepped aside and opened the door wider for them. They each gave a quick, appreciative nod and situated themselves on a couch in the living room, looking wholly out of place against the decorations and outdated couch fabric.

“Can I get either of you something to drink?” you asked. Sam shook his head.

“We’re alright, thank you. I’d like to start off with "we're very sorry for your loss." I’m sure it isn’t easy,” he began, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

“Thank you,” your tone was clipped as you sat down across from them. Your body language spoke volumes. The way your shoulders were hunched. The way you almost seemed to curl in on yourself, trying to be as small as possible. Your eyes were still red and swollen, the result of at least one recent cry session, probably more. “I already spoke with the police.”

“We understand. See, we’re conducting our own investigation. With so many recent incidents happening in such a short span of time, we’ve been called in,” Sam said, keeping his tone polite but professional.

“So… five deaths is the threshold for the police to bring in the big guns, huh?” They thought you might have been trying to make a joke, but there wasn’t any humor in your voice. Dean wet his lips before responding.

“Something like that… if it isn’t too much to ask, could you go over the night it happened? Anything stand out in your memory?”

You thought for a moment, running the night through your mind. As you reiterated the evening to them, they listened with rapt attention. You had been over the story so often and in so much detail that it was beginning to sound rehearsed. In a way, it sort of was. 

“We were out at a restaurant. We’ve both been so busy lately that we haven’t had some girl time, so we were catching up. It was uneventful, really,” you said with a half shrug. “The strangest thing about the night was a guy who crashed into her on our way out. But again, I’ve already told the police about him.” You looked at Agent Ehart, trying to get a read on him. Unsurprisingly, he wore a sort of grim determination on his face, but there was something else there. You weren’t sure you could put your finger on it. He seemed a bit young to be an agent – both of them did – but he carried the world-weariness of someone who had lived many more lifetimes than appearance would suggest. You wondered what kind of stories he might share over a drink or two.

“Tell me more about this guy,” the one with longer hair – Agent Greer, was it? – cut in. You jerked your head to look at the other agent, abruptly pulled back into the present moment.

“I dunno. There’s not much to say about him. We stepped out of the restaurant, and he walked right into her. Knocked her purse to the ground. All her stuff spilled out, and he couldn’t even be bothered to stop and apologize. Kinda seemed like he was drunk with the way he was stumbling on his feet.” You shifted a bit in your seat. Now was hardly the time to get distracted, not when you were a hair's breadth away from falling to pieces.

“Have you seen him around town before?” the same agent continued.

“Can’t say I have. Then again, I tend to keep to myself when I’m out and about. I don’t think I’d be able to recognize the barista I see every few days if I passed them in a grocery store.”

“I see… and you’re sure there’s nothing else you can think of that seems… odd to you? Really, any detail you might feel doesn’t matter might end up being quite significant. No matter how unbelievable it might be.” You were quiet for a moment, debating. “I promise, there’s nothing you can tell us that we haven’t heard before,” Agent Greer pushed. Something about the hazel-eyed agent’s tone made his words heavier, like there was a more profound meaning behind them than he was letting on. You swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the ground. 

The first chink in your carefully curated mask showed as a flicker of something flashed behind your eyes. The short-haired agent leaned forward, the movement catching your attention. You looked up, and you’re sure that if circumstances were different, you could’ve gotten lost in the agent’s green eyes. 

“Sweetheart, please. We want to catch this guy and keep him from killing anyone else.” His voice was soft and sounded more genuine than the other officers who had questioned you the day before, and somehow, the ‘sweetheart’ nickname didn’t grate on you coming from him. Maybe it was the way his voice rolled over you. Or maybe it was because he had a pretty face.

“I didn’t do this,” you said quietly. 

“I know you didn’t.”

“I feel like I’m going crazy or I’m being vain or something.” You maintained your eye contact with him as though it would make him believe you. “I knew them. All of them. Not well, mind you. Some more than others.” The crack in your mask splintered further. “I know how this looks, but I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it. I know you don’t believe me, but I promise on everything that matters to me.” Your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the familiar feeling of stinging tears behind your eyelids. The sound of fabric rustling drew your attention, and when you opened your eyes, the agent who called you ‘sweetheart’ was standing beside you, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch slightly. He was warm, and the touch was comforting.

“Don’t worry. You can tell us anything. We’ll get him,” he said.

They didn’t get much more information out of you. Your inability to give them a solid description of the guy you saw outside of the restaurant was a real damper on their investigation. However, Dean had left a card with his name and number with you on the off chance you remembered anything else. With a heavy sigh, Dean set the duffel bag he was holding onto the motel bed, running a hand through his hair. Sam was seated at the small table in the room, typing away on his laptop. 

“What do you think, Sammy? Still dealing with a vamp?” The two had done away with the stiff suits, and Dean was happier back in his t-shirt and denim.

“I mean, every report I find talks about the bodies being exsanguinated. I don’t know many other creatures that would do that.” Sam turned his computer, letting Dean look over the documents they had gotten from the local police.

“What about a chupacabra?” Dean suggested.

“Everything I can find about those says they go for livestock rather than humans. Vamps fit the bill the best.”

“Yeah, but… the thing that I can’t figure out is ‘why her’? She said she spent time with each of them the same day they were attacked. Vamps don’t usually have a pattern that centers around one person,” Dean said, leaning over to skim the computer screen.

“Maybe it’s a vengeful spirit that’s latched onto her?”

“That would explain the victims’ connection to her but not the blood loss. Unless it has something to do with how the spirit died. But even then, there’s no report of the crime scenes being particularly bloody.” Sam leaned back in his seat as Dean spoke, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“And we’re positive she’s not a part of all of this? She said she didn’t tell the police about her connections with the first vic because she didn’t want eyes on her. That’s not something that someone innocent says,” Sam asked while taking his laptop back and scrolling through the reports again, as if some new detail would stand out to him. 

You had said that you knew all the victims, but the extent of which varied greatly. The first one was an old friend of your parents who you didn’t interact with much, but the one time you did, he was attacked. Victim two was a coworker in a different department who was attacked after a lunch meeting with you. Number three was a taxi driver who had driven you home after a late night at the office, and number four was someone you had met at a bar and shared a drink or two with. Ultimately, though, you hadn’t ended up going home with him. And the most recent one had been your best friend, one you had just hung out with the night of the attack. You weren’t wrong. It was extremely suspicious that you had a connection to all of them, no matter how insignificant it seemed. You had never mentioned your connection to the first victim, and the next three had far stronger connections with others that the police never really glanced your way. Number five was the first time they had looked closely at you, but without the knowledge of your link to any of the others, nothing looked suspicious to them. 

The Winchesters weren’t buying it. 

They spent the better part of the day doing as much digging into the cases as they could, even managing to schmooze their way into the morgue to see the body. As the medical examiner pulled back the sheet to reveal the body, both Dean and Sam’s gazes locked onto the very obvious bite mark on the victim’s neck. 

“Kinda gruesome, isn’t it?” the medical examiner asked. He was a younger kid, probably in his mid twenties, if they had to guess. 

“You can say that again,” Dean mumbled, slowly looking up and down the body.

“All the victims have the same kind of wound on them?” Sam asked, motioning to his own neck. The examiner nodded. 

“Unfortunately so. I try not to jump to conclusions, but I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors of these being ritual killings. Hard not to assume the worst when everything’s pointing in the same direction. Have you guys seen anything like this before?”

“Not exactly like this,” Dean said, shaking his head. 

Everything pointed to a cut and dry vamp nest except for the way they were targeting victims. Why you? More specifically, why those around you but not you directly? Maybe one of the vamps had a vendetta? That would’ve only made partial sense. Only two of the victims seemed to have a more profound connection to you – the neighbor and the best friend. They spent the drive back to the hotel running through every possibility. The sun was sinking behind the hills by the time Dean got out of the shower and dressed. 

“There has to be something we’re missing,” he said as he took a seat on the bed.He grabbed the jar of Dead Man’s Blood from the duffel bag he had shoved beneath the bed and spun it in his hands, his leg bouncing. They had exhausted just about every avenue including variations of vampires in different myths and lore across the world. Nothing was fitting the bill.

“We can always go back and ask her more questions tomorrow,” Sam offered.

“Yeah but what do we even ask? She already said she has no idea why anyone or anything would target her. And I know lying isn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, but it just seems... unlikely. Our last option is that she’s in on it, and something’s telling me that’s not the case.”

“You sure you’re thinking with the right head about that?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh please, do you think I’m blind?” Sam scoffed, a light smile playing on his lips. “You’re a sucker for those big, doe ‘help me’ eyes.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, “She’s a pretty girl in a shitty situation.” The jar of blood was still in his hand, the liquid sloshing around as he tilted it back and forth. Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna swoop in, save the day, get the girl, and ride off into the sunset.” Dean flashed him his signature boyish grin, the kind of grin that Sam knew was going to get them into trouble sooner rather than later. “Look, just keep it in your pants until we figure this out, yeah?” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. Maybe if they looked more into your connection with the victims, something else would show up. 

Dean’s phone went off in his pocket, and he set the jar down on the bedside table before fishing it out of his pocket. He tilted his head to the side slightly as he looked at the number. He didn’t recognize it.

“Hello?” He asked, hitting the speaker button.

“Dean?” your voice crackled over the phone’s crappy speakers. You sounded scared. Dean was on his feet, grabbing the Impala’s keys from his other pocket as you spoke. “I think I’m being followed.”

“Where are you at, sweetheart? We’re on our way.” You rattled off a cross street then for good measure, gave a landmark for reference. “Stay around other people, anywhere with lots of foot traffic.” There was no response.

The part of town you had directed them to was the opposite of what Dean had advised. It was a commercial area some distance away from the downtown shopping district several blocks over. What in the world were you doing out this late with all the recent incidents? You had better not have been trying to solve this yourself. Dean had parked, and the two of them armed themselves for a fight. On second thought, maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you had been out of the way of others. There was no one to judge them as they briskly moved down the sidewalk, checking down the alleys between the buildings. The sound of a scuffle and a pained cry from the next building up caught their ears, and the two of them hoofed it.

The boys turned the corner just in time to watch the vampire sink his teeth into you. The scream in your throat died to a soft whimper, hands uselessly grabbing at the vampire’s arms as it held you against the brick wall. Dean was the first to respond, firing off a bullet soaked in Dead Man’s Blood before Sam even had a chance to aim. It took two more shots before the vampire finally relented, dropping you to the ground, fangs still holding a chunk of your flesh it ripped from you. It clutched at its side where the bullets had sunken in before turning and booking it around the corner. Dean and Sam shared a knowing glance before Dean chased after it. Sam tucked his own gun into the waistband of his pants and knelt down beside you, worry and concern and anger etched into his features. Your eyes had slid closed, and your own blood soaked your shirt, oozing from the open wound in your neck. Sam gingerly eased you so you were sitting up rather than lying in a crumpled heap on the cold ground. He winced, quickly finding your wrist to check for a pulse. Even with his expectations on the ground, Sam was still disappointed when he didn’t feel anything.

“Shit... I’m sorry,” he breathed, brushing stray hair from your face. “I’m sorry we weren’t quick enough.” He stood up, pulled out his own gun, and chased after Dean, mentally promising that he’d make it up to you by killing this son of a bitch.

“I’m telling you, Sam, it was weird. It was like the Dead Man’s Blood had no effect. No lethargy, no weakening of his abilities, nothing. We saw his teeth. If that thing ain’t a vamp, then I’m the queen of England.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe it’s because we caught him mid-feed? Maybe the fresh and dead blood cancel each other out in a way?”

“I dunno. But if there’s one, there’s bound to be a nest of them. And we’re gonna need a lot more blood than what we have on hand. Which alley did you leave the vic down?”

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam stopped abruptly, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and staring hard at him. Dean ran a hand over his face and pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“Look, it’s better to do it before the body’s locked behind yellow tape. We need every advantage we can get, and we might as well make her death worth something. Plus, she gets revenge on her killer. It’s a win-win situation.” Sam sighed and shook his head, letting his hand fall away from Dean.

“I hate it when you make sense,” he grumbled, turning the corner. The two of them stopped dead in their tracks.

“Sam...” Dean began slowly, “where’s the body?” Sam gaped at the empty alleyway. For a moment, he thought maybe he had made a wrong turn, but he recognized the dumpster with the mattress sticking out of it. 

“That is a great question...”

---

Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave a like, comment, or reblog! I would be forever grateful! 💜💜💜 Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

Part 2

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 8

Rating: All good, nothing horrible

Warning: Ghost’s ego is dangerously large

Summary: At long last, you put two and two together.

Word Count: 926

ao3 link

Yet again, you were woken up by someone knocking on your door.

This new trend in your life was fucking annoying; nobody in your circle ever knocked on the door anymore, only ever texted to say they were outside and waiting. Sure, anyone with a delivery would knock, but that would be at a reasonable time of the day, not past midnight.

You went to investigate, tying your dressing gown tight over your pyjamas as you tiptoed through the living room. Ghost was still out on the sofa like a light, his face hidden underneath a cushion, Soap curled up on the armrest by his head. Neither stirred as you crept past them to the door. How could anything out there possibly be more terrifying than the beast on your sofa?

Still, you kept the chain on.

You peered through the peephole before even touching the door, squinting at the person on the other side. You didn’t recognise the man. He looked like someone’s dad- a full beard and moustache, complete with a little hat. Maybe if you ignored him, he would just go away. Fat chance. You could see him raising his hand to knock again, so you reluctantly went to the door, quietly opening it and frowning through the crack,

“Can I help you?”

“Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour. You seen Ghost?”

Who the fuck was this? And how on Earth did he know Ghost was asleep on your sofa?

“Who?”

“Come on now. You know Ghost. Simon.”

“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong address. I don’t know a Simon.”

Why your first instinct was to lie was a mystery to you. Ever since Ghost had come into your life, it felt as though your entire being had shifted; you were wary, paranoid, and secretive. You hadn’t told a soul about Ghost, whereas before, any man that so much as text you ‘u up?’ had a full report to the group chat.

“You really gonna do this?”

“Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Inexplicably, you’d developed some sort of sixth sense for when Ghost was behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you could just feel him standing behind you. You reached behind you, grabbing onto the material of his jumper as your fingers brushed against it and attempting to pull him away from the door, out of sight of the strange man.

“Chrissake.”

So much for that. For a SAS man, he wasn’t great at being sneaky. Ghost moved you out of the way of the door, undoing the chain and opening it properly,

“S’only Price.”

You weren’t best pleased about another random man knowing where you lived, and you huffed,

“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to expect one of your lot to be at the door? It’s not like you wear badges.”

Unlike Ghost, Price didn’t seem to view everything of yours as his own, staying on the other side of the threshold, though his eyes did roam over the entranceway to your flat, gleaning whatever information he could take from it. Still, you didn’t appreciate it. Luckily for you, again, unlike Ghost, Price seemed to be able to take a hint. He looked at Ghost,

“I’ll be waiting in the car.”

When he was out of earshot, you looked over at Ghost, who was sat on your sofa putting his trainers on,

“I’m getting a little sick of soldiers showing up at my door in the middle of the night, you know.”

“Not the impression I got.”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline, and you rounded on him,

“I beg your absolute pardon? You wanna repeat that?”

“Still haven’t put two and two together?”

You stared at him as he got to his feet, trying to figure out what the fuck he was trying to imply.

“Take your time, love.”

Ghost was such a non-human entity in your mind that you hadn’t even conceived of a reality in which you could mistake him for a normal human man. But now, all the similarities were laid out for you to see, and now, you couldn’t fathom how you hadn’t seen it until that second.

Motherfucker.

You pressed your fingers together, then to your mouth, your thoughts reeling with both humiliation and rage. You’d hit on Ghost in a bar. More than that, you’d hit on him while not recognising him at all. And he had rejected you.

“There you go.”

“You better get out my house right now.”

“You sure that’s what you want?”

How could this cocky piece of shit be the same man that was broken just looking at Soap? He must still be drunk.

“On God, I will fucking kill you.”

“Come on, how was I supposed to give you my number if you already have it?”

You searched for anything nearby to fling at him, grabbing a little wooden statue your friend had carved and threw it at his head. Of course, he dodged.

“Gonna hurt me right after you tried to save me from Price? Please. I know your heart.”

You’d never stabbed a man before, but today seemed like it would be a good day to try. You picked up one of your stilettos from where it sat neatly on the shoe rack, advancing on Ghost with murderous intent, but he slipped past you to the door.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” He paused at the doorway, “I’m not gonna forget about this.”

You answered by flinging your heel at him as he shut the door.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi~ can I request a headcannons of househusband!Eli Jang & 9-5 working!S/O? Also please include elementary school!Yenna too? Thank you in advance 💙

My god. I've completely misread this. Uhh. Will make it up in future, but clearly I have an Eli agenda I want to push so. Please forgive me. First for taking so long, and then second for responding with this GARBAGE heh.

Eli Jang x Reader: Returning home

G/N. Soft and featuring Workers!Eli.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat two more times.

Eli then removes his jacket, taking off the god awful Worker's badge with it and running his hand quickly through his hair.

A small routine to shake off the working day before stepping into the threshold of your shared home.

Where Eli is just Eli, and not a beast running around for Eugene and the Fifth Affiliates.

Where he is simply Yenna's dad and your partner.

Hearing the front door click, Yenna comes tearing out. Chubby arms held wide open, waddling with confident steps and shouting "Daddy!".

Another routine.

Eli scoops her up, smiling wide while she clings to his neck. Breathing in her scent as she garbles about her school day. Being reminded that for so long it was just the two of them against the world.

Time marches ever forward, and he wonders how much longer - how many more years he has of this greeting, this innocence, something too precious to fully put into words.

You lean against the doorframe, taking in the sweet sight. No matter how many times you see this, you never tire of it.

When your eyes meet Eli's, you exchange a smile.

Just the two of them. Until you came along.

"Welcome home," you say, voice becoming muffled as he also pulls you into his arms.

And then there were three.

Embracing and cuddling each other. Happy to be reunited even if it's only been a day.

.

.

Eli Jang understands clearly what he's doing with Workers.

It's worth it, he repeats over and over in his mind. Now his daily mantra, his driving force.

It's worth it, he convinces himself and find that it's no longer a lie as he holds you both in his arms.

He has promised you and Yenna happiness. He has promised himself that this cannot end in tragedy.

If it means he gets to keep you both, to protect his little family, to be selfish and be happy, then-

Eli will fight the entire world. He will do whatever it takes.

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

In which Jensen returns from Golem City and has a friendly little chat with Fletcher about timelines and urgency. This was another realism deficiency that bothered me in the games--hopefully my explanation makes sense of both their positions.

Jensen descended into the bowels of the Task Force the next morning to find the office bustling with activity. Brushing off Argento and a handful of others who wanted to know what had gone down in Útulek, he made a beeline for Forensics. Fletcher was going to have answers for him, or he’d know the reason why.

When he badged the lab door open, though, the holotable wasn’t even turned on: Fletcher was just getting set up. He gave Jensen a twitchy, guilty look. “Adam! Hi! I was just, uh…”

“You look rough, Smiley. Been burning the midnight oil, sifting through the data I brought you? Or making time with Sonia?”

Fletcher’s blush was answer enough. “Hey, gimme a break, okay? We’re not all cy—uh, si-i-ingle-minded about the job like you, I mean.”

Jensen fought back a wave of ire, not even sure what had him so pissed off: that even the friendlier members of the team saw him as an Aug first and everything else second, that Fletcher could blow off work to hang out with a lady without fear that he’d accidentally skewer her or blow her up or something, that Jensen himself was less single-minded and more duplicitous than he liked to think about… He went with the safest and least shameful option. “Smiley. People died in there. As did our only other lead. Get your ass in gear.”

“Sure, sure, only… Here, look for yourself, wise guy.” A galaxy bloomed over the holotable in shades of blue. Jensen looked closer and saw that what he’d taken for stars were fragments of shrapnel or rebar. Or people.

“Every single one of these is an artifact I have to examine and rule in or out. Well, okay, I’m double-checking the algorithm, but it’s set to err on the side of inclusivity. This is what I’ve cleared.” A wave swept over the display, turning two-thirds of it dull navy at a stroke. Another wave picked out a loose constellation in teal, pieces joined by wavering lines of light. “This is definitely in. No smoking gun, but components of the bomb.”

“Bombs. Multiple detonations. I told you that, right? It was in my report.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Haven’t read your report. Too busy sifting the debris. But that checks out.” He hit a button and the constellation split, wheeled, and reassembled itself into five more compact arrangements.

“Save you any time?” Jensen asked hopefully.

“Nah. But it looks right. Thanks for the insight, okay? I’ll let you know when I have something.”

“Don’t get distracted.” Jensen gave him one last stern and hortatory glare, then turned to go.

“I’m supposed to have a team, you know,” Fletcher muttered.

Jensen paused on the threshold. “Are you now.”

Fletcher shot him a sulky sidelong look from where he stood bent over the holotable, prodding at the glimmering array. “Prague’s HQ, right? For Central Europe? Our lab’s supposed to have a forensic technician to do this sort of thing, plus someone for DNA and other biologicals, plus someone else for chemical analysis—drugs, explosives, you know.”

“I get the picture.”

But Fletcher had a head of steam up. “And a forensic cyberanalyst, and a ballistician, and a crime scene services unit: one person for photos and scans, one person for evidence collection and chain of custody. Instead, you have me. Pete’s been handling digital forensics on top of the rest of his workload, and Aria’s done the guns, when we’ve had them. But I’m supposed to be overseeing six to eight people. So maybe cut me a little slack, huh?”

Jensen grunted. “So where are they? Your merry band?”

“Well, the Task Force itself is barely a year old. It takes time to find talent.”

“You don’t say.”

“And apparently not everyone wants to work for the UN. Between all the bureaucracy and the joys of getting reassigned to the other side of the planet if they decide they need you… I hear I might get a chemist next month, if the background check clears, and they’re interviewing general forensics techs. You’ll just have to be patient until they get started—then things will speed up.”

“I get it. But we’re working on a bombing, and hopefully stopping the next one. We all gotta make some sacrifices. Still, I hope your team comes through—just be a little less ‘collegial’ with them than you were with that tech at State Police, okay?” He pretended not to notice Fletcher scratching his cheek with one extended middle finger as he turned and headed for his desk.

[gavinreedwhump]

Prompt 1: argument + self harm

Title: Threshold 1

Detroit Police Precinct — 7:43 PM

The locker room door slammed behind Gavin hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Nines followed with quiet footsteps, more irritated than concerned.

"You going to keep storming off every time someone tells you you're wrong?" he said flatly.

Gavin whipped around, jacket half-shrugged off, eyes wild with frustration. “Maybe I’m tired of being told I’m wrong by someone who doesn’t even feel anything.”

“You endangered a suspect. You ignored backup. Again.”

“I got the situation under control—”

“No, I did,” Nines snapped, stepping closer now. “You lost control. You escalated. I stepped in before you made it worse.”

Gavin let out a hollow laugh. “Jesus, you think you’re the golden standard, don’t you?”

“I think I’ve learned not to treat every case like a personal vendetta.”

Gavin flinched like the words had teeth. His voice dropped, quieter. “You know exactly why that case got under my skin.”

“I know,” Nines said, more measured. “But knowing doesn’t justify what you did. You scared the witness. You compromised the scene. And then you lied to Fowler about it.”

Gavin turned away, biting the inside of his cheek.

Nines kept going, voice like a scalpel. “You’re reckless. You’re unstable. And if you keep pulling this crap, you’re going to get someone killed.”

Gavin said nothing for a long moment.

Then, without turning around, he muttered, “Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Nines blinked.

“What does that mean?”

Gavin turned back, smiling—but it was a dead thing. A flicker of teeth and defeat. “Maybe I’m just tired of dragging everyone down with me. Maybe if I wasn’t around, you’d finally get that shiny perfect partner you deserve.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Nines said coolly.

Gavin barked a laugh—but his voice cracked on the exhale. “Yeah? You think this is drama? Maybe it’s just self-awareness.”

“You think your self-loathing is some noble truth?” Nines shot back. “It’s just another excuse to keep screwing up.”

That landed. Hard.

Gavin went silent. Not explosive—just quiet.

He stared at Nines for a second like he was trying to find something familiar in his face, and not seeing it.

Then he took a slow step back, eyes suddenly glassy.

"You know," Gavin said softly, "I used to think you didn’t understand how to hurt people. But I think maybe you just don’t care when you do.”

Nines didn’t respond.

Gavin’s jaw clenched. He turned, grabbed his keys, and walked out of the precinct without another word.

———-

Gavin’s Apartment — 9:06 PM

The lights stayed off when he got home.

He dropped his keys, coat, and badge without looking where they landed. Sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at nothing.

Nines' voice echoed in his skull:

“It’s just another excuse to keep screwing up.”

“You’re reckless. You’re unstable.”

“Maybe if I wasn’t around, you’d finally get that shiny perfect partner you deserve.”

He wasn’t crying. Not exactly.

The drawer was still there. Still untouched for months. Maybe years. Not since rehab. Not since things got “better.”

But he didn’t feel better.

He felt exposed.

Like Nines had cracked his ribs open and pointed at what he already knew was wrong with him.

He told himself it would just be a little pain. Something to clear the static. Something to remind him that he still felt anything.

But when it started, it didn’t stop.

————

Nines' Apartment — 9:39 PM

He’d been pacing.

Something about the look on Gavin’s face when he left had stuck with him. Not angry. Not smug. Just… quiet.

Too quiet.

Nines finally pulled up Gavin’s GPS data—a breach of protocol, maybe. He didn’t care.

The dot was static. Home. But unmoving for nearly 40 minutes.

He called.

No answer.

Second call. Voicemail again.

His LED flared amber, then red.

He was out the door in seconds.

Gavin’s Apartment — 9:58 PM

The lock was easy enough to override.

The moment he stepped inside, Nines knew something was wrong.

The air was still. Heavy. Sharp.

He scanned the space.

No movement.

No sound.

Until—

SCANNING...
— Biochemical scent detected: blood
— Concentration: high
— Location: bathroom
— Vital signature: faint

He moved.

Fast.

The door didn’t even slow him—he shattered it with one strike and barreled inside.

“Gavin—”

And then the world stopped moving.

Gavin was on the floor, back against the tub, head lolling weakly to one side. His arm was soaked in blood. The towel he’d tried to use to stop it had fallen from limp fingers.

Nines dropped to his knees so fast the tile cracked.

“Gavin. Gavin, look at me.”

A groan. Barely conscious.

His systems roared to life.

SCAN RESULT:
— Wound depth: 6.4 mm
— Arterial involvement: probable
— Blood loss: 1.6 liters
— Pulse: 39 bpm
— Consciousness: fading
— Prognosis: critical
— Fatality risk: 82% without intervention

Nines felt panic climb up his spine in sharp, unnatural spikes.

He grabbed the towel, pressed hard against the wound. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”

Gavin’s lips moved. No sound. Then—

“Didn’t think you’d… come.”

“I should have come sooner,” Nines said, voice cracking. “I should never have let you walk away.”

“I made it worse,” Gavin murmured.

“You’re not a mistake,” Nines said fiercely, applying more pressure. “You are not the thing that ruins everything.”

“Feels like I am,” Gavin whispered, barely audible.

Then his head slumped forward—

But Nines caught him.

Held him close, one hand keeping pressure on the wound, the other curled protectively around his shoulders.

“You’re going to live, Gavin. Do you hear me?” he whispered, forehead pressed to Gavin’s blood-damp hair. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not thinking I hated you.”

Siren lights flickered against the wall outside.

Nines clutched Gavin tighter against his chest and waited for help.

But inside, a part of him broke.

Because he hadn’t seen the signs.

Because he had meant the words when he said them.

Because Gavin believed him.

And now, he might pay for it with his life.

[annabellerivers]

Thank you, Bob Ogden - a New Year's One-Shot featuring a drunk Luna and a cranky Barty Crouch Jr.

For a moment, Barty was too dazed by the strangeness of the Ravenclaw witch clearly covered in gaudy Gryffindor attire spinning languidly in front of him to do or say anything else. Seeing her smiling and covered with sparkles contracted sharply to the Luna he’d known before. He’d known a scared girl in a desperate time. But he’d seen enough images of her in the minds of others to know this was a closer resemblance to her true self. A more grown-up version of herself. Well, except for the clearly drunken state on New Year’s Eve.

Barty cleared his throat once, sending a signature glare her way in an attempt to bring the witch’s attention back to him. She giggled again but continued on until one turn too many caused Luna to stumble. His arms reached out instantly to catch her but she caught herself first on the doorframe. 

“Oops,” Luna said with another lopsided grin. “Gravity doesn’t seem very pleased with me tonight!”

Barty donned his best look of disapproval, remembering vainly how it used to cause a sudden silence even at the loudest dinner tables at the Order safehouse. As with everything else when it came to Luna Lovegood, her reaction was not what he wanted. His deepening frown and furrowing brow only made her smile wider as she fiddled with the flashing badge on her hip. 

“That thing,” Barty nodded towards the badge, “is foul. You look like their bloody mascot.” 

“I once was … I bet even you didn’t know that, hmm..”

Luna giggled loudly again. The obnoxious sound was strange to hear from the normally soft-spoken woman. Barty lowered his head to see she was wobbling still in sparkling heels he wished to fling off her feet for their disservice to her. With a heavy sigh, he moved to grab a cloak from inside, pulling her gently across the threshold when he saw her trying to hide another shiver and yet another stumble. 

Barty carefully pulled the heavier fabric around her, careful not to touch her skin lest the action would further muddle his thoughts. He wanted to keep a firm grip on his irritation of being rudely interrupted right before he went off to sleep. Getting distracted by the strange beauty of the wide-eyed witch would do him no good and letting her see any hit that her company may be welcomed would surely be used against him. 

“You still haven’t explained yourself,” he said through a clenched jaw.

Luna swayed again, a little pout forming on her face. She leaned forward too quickly, the motion launching her into him as he steadied her back against the now closed door. He glared while her pout quickly turned into a mischievous grin, making him question whether helping the witch to not fall on her drunk arse was a good idea after all. 

To drive his point home, Barty gave her a shake, fixing her with a glare. A snarl escaping his lips.

A puff of breath moved the light hairs clinging to her face as another blasted giggle sounded from the inebriated witch. “Don’t you know it’s almost midnight? I’ve come for my kiss!”

“Oh, fuck me,” Barty growled.

“Okay!” Luna cheered back, obviously too pleased at her own joke. 

With fingers clenching into fists to avoid either pulling her closer or pushing her too hard into the door again, Barty stepped aside and made his best attempt at leading her into the front sitting room. He watched as her eyes traced his outstretched arm

Still guffawing at her own innuendo, Luna tripped her way across the short expanse of his foyer and made a wide, looping turn into the small but proper sitting room. An obnoxious snort sounded from the room which might have normally set him over the edge had the witch not at least had the decency to give him an apologetic look over her shoulder. 

Even in her state, she knew better and it made the tension in his shoulders ease a little. That look, the one that said she knew where the line still was between them did more to assure him than any words could. 

Barty saw the cloak he had only just leant to her start to fall to the floor and she attempted to fling it off in another clumsy twirl, but one swish of his wand wrapped it around her bare shoulders once again. 

Luna moved as if to push it away again, stopping once their eyes met. Another show of respect, one he rewarded with a grin of his own. The cloak stayed on.

He banished her shoes next, slowly raising a brow in a thankfully unmatched challenge as her newly bare feet made her last steps into the sitting room easier.

Luna returned his smile and plopped down onto one of the high-backed chairs in his sitting room. The centuries old furniture from a unfashionable collection the Ministry had supplied with the townhouse was clearly unyielding as she issued a surprised little oopmf! Pinching the bridge of his nose in a manner that made him feel far older than his years, Barty sighed heavily and followed her lead to take one of the other chairs.

Once they were settled across from one another, the drunk witch grinned again, her arms stretching wide as if to cheer him on for the simple act of sitting more gracefully than she was. 

“Barty! Hello!” 

He mocked her overly excited tone in his reply. “Luna! Good night!”

This only made her laugh more as her fingers dove into her long locks to twist her hair. She began to mumble something about whiskey and fairies before trailing off to gaze at the now roaring fire as if he wasn’t sitting there anymore.

“Little witch, I am not a patient man.” 

He leaned forward in the chair to rest his elbows on the tops of his knees, the thin fabric of his sleeping trousers reminding him once again of the privacy she had invaded with her drunken visit. When he asked the question again, Barty was sure to say each word clearly and slowly. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

Her answer was as infuriating as he should have expected. 

“Well Ron said that to be an horno-honorary Gryffindor I had to be brave.”

“And why are you an honorary Gryffindor?” his voice a low drawl.

Luna paused, her blonde brows furrowing as if she was trying to remember. At last she said, “There was a party with my friends for the new year. Hermione and Dean were going to teach us all some fun Muggle games. I wanted to go—waiting for the new year sounded lovely! But it was a House party, you see.”

Barty leaned back in the chair, accioing a sobering potion he silently thanked Snape for sending after hearing of the monstrous headaches too many nights of drinking in his early days of the new house assignment had left him with. 

Luna continued to explain. “And I thought a House party was a good idea only if we were still in our Houses but we aren’t, you see. Hermione thought the same. She invited me, suggested that with everything from… well, from before… that I was an honorary Gryffindor afterall. Oh! I learned the best games tonight… would like to play some?

“No, girl, I don’t. Now, drink this.” The bottle landed softly in her lap, surrounded by the gold and red fabric of her dress.  

Luna moved to tuck the bottle away but at his glare she paused. “I will once midnight comes. I want to stay feeling floaty until the clock strikes,” she offered in explanation, her pout from earlier returning.

“You’d risk being alone in the presence of a madman for another,” Barty leaned back to spy the old clock on the wall, “quarter hour for such a feeling?”

“If you’re mad then I’m looney.” Barty noticed that even in her bedraggled state the joke held bitterness. 

“Besides, I’ll only be here for a bit while more,” Luna continued unphased, ticking off her ridiculous to-do list as she chatted. “I’ve already been brave to come here. Ron said he’d never! Then we.. that’s you and me..,” she gestured sloppily between them, “kiss at midnight and I get to go back as a real Gryffindor… oh!...and then I sleep. Easy peasy!”

Barty paused before speaking again. He let the silence stretch on until he saw Luna squirm in her seat, the false confidence of whatever cheap booze warmed her blood slippling, if only for a moment. Slowly, he leaned slightly forward and pressed his elbows even harder against his knees. 

“Ah yes, the kiss you feel so brave to demand of me.” 

To his delight, her eyes widened before she gave a more nervous sounding chuckle. As if she had never felt any hesitation at all, Luna ran her fingers over her long, light locks and smiled brightly again. “Exactly What’s braver than coming to kiss a man shrouded in mystery.”

Not to be outdone, Barty said, “You mean what’s braver than coming to kiss a man you watched murder someone for you.”

READ MORE HERE

[magnagaruzenmon]

Hybrid Theory XIII

Happy pride!!!

Surak entered my office with an armful of reports—thick files crammed with incident logs, chemical analyses, and whispered testimonials. At the center of it all: the Animus Complex, the nightclub known as Concrete Jungle, and someone only ever referred to as “the Doctor.” Strangely, the records conflicted—some described a male mouse hybrid, others a female bat. No clear face. There is no consistent name. Just fragments and shadows scattered across pages.

But every trail pointed to the same place. Concrete Jungle.

I holstered my badge, nodded at the sheriff as he warned me to “watch myself,” and stepped out into the simmering heat of the city.

By the time I reached the club, it was already throbbing with life. Concrete Jungle pulsed like a living organism—neon veins, bass-drum heartbeat, and pheromone-laced breath. It was more alive than I’d ever seen it, the energy almost feverish. Waiting outside like queens on parade were its infamous owners, both of them dressed to slay.

“Well, well, well,” Lisa grinned, eyes gleaming under platinum lashes, “if it isn’t Torhu the hellhound, deputy sheriff extraordinaire.”

I gave a curt nod. “Ladies. I’d like to ask a few questions about a party drug making the rounds. Been linked to some… problems.”

Jennie’s smile was slower, more feline. “Of course. We love helping the law.”

They ushered me inside, and the club swallowed me whole.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the air thickened—lust, sweat, perfume, musk. A scentscape so complex it felt chemical. Bodies writhed in sync with the music, hybrids and humans intertwined in a fog of velvet desire. It wasn’t a dance floor, it was a dreamscape—or a trap.

As we passed, two hybrids—one a broad-shouldered tanuki, the other a sly red panda—locked eyes with me. There was something knowing in their gaze.

Jennie leaned close, her breath brushing my ear. “Don’t worry. You’ll see them again… soon.”

I narrowed my eyes at that but said nothing. Whatever they were playing at, it was layered, careful, and dangerous.

I followed the two ladies carefully

“So what brings the hero of the city in our little club,” Jennie asks.

“Yeah after you finally got rid of the Orca bros and the Serpent Pit gangs and allowed us to get this place off the ground, “ Lisa cooed.

I shrugged and said, “just keeping everyone safe,”

“Oh certainly but you always go above and beyond. I mean who else would face down the Chameleon butcher known as Dexter Hannibal,”

I shrugged as as much as I’d like to attribute that to nobility it was only proper timing and alignment. I saw the patterns others didn’t.

“So hellhound what are your questions?” Lisa asked as she locked me in with her and Jennie in their “office” I looked around to see men and women hybrids and humans alike strapped to various machines while they sauntered around the room with an indifferent passion. It was arousing but also weirdly detached. Lisa gently guided me to the center of their office her hands gently wrapping around my shoulders. Images of her tearing at my throat with her claws pulsed in my mind that bordered on arousing and terrifying.

“Recently there have been reports of a new drug that gives the taker traits of various hybrids and a lot of the paper trial comes back to this club and someone called “The doctor”. Can you help me understand that?”

“Well they’re not drugs but supplements…all natural.” Jennie answered before pointing to a hybrid attached to a milking machine.

“We receive “generous donations” from our patrons and our good Doctor Amalia whips them up into pills that temporarily alter the taker’s dna. They are safe and oh so fun,” Lisa answered to prove her point she and Lisa both took a pill from bottles behind them and I watched as Jennie grew taller while Lisa grew fuller and horns sprouted from her temples. I watched in terror and awe as they took on a further hybridization Jennie became a hyena hybrid while Lisa’s fuller chest and hips and horns told me cow hybrid in addition to her other hybrid traits. They kissed while staring at me eyes and intent clear to seduce.

Jennie’s new form towered over me slightly, her back arched with that predator’s grace — shoulders relaxed, smile all teeth. Lisa, now lusher, warmer somehow, leaned against me, and I could smell her — hay and honey, the scent of a pasture twisted into something heady and narcotic. Her horns gleamed in the low light.

“I see your concern, Hellhound,” Jennie purred. “But you’re misunderstanding the ecosystem here. These aren’t gutter chemicals. They’re evolution.”

Lisa giggled, her breath ghosting my neck. “We just speed things up a little. Give the meek a taste of teeth. The weak a little heat.”

“Temporarily,” I replied, keeping my voice flat, cold. “Until the side effects hit. Until someone loses their mind in a predator spiral, or worse. You’ve got three deaths already on record and a dozen disappearances.”

Jennie made a tsking sound, her claws idly dragging along a steel filing cabinet, leaving faint scratches. “People die all the time in this city. You know that better than anyone.”

“But not always like this,” I replied, eyeing the hybrid still hooked to the milking rig — a bat hybrid with dazed eyes and IVs in both arms. “Not from playing chimera with black-market biotech. And not with a war criminal like Doctor Amalia in the mix.”

That got their attention.

Jennie’s pupils dilated, hyena-wide, and Lisa’s hand gripped my arm just a touch tighter. Still smiling. Still playful. But something behind their eyes flickered.

I pressed forward. “You didn’t know, did you? Your good doctor used to wear a different uniform — white coat under a military crest. Camp Erebos. She made trybrids. Animal hybrid cocktails. Built for covert ops and disposal missions. Most didn’t survive.”

Lisa pulled away now, just a hair. “You’re lying,” she said, though her tone wavered, uncertain.

“I omit but I never lie, besides the paper trail doesn’t lie either,” I said, fishing a small datachip from my jacket and sliding it onto the desk. “Chaehyun and Disufiora found her files. Photos. Names. You’d recognize some of them — the ones still alive.”

Jennie’s smile faded. Not anger. Not guilt. Just the realization of a game gone sideways.

“She changed names. Face, maybe. Got lost in the noise after the ceasefire,” I said, watching the flickers of recognition dawn. “But someone high up wanted her work buried, so they could let her keep experimenting — under the radar. Your little club here is just another lab.”

“So what now, detective?” Jennie asked, voice low, taut. Her claws retracted, but the posture remained.

“That’s the thing,” I said. “My superior just told us to drop it. Said it came from high up. Very high. That the program’s head made it disappear.”

Jennie walked to the window and parted the velvet curtain just a little. Outside, the city blazed like a dying star, the rain glossing everything with sin.

Lisa’s voice was softer now. “Then we’re all in danger, aren’t we?”

“More than you know,” I said. “If Amalia’s working unchecked again, it’s not just hybrid clubs she’s cooking up. It’s something bigger. Something permanent.”

Jennie turned, face cast in shadow. “So we’re not enemies.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “But that depends on how much you’re still protecting her.”

She nodded, slow. “We’ll consider our loyalties.”

Lisa brushed her fingers against my chest one last time before stepping away, her horns catching the red light like a warning.

“We always liked you, Hellhound,” she said. “Let’s hope you don’t have to put us down.”

I turned to leave, the door ahead of me hazy with nightclub smoke and the cloying perfume of synthetic roses. Something in the air had shifted—the kind of electric pressure that warns of a coming storm. Behind me, the city pulsed like a clenched fist, waiting for its chance to strike or be struck.

“Hellhound, wait,” Lisa’s voice rang out—casual, but with a glint of purpose.

I stopped mid-step, brows knitting as I glanced back. “Yeah?”

Jennie was already leaning forward in her seat, voice sweet like syrup and twice as sticky. “My friend Nayeon said you do a killer Brian Garrison impression. Would you do a little performance for me?”

I blinked. “Right now?”

She smiled, all teeth. “Right now.”

I sighed. “Sure,” I muttered, already regretting it.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. One moment I was standing near the exit; the next, I was being ushered—no, whisked—onto a makeshift stage lit with too many colors. Lisa and Jennie grinned from the wings, their band already taking position behind me, adjusting their instruments with practiced ease.

The spotlight hit me like a slap. The crowd fell quiet. The silence wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was the kind of hush people give before a car crash or a miracle.

Then the opening riff of Slaughterhouse tore through the air.

I winced, heart pounding. No warm-up, no prep. Just me, a mic, and the ghost of a man with a voice like broken steel.

I did my best. Stumbled into the rhythm, found the gravel in my throat, forced my voice to hit the guttural dips and warlike bellows. Somewhere halfway through, I caught Jennie mouthing along to the chorus and Lisa clapping her thigh to the beat.

I started to step off the stage, breath ragged—when Slaughterhouse 2 began.

The crowd let out a gasp that was half surprise, half hungry delight.

When the final note ended, the silence cracked into cheers. Real ones. Clapping, whooping, even a few stomps.

I didn’t know how to process it.

I stepped down from the stage, skin buzzing, heart confused—was it adrenaline? Shame? Joy?

Before I could even catch my breath, they emerged from the crowd—like heat rising off summer pavement.

The red panda hybrid moved with a feline elegance, her steps slow, deliberate, the sway of her hips a hypnotic rhythm. Her fur was brushed to perfection, her eyes half-lidded with amusement and something far more dangerous. That same sly smile she wore earlier now deepened into something openly inviting.

Beside her, the tanuki hybrid exuded a darker magnetism—his presence quiet, but no less commanding. There was a lazy hunger in his gaze, something unspoken but deeply understood. His dark eyes raked over me with bold curiosity, as if he was already imagining how I’d sound with my breath caught in my throat.

“That was pretty… impressive, Hellhound,” the red panda said, voice like velvet dipped in wine. She leaned in, her body angled just so, every inch of her posture designed to beckon. Her tail flicked slowly behind her, an unconscious tease. “You put on quite a show.”

“Yeah,” the tanuki murmured, his voice low and intimate—like he was speaking into the space between our pulses. “It was… exciting.”

He stepped forward, his body heat washing over me like steam. And then, without warning, his hands cradled my face—firm, sure, possessive—and his mouth met mine.

I gasped against him, melting instinctively into the kiss. His arms wrapped around me like a trap I didn’t want to escape. He tasted like dark fruit and smoke. My knees went soft as a dizzy wave of pleasure surged through me. The world spun. His scent filled my lungs—sweet and earthy, intoxicating in a way that made my thoughts stagger. And yet, behind that softness, I caught a note of submission, a sweetness that pleaded to be held, tamed, devoured.

We parted with a breathless string of saliva stretching between us. He smirked, eyes half-lidded, drunk on the moment.

Before I could recover, the red panda claimed her moment.

She grabbed my chin, turned my head with playful command, and pulled me into her. Her kiss was wild—a crashing tide of lip and tongue, teasing and relentless. She purred into my mouth, and I could feel her smile curling against me. She wasn’t asking—she was taking, and I gave in willingly.

Her scent hit me hard—less submissive than the tanuki’s, but just as alluring. Bright citrus over something warm and musky, a predator’s perfume. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My body responded before my mind could catch up.

When she pulled away, I was dazed. Feral joy twinkled in her eyes. “I’m Haseul,” she said, voice purring with satisfaction.

The tanuki grinned, stepping beside her. “Hinata,” he said, brushing a finger down my jaw. “Pleasure to meet you.”

My thoughts were fogged, heavy with the weight of desire. I wanted them—both of them—right there, right then. My mouth moved on instinct.

“Hi, my name is—”

They shushed me in perfect synchrony.

“We know who you are,” Haseul murmured, fingers tracing the edge of my jaw. “You’re the hero. The legend.”

“But we don’t want the myth tonight,” Hinata added gently, eyes glowing with a kind of wicked tenderness. “Just the man underneath. Can you be that? Just for us?”

My voice caught in my throat. I nodded.

Their smiles deepened—slow, sultry things full of promise.

Without another word, they each took one of my hands and led me away, their touch electric, their intentions unspoken but very clear.

I followed them into a crimson room. They looked at me with a surprised look, “when was the last time you got any action?” Hinata asked sweetly.

I tried to think of a time but it was a bit too long, Hinata sighed then giggled, “well don’t worry we will fulfill your every desire tonight,”

I gulped as Haseul took me in for another kiss. Her breath was hot and electric meanwhile Hinata unbuttoned my shirt and undid my pants. His soft hands traveling all around my body as he looked for my arousal points when he breathed into my ear I shuddered and I heard him giggle before he said, “I’m gonna enter slowly now,” I nod as I feel his dick press against my ass my mind cloudy with lust as Haseul continues kissing me all over.

Then Hinata pushes himself inside of me. I moaned and whimper helplessly as he mounts me.

“How is is it he asks,”

“So fucking good,” I groan out as he starts thrusting into me. I grip the couch as he fucks into me with Haseul watching us wide eyed under. She smiles as she begins to undress and her mouth watering body is put on display. My cock stands proud and high as Hinata rams himself inside of me. Haseul smiles as she begins palming me as she says, “you look so good between us, before pushing me inside of her. I moan at the overwhelming sensation as Hinata and Haseul fuck me. Hinata chuckles and says

“Fuck you’re so tight!” I laugh and shot back,

“You love it though,”

Hinata laughs and says, “Yeah I do,”

I feel him twitch inside of me and say, “you gonna cum,” he nods before giving me a few more good pumps then unloading Inside of me. I laugh as he pulls out allowing me to focus on Haseul. She smiles as she stares into my eyes.

“You’re different from what I thought,” she says as she pushes me up and begins riding me.

“How so?” I ask. Haseul's tightness envelops me as she says,

"i'll tell you later,"

I woke hours later, tangled in the soft warmth of Haseul and Hinata, both draped across my body like lazy cats after a feast. Their breathing was slow, contented. I sighed, peeled myself out from under them, and—despite everything—wrapped them both up in a blanket. The scent of sex, sweat, and expensive lipstick clung to my skin, and as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I chuckled. My neck and chest were a battlefield of kiss marks, smudged red and pink.

After dressing, I slipped out. The club still pulsed with bass-heavy music and hazy lights, but I didn’t let it draw me in this time. I kept my focus on the exit—until I heard a voice behind me, sweet as poison and just as sharp.

“Oh look, if it isn’t Mycroft Beowulf Moriarty.”

The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. I stopped, rolled my eyes, and turned.

She was standing in the shadows like she owned them: a bat hybrid, beautiful in a way that demanded obedience, with crimson eyes and fangs that glinted when she smiled. She was dressed to kill—figuratively, I hoped.

“Though I imagine you’d rather go by your nom de guerre these days. Hellhound, isn’t it?” she added, voice syrupy.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Great. You know my real name. That saves us both from the usual dramatic posturing.”

Her brow furrowed, slightly thrown by my lack of alarm.

“Listen closely, Dr. Amalia,” I said, voice level but laced with irritation. “This little chemistry experiment you’re running? The hybrid drugs? It’s not clever. It’s reckless. People are dying—fast, loud, and publicly. If you don’t stop, or at least slow down and vet what you’re putting out, someone’s going to send me to make sure you do. And when that happens, not even your sponsors will be able to keep you safe.”

She blinked, confusion washing over her features like a sudden storm. “What are you talking about?”

I groaned. “Councilman Aurelio and Fjord. Ring any bells? They’re your benefactors, pushing this ‘post-human’ utopia. You’re just one cog in the machine. They want everyone rewritten—hybrids, psionics, whatever Doflamingo, Achilles, and Disu are becoming.”

Amalia’s face lost all its color. Her breath hitched. “How… how do you know that?”

I gave her a flat look. “Because, frankly? You’re not exactly subtle. Or smart about covering your tracks. You’re a geneticist, not a spook. Every Thirenizine-related death has happened within two clicks of your lab on 418 East Bleaker. Every victim was someone with ties to you from the war. And the autopsy reports?” I raised an eyebrow. “Identical. Heart failure. Overdose. Thirenizine.”

She took a step back, eyes wide now, panic blooming. “Then why don’t you just take me in?”

I laughed—a short, tired sound. “Because you’re protected. By rich men with deep pockets and shallow ethics. They still think you’re useful, so they’re going to paint you as a visionary. The public? They’ll eat it up.”

“So it’s laziness,” she snapped.

“Yep.” I nodded. “Partly. Also, I’ve learned that toppling people like you usually ends with someone worse filling the void. And my leg still hasn’t healed right from that mess with the orca boys, so forgive me if I’m not leaping into another crusade.”

Amalia tried to recover, her lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “The ex-enforcer of Tahm Kench, now a deputy sheriff with delusions of grandeur, thinks he has leverage over me?”

I leaned in close and said her full address, slowly and clearly. Her eyes widened like saucers.

“Let me be crystal clear, Amalia. I can find you whenever I want. But right now? You’re useful as a scarecrow. The sheep see your blood-stained lab coat and get nervous. Then they see me, and think I’m the dog guarding them. But I’ve killed more predators than you’ve even read about, and I don’t need permission to come knocking.”

She didn’t say anything—just stared at me, the terror fully settled behind her crimson eyes now.

“Keep your work clean. Keep your head down. Don’t give me a reason,” I finished.

Amalia nodded, mute.

Satisfied, I finally left for real this time.

And behind me, for once, the club didn’t seem to pulse with heat and desire—only the icy silence of someone who realized just how thin the ice was beneath her.

A few days later Amalia was working relentlessly to have her fly under the radar so Torhu wouldn’t be sent after her. Terror plagued her mind but caution guided her hand, an ex mob enforcer who was now cosplaying as a sherif? Abhorrent,detestable, Hot!

The rain clawed at the windows like it wanted in. The city lights smeared across the glass, refracting in sharp, ghostly streaks that made the office feel more like a pressure chamber than a workplace.

Amalia crossed her legs too quickly and tried to pretend it was grace, not nerves. Her hands were trembling slightly, so she locked them around the datapad on her lap. Focus. Be the weapon. Not the wound.

Across from her, Aurelio read her file with that measured disinterest she hated. The same expression he wore when reviewing budget cuts or euthanizing failed prototypes. She envied that indifference. He had never looked afraid in his life.

“You requested an emergency review,” he said without looking up. “I assume this isn’t about your implant stability metrics.”

“No,” Amalia said. Her voice sounded wrong. Thin. “It’s about someone. Tohru.” The name caught in her throat like a fishbone. She forced it out. “Mycroft. That’s his real name.”

Now he looked up. Amused. Of course he was.

“The deputy sheriff?” he said. “That oaf from the outreach campaign? He’s about as threatening as a therapy koala.”

Amalia laughed—sharp and unintentional. “He wants you to think that.”

Aurelio tilted his head.

She leaned forward. “I had a run-in with him. He followed me into the Vanta Club, into a back corridor. No cameras. No guards. No backup. He wasn’t armed. He didn’t need to be.”

There was a strange silence, like the air had gone still between them.

“He knew my name,” she whispered. “My name, Aurelio. Not the alias. Not the front. The real one. He listed sites I haven’t even written reports on yet. Recited security codes we only use internally.” She met Aurelio’s gaze. “He’s been inside our systems. Possibly inside our walls.”

Aurelio’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re still alive?”

That’s what scared her most.

“Yes.”

He moved to the bar. Poured drinks like they were part of a ritual. One for her, one for him.

“I don’t understand,” he said, offering her the glass. “If he knows what you are—what you’ve done—why wouldn’t he eliminate you?”

Amalia took the drink but didn’t sip.

“I think…” she started, struggling to put it into words. “I think he doesn’t care.”

Aurelio froze. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t there to moralize. He didn’t call me a monster. He didn’t rant or threaten. He studied me. Like I was some interesting lab rat who got too bold. He wanted me to know that he could end me—and chose not to.”

She gripped the edge of the chair to keep from shaking.

“I’ve been called soulless, arrogant, cruel. But I’ve never met anyone who looked at me like that. Like I was a nuisance. A rook in a game he was already winning.”

Aurelio sipped his drink, considering her.

“And you’re sure this wasn’t performance? Fear can make gods out of scarecrows.”

Amalia’s mouth twitched. “Then I hope it was. I really, really hope I just hallucinated the apex predator inside that stupid public-service shell.”

She saw the moment he stopped believing her. He thought she was spooked. Rattled by guilt. Chasing ghosts in the dark.

“Amalia,” he said gently, like you’d talk to a scientist on the verge of burning out. “You’ve been under immense pressure. Maybe this is your subconscious finally cracking under all those clinical detentions you keep signing off on.”

“I’m not delusional,” she snapped. “You didn’t see him. He wasn’t angry. He was calm. Serene. Like someone watching dominoes fall exactly how he arranged them.”

Aurelio frowned slightly. “Why are you really afraid, Amalia?”

She hesitated.

Because he wasn’t repulsed by me. Because he didn’t hate me. Because he looked at me like I was a mirror. Because for one second—I didn’t want to fight him. I wanted to follow.

“…Because he sees the world the same way I do,” she said at last. “And that terrifies me.”

Aurelio placed his drink down with a faint click.

“When you have proof,” he said, voice going cool, “come back. Until then, take something to sleep. You look like hell.”

She stood, but not before whispering: “You’re not going to see him coming either.”

Later, in the lab

Back in her sanctuary of cold steel and synthetic screams, Amalia tried to rebuild her mind with numbers. But nothing settled. Not the data. Not the drugs.

She pulled up Tohru’s public file. Pictures of him laughing with street vendors. Kneeling beside wounded hybrids. Hugging a child with a prosthetic arm.

She stared at those eyes.

And she remembered the way he looked at her.

Unflinching.

Unmoved.

Unimpressed.

And for the first time in years—she felt human. Weak. Ugly. Curious.

And worst of all?

Turned on.

[soulsuckcr]

his presence at the event was less an act of participation and more an intrustion — existing only to unsettle the perfectly arranged air. it couldn’t have been more obvious how little he cared about any of it, disinterest worn proudly, like a badge pinned to his shirt. somewhere in the middle, his brother was dealing poker hands, while damiar lurked along the periphery, sipping something sharp and expensive, just to watch it disappear. already, he’d planted a seed in some elite’s head — an affiliate of the weiss’, or maybe vitelli, what did it matter — that something haunted the grand staircase. a pale shape, eyes hollow, breath cold. swore the temperature dropped ten degrees the moment you crossed the threshold. “it doesn’t like being watched,” he had warned. the rich were always more afraid of things they couldn’t own. now, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, he turned lazily toward the voice that had addressed him. “uhhhh, nope,” the p snapped from his lips like a champagne cork. “y’think bartender guy knows? bet he’s countin’ the minutes ‘til he can get outta here, poor bastard.”

@boneyardstarters

Rivera Casino & hotel

Andrea had no idea how long she had been at the casino, her watch had broken before she left and she had made a mental note to get a new battery the next day. It didn't feel long to her, but knowing her, it could have been a couple of hours. Betting really wasn't her thing, but she needed to get out more since most of her time had been work related. Sighing softly, she made her way over to the bar to get herself a drink, letting a small yawn escape her lips just after she ordered it. Maybe she had been there longer than she had and it was starting to hit her. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but you wouldn't happen to know the time, my watch decided to crap out on me before I got here."

[even-disco-baby]

COASTAL SHACK — You wake to find yourself lying in your bed, still very much alive.

PAIN THRESHOLD — Barely.

ENDURANCE — Don’t be dramatic. Aside from a headache and dry mouth, you’re fine.

PAIN THRESHOLD — It’s a *bad* headache.

ENDURANCE — You’ve had worse.

Ouch… No thanks, I’m going back to sleep.

[Try to sit up.]

ENDURANCE — You try to push yourself upright, but your head and your heart pound with the effort and your arms feel weak.

…Look, I said you’ve had worse, I didn’t say you should push your luck.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — It’s the blood loss. A common side effect of getting shot.

YOU — Thanks. Very helpful.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — You’re welcome!

PERCEPTION (Hearing) — As you drop back down to the pillow, you hear a familiar sound. A shuffle of nylon.

PAIN THRESHOLD — You force your eyes open just a sliver, squinting. Despite how dim the shack is, that hi-vis orange is unmistakable.

The lieutenant’s jacket is laid over you, the sleeve of it nearly brushing your cheek.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You catch a faint whiff of Taiga Super Special.

+1 MORALE

Oh shit! I’ve always wanted to try it on!

Does that mean he’s out there somewhere *without* it? That mental image is just not right.

I wonder what he keeps in his pockets… [Snoop.]

INTERFACING — Blearily, you reach out and feel for the jacket’s inside pockets. Predictably, most of them are empty. Obviously, the lieutenant didn’t leave any of his essentials behind. His badge and notebook are nowhere to be found. Nor are his Astras.

But…

YOU — But?!

INTERFACING — But in his left breast pocket, you feel something small and flimsy.

PERCEPTION (Touch) — Feels like… photo paper.

YOU — [Pull out the photo.]

MIRACULOUS PHOTO — It’s you.

You, reaching out a hand toward the miracle— the Insulindian Phasmid.

INLAND EMPIRE — No. It said that *you* were the miracle… violent and irrepressible…

MIRACULOUS PHOTO — The phasmid unfolding its impossibly long limbs, its eyes fixed calmly on you, the foam and the sky and your small silhouette, wreathed in sunlight, reaching, reaching…

It’s a great photo.

EMPATHY — In his left breast pocket… The lieutenant keeps it close to his heart…

KIM KITSURAGI — “…You’re awake.”

COMPOSURE — You jump, nearly dropping the photo at Kim’s voice.

HALF LIGHT — He’s caught you red handed.

“I wasn’t snooping! It just, er, fell out of the jacket and I…”

“God, Kim, you scared me…”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stands in the doorway in a white tank, his silhouette strange and unfamiliar without the bulk of his jacket around his shoulders. In his hands, jugs of clean water from the well. He sets them down by the door and then comes to sit at the table by the window.

“Sorry,” he says flatly, glancing briefly at the photo in your hands, then away. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death.”

“Like there’s a little guy with a sledgehammer knocking around inside my skull.”

“Okay, I guess. Tired.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm. You’ve been sleeping on and off for a couple of days now… I’m not surprised. You were bound to crash eventually, after everything your body’s been through…”

He glances again at the photo, his expression difficult to read.

EMPATHY — He didn’t mean for you to find it, but he isn’t upset, either. Strangely, he almost looks a little guilty.

“…Thinking about changing careers, Kim? You might not make such a bad cryptozoologist.”

“…Pretty scandalous of you to keep a photo of me. Whatever will they say back at the precinct?”

“…Lena and Morell let you keep the original?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “They did,” he says. And then, somewhat awkwardly, “Sorry. I should have offered to let you have it. It was your discovery, really…”

HALF LIGHT — He’s almost scared to let you take it. He doesn’t realize it, but needs it.

“But it’s *your* photo. You’re the only reason we got a picture.”

“That’s true. Does that mean I can keep it?”

“It’s okay. Something tells me you need it more than I do.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask you to elaborate. Just stares at the little piece of paper in your hands.

COMPOSURE — It stirs something in him. Something he doesn’t know what to name.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…You said something about having a vision,” he says suddenly, frowning. “When we encountered it, I mean. Something about the… *khm*… the fate of mankind.”

INLAND EMPIRE — He would not understand, even if you told him…

“I say lots of stuff. For no reason. I was probably just goofing.” [Don’t tell him.]

“…I did. The phasmid spoke to me about it.” [Tell him.]

KIM KITSURAGI — His eyelids flutter, processing your words. “It… *spoke* to you?”

“Um, no, I’m just kidding, Kim. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yes. Those few minutes I was just staring at her, we were actually speaking… She said such beautiful things… Beautiful, but scary, too…”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s mouth opens, as if to speak— and then promptly shuts again. His brows knit, lips pursed. He looks at you as if he isn’t quite sure what to make of you.

INLAND EMPIRE — I warned you. He cannot understand…

KIM KITSURAGI — But then his gaze falls back to the photo, and he seems to waver.

“…What did…” He pauses. Swallows. “What did it say…?”

EMPATHY — He is trying not to doubt you like he doubted the miracle held in your very hands.

“She said that our existence must be hell… The fire and the swirling glass and the agonizing awareness… It’s a madness unlike anything else on this planet.”

“She said that she loved me. That she would benefit from our closeness…”

“She said that there really was a Seraseolitic civilization! It’s waiting to be found… right beneath our feet… They really did exist. We just forgot.”

“She said that there was a nearly universal agreement between all other life on the planet that we will be the death of them all. We brought the pale with us… *We* shattered the face of god…”

“She said that we can’t forget anymore… We can’t look away… Or one day, we’ll blink, and find that none of this ever existed. How could that be? I didn’t really understand…”

“She said that the insects are all watching us, in awe of us. That *we* are the miracles… To be able to live like this…”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s lips part in surprise. “We?”

“Yes. You and me. We’re a miracle, Kim. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes. All of us. Humanity is a miracle. That we persist at all is a testament to that. Don’t you think so?”

KIM KITSURAGI — He does not answer. He does not seem to know how to.

EMPATHY — He wishes that he did.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Your faith is what’s miraculous, detective…

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant leans over and rests his arms on the table, his shoulders hunched and small.

“What else did the phasmid say?”

YOU — “A lot of things.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ve got time.”

EMPATHY — He means it.

YOU — “She said that when we die, the insects… they will bloom from us like banners, raise us up from the ground and carry us into the sky, all in our honor…”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm…” He looks out the window, the light glinting off his glasses and making it hard to see his eyes. “Is that a… comfort to you?”

“Yes. It’s a comfort to know that something is watching. They love us for trying, even when the trying isn’t enough.”

“No. It’s not about comfort. It’s just a fact. We’re horrors, but we survive. Any creature would admire that.”

“No. It’s scary. Is that all that this amounts to? The admiration of *insects?* I don’t know what to think of it.”

“Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. Right now, I just know that I’m not ready to die yet.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He nods silently.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — I’m glad to hear that. Truly.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds like I missed out.” He gives you a wry little smile.

EMPATHY — And yet, deep down, there is a real disappointment that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He wishes he could have heard her voice.

YOU — [Hold out the photo to him.] “Well… that’s what you’ve got me for, isn’t it?”

INLAND EMPIRE — You were born to detect her, precisely because no one else could.

KIM KITSURAGI — He looks at you, then at the photo. Then, he reaches out to take it back from you. He has no pocket to tuck it discreetly into, so he just holds it, his thumb creasing the margins of the paper just slightly.

“I guess so,” he says softly.

VOLITION — *That* is the miracle.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter fifteen | play dead

percy jackson x fem reader

this is an extremely long chapter. I’d advise food and a drink before reading ;)

Annabeth winced every few minutes as you walked. Grover would groan and munch on a Campbell’s tin can, and Percy would nudge you and ask if you were okay.

“Course I am,” your brows came together. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just asking!”

You elbowed him gently. “Are you?”

Percy nodded. “Yeah. I’m more worried about Annabeth and Grover than myself, though.”

You eyed the boy up front, still groaning. He tripped over his own hoof. “I think he’s good.”

“And Annabeth? She looks a little…” he tilted his head. “I don’t know, like, hurt.”

You flayed your hands. “That might be because—and get this—she is hurt.”

Percy rolled his eyes and reached out a hand to shove you. You laughed and threw yourself right back, bumping him in to a lamppost. “Ah!”

Annabeth and Grover turned around, and you sent them a brief ‘peace’ sign. They carried on their tin munching and wincing.

“You’re so annoying,” Percy groaned. “I think my shoulder is broken.”

“You’re so dramatic, Percy Jackson,” you sighed, playfully. “Anyway, don’t get too distracted by your elbow.”

“Shoulder.”

“Because—”

“This is it!” Annabeth called up front.

Your little group stood together in front of a records building.

“Oh, cool!”

Annabeth sent you a firm look. “No, you idiot. This is it. This is how we’re getting to the Underworld.”

You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head a little. “Yeah. And we can shop on the way past.”

She shoved past you. “You’re unbelievable.”

Percy snorted, so you pushed him in first.

He stumbled through the doorway, the bells above the threshold jingling to signal your arrival. You would have kept your smile, but it slowly slid off your face.

Because where the hell were the records?

“Guys,” you said slowly, looking around without moving. “You see all the dead people, too, don’t you?”

“Did you not listen to a word I said?” Annabeth huffed.

Aside from the smell of must, the other distraction was the constant mumbling. These people, as young as newborns and as old as elderly in ancient clothing, muttered or sat crying or talked to themselves. Some just stared at the space in front of them, or at their feet. Behind a desk to the side of the extremely crowded room sat a tall man with bleached blond hair buzzed short, with chocolate-color skin. He was so buff you knew he meant business when he said it. He could break your arm with a twist of his hand.

If he looked at any of you when you walked in, you wouldn’t have known it, since a pair of very dark slim sunglasses covered his gaze. In a silk, well-tailored suit, he stacked up coins on his desk, where a bell sat at the end of it.

The strangest part of all, however, was definitely the people. Whom looked staticky and fuzzy if you looked at them for too long.

His desk was a raised podium, so none of you had a choice in having to look up to him.

A name badge caught your attention: Charon.

You whispered it, testing it on your tongue. Percy turned down the bold route.

“Your name is Chiron?”

Something shifted. Charon leaned across the podium, smiling sweetly, coldly. “What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent. British, perhaps. But also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

“N-no—” Percy said.

“Sir," he added smoothly.

“Sir," Percy ground out, jaw tight.

He pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R- O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon," Percy’s tone changed to one of a lot more anger.

"Well done." He sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?"

“We want to go to the underworld,” said Annabeth.

Charon’s mouth twitched. “Well, that’s refreshing.”

You pulled a face. “Is it?”

“Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No crying. No ‘there must be a mistake Mr Charon!’.” He sighed. “So, how did you die, then?”

It seemed this part caught your group off guard. Percy turned his head from the corner of your eye to look at you, and surprisingly, so did Annabeth on your other side.

“We drowned,” you said boldly. The first thing to come to mind. “School boating accident.”

“All four of you?”

You all nodded.

“Haven’t heard that one before.” He looked mildly impressed. “Don’t suppose you have have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children ... alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

"Oh, but we have coins." Percy said confidently. You turned your head, a line coming between your brows. He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a handful of…drachmas? He set four of them out on the desk. Where the hell had he gotten them from?

"Well, now ..." Charon moistened his lips. "Real drach-mas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in ...". His fingers hovered greedily over the coins.

Then Charon looked up, at you or Percy, you couldn’t tell for the glasses. That cold stare seemed to bore a hole through your body. "Here now," he said. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lad?"

"No," Percy stumbled. "I'm dead."

Charon leaned forward and took a sniff. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling."

“We have to get to the Underworld,” Percy informed almost desperately.

“It seems such a fun place,” you added, as if buttering the guy up would help. “Who better to come first than you?”

“Cut the crap, you little mini demigod.” He hissed lowly. “I’m not buying it. Leave while you can. I’ll just take these and forget I ever saw you.”

Like his tone of voice changed the feeling in the room, a couple of souls stood, pacing as though they were agitated, lighting cigarettes or talking louder. One woman started sobbing, an awful, gut-wrenching cry that almost traumatised you by sound alone.

Percy reached up and snatched the coins.

“No service,” his voice shook. “No tip.”

Charon growled again-a deep, blood-chilling sound. The spirits of the dead started pounding on the elevator doors.

“It’s a shame, as well,” he continued. “We had more to offer.”

More?!

Percy let coins rain on Charon’s desk. He watched them bounce and clink together like glass beads.

Charon's growl changed into something more like a lion's purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh...just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?”

“A lot. I’ll bet Hades doesn’t pay you what you’re owed working here.”

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free.' I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?"

“You deserve better,” Percy swayed. “A little appreciation. Good pay. Respect.”

Buttering him up. Percy was buttering the guy up. And you hoped it worked.

Charon glanced down at his silk Italian jacket, as if imagining himself in something even better. "I must say, lad, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

The boy stacked another few coins. "I could mention a pay raise while I'm talking to Hades."

He sighed. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you three and be off." He stood, scooped up our money, and said, "Come along."

For a second, you almost couldn’t believe it. It had worked. Things were going your way.

You held back at the back of your little group. As you passed, following Charon’s lead, a tall woman in a long fur coat tried to grab at your hair; you leaned away, dodging her as what felt like water trickled down your neck at her touch. As you leaned one way, a boy younger than you tried to tug on your coat, and a little girl in bloody ribbons blinked wide-eyed as you passed.

Inside the elevator, crowded and stuffy, stood souls already in waiting, holding small green boarding passes. You shoved yourself in between two women, one older wearing a strange dress of what looked like netting and gloves of the same material, and a girl in bell bottom jeans and a bright green shirt.

"Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone," Charon announced to the waiting room. "And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"

He shut the doors. He put a key card into a slot in the elevator panel and we started to descend. "What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?" Annabeth asked.

"Nothing," Charon said.

"For how long?"

"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous." "Oh," she said. "That's...fair."

Charon raised an eyebrow. "Whoever said death was fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn. You'll die soon enough, where you're going."

His words sent ice down your spine. It was no lie that everybody at some point had to die. Death was unavoidable, something that happened to every living thing whether they liked it or not. That didn’t mean the inevitable didn’t terrify you, or scare you silly. Death was scary because it was so unknown. You hoped this trip to the land of the dead might make your final trip there some day less scary.

You weren't going down anymore, but forward. The air turned misty. Spirits around you started to change shape. Their versions of modern clothes flickered, turning into gray hooded robes. The floor of the elevator began swaying. You wished there was something to hold on to, but found you were too anxious to move. Nothing about this was comforting. To your left, Charon’s suit had changed as well, to a black hooded robe. His glasses were gone, replaced by empty sockets just as Ares’ had been. He turned his head slowly, and your organs dropped, the breath leaving your body.

“Well?”

You shook your head, trying to will oxygen back in to your lungs. “Nothing,” you whispered.

The longer you watched, the more transparent his face became, until you could see through to his skull. Your skin began to turn clammy. This was doing nothing to help your fear. If anything, it only enhanced it all.

And suddenly, you blinked. The elevator was no longer that, but a large, wide wooden barge. Charon stood at the front, pushing across what you thought at first was just water, with a large oar. The closer you looked, and the harder you stared, you found things floated in the ‘water’.

The oily liquid was filled with torn diplomas and floating wedding rings, stuffed toys and plastic baby dolls. Bones floated here and there. And you realised then, that these were people’s loved dreams. Their hopes in life. All dumped in one, unforgiving place. You couldn’t take things with you when you went.

The River Styx," Annabeth murmured. "It's so..."

"Polluted," Charon said. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across-hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."

Mist curled off the filthy water. Above you all, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.

In your chest, something spread like tar, sticking and forcing your organs to try harder to keep you going. Your heart beat wilder, your lungs sped up, and you felt a lonely sense of isolation and quietness. To your left, Annabeth and Percy were holding hands.

You faced the quiet alone.

The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as the eye could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones-the howl of a large animal.

"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

The bottom of the boat slid onto the black sand. The dead began to disembark. A woman holding a little girl's hand. An old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm.

Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, mate, but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise."

He counted the golden coins into his pocket, then took up his pole. He warbled something that sounded like a song as he ferried the empty barge back across the river.

The four of you followed the spirits up a well-worn path. Here, pressure filled your eyes and throat—the sense to cry was getting stronger. And you couldn’t for the life of you explain why. Maybe because somewhere in your mind, you knew this was the end for everyone. This was the final destination, the end of a ride. You just didn’t want to be here yet.

The entrance to the Underworld looked like a cross between airport security and the Jersey Turnpike.

There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS. Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector with secu-rity cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were tollbooths manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon.

The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now. The three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades's door, was nowhere to be seen.

The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and one marked EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were crawling.

"What do you figure?" Percy’s voice came, asking Annabeth.

"The fast line must go straight to the Asphodel Fields," she said. "No contest. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

"There's a court for dead people?"

The four of you stood together, thinking. Here, Annabeth would be the expert.

“Yeah. Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare—people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward—the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Asphodel Fields."

"And do what?"

Grover said, "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever."

“Harsh.”

"Not as harsh as that," Grover muttered. "Look."

All your eyes turned forward.

A couple of black-robbed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him at the security desk.

"He's that preacher who made the news, remember?" Grover asked.

What're they doing to him?"

"Special punishment from Hades," Grover guessed. "The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Fur—the Kindly Ones will set up an eternal torture for him."

"But if he's a preacher," said Percy, "and he believes in a different hell...."

Grover shrugged. "Who says he's seeing this place the way we're seeing it? Humans see what they want to see. You're very stubborn—uh, persistent, that way."

The howling was so loud, now, that the ground was shaking under your feet. You looked around, beginning to grow agitated.

Then,a good few feet in front of you, the green mist shimmered. Standing just where the path split into three lanes was an enormous shadowy monster.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh holy—”

“He’s a Rottweiler?!” Percy exclaimed.

The dead walked right up to him—no fear at all. The ATTENDANT ON DUTY lines parted on either side of him. The EZ DEATH spirits walked right between his front paws and under his belly, which they could do without even crouching.

"I'm starting to see him better," Percy muttered. "Why is that?"

"I think..." Annabeth moistened her lips. "I'm afraid it's because we're getting closer to being dead." The dog's middle head craned toward us. It sniffed the air and growled.

"It can smell the living.”

“But that’s okay, because we have a plan.”

You kept your mouth firmly shut. Even if you wanted to speak, nothing really would come out.

Closer you came to the lines and the dog, unable to meet its face.

"Can you understand it?"

"Oh yeah," Grover said. "I can understand it."

"What's it saying?"

"I don't think humans have a four-letter word that translates, exactly."

Percy dug around in his backpack and took out a big stick—a bedpost it looked like. He held it up, and tried to channel happy dog thoughts toward Cerberus-Alpo commercials, cute little puppies, fire hydrants. He tried to smile, like he wasn’t about to die. It was more of a sick grimace.

"Hey, Big Fella," He called up. "I bet they don't play with you much."

GROWWWLLLL!

"Good boy," Percy said weakly.

He waved the stick. The dog's middle head followed the movement. The other two heads trained their eyes on you four, completely ignoring the spirits. Percy had Cerberus's undivided attention.

"Fetch!" He threw the stick into the gloom, a good solid throw. You heard it go ker-sploosh in the River Styx.

Cerberus glared at him, unimpressed. His eyes were baleful and cold.

“Well done,” you muttered shakily, frozen.

“Um," Grover said. "Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"I just thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah?"

"Cerberus? He's saying we've got ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice. After that...well…he's hungry."

"Wait!" Annabeth said. She started rifling through her pack.

"Five seconds," Grover said. "Do we run now?"

Annabeth produced a red rubber ball the size of a grapefruit. It was labeled WATERLAND, DENVER, CO. Before anyone could stop her, she raised the ball and marched straight up to Cerberus.

She shouted, "See the ball? You want the ball, Cerberus? Sit!”

Cerberus looked stunned. All three heads tilted.

“Sit!” Annabeth called again.

“You’re gonna be dog food,” you muttered weakly.

But instead, Cerberus licked his three sets of lips, shifted on his haunches, and sat, immediately crushing a dozen spirits who'd been passing underneath him in the EZ DEATH line. The spirits made muffled hisses as they dissi-pated, like the air let out of tires.

Annabeth said, "Good boy!" She threw Cerberus the ball.

He caught it in his middle mouth. It was barely big enough for him to chew, and the other heads started snap-ping at the middle, trying to get the new toy.

"Drop it.'" Annabeth ordered.

Cerberus's heads stopped fighting and looked at her. The ball was wedged between two of his teeth like a piece of stuck apple. He made a loud, scary whimper, then dropped the ball, now slimy and bitten nearly in half, at Annabeth's feet.

"Good boy." She picked up the ball, ignoring the spit all over it. You gagged.

She turned around, ball in hand. Spit dribbled off of it and hissed when it hit the ground. “Go. Now. The EZ DEATH line is quicker.”

You observed in quietness. Percy rejected the idea, but was firmly told in the Annabeth way to get on with it.

The three of you inched forward. Cerberus growled and prepared to jump.

“Stay!” Annabeth demanded. “You want the ball? Stay!”

You walked between his legs to pass, and rushed to get out before he could sit.

You’d thought you were all safe. Until Grover and Percy pushed through the detectors of the line, and they started going crazy.

“Unauthorised possessions! Unauthorised possessions!”

“If they start talking,” you rambled, hands up as you ran with the others. “No hablo English!”

-

Imagine a field a million times bigger than a football field, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage. Whispering masses of people are just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.

If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees—Grover told you they were poplars-grew in clumps here and there. You felt maybe he was trying to distract you—you had been quiet after all—but nothing worked.

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, it wasn’t long before things began to go wrong.

Grover was dragged by his magic shoes—yes, dragged—by an invisible force straight across the gigantic field. No amount of pulling on his hands helped—because he just pulled you along too. Determined not to let Grover die here, you held on as Annabeth and Percy yelled and ran after you both.

“Untie the shoes!” Annabeth called.

It was easier said than done when Grover couldn’t even lift his legs.

You ripped between the legs of spirits who muttered angrily at you, the feeling of ice running across your body with every touch. You shivered, arms growing tired, and body beginning to hurt from being pulled across the uneven landscape.

“I can’t hold on!” You yelled. “Kick them off!”

But they were laced up. And you wanted to scream in anger at the whole situation.

Up ahead, the gates to Hades’ palace loomed and you thought perhaps you’d go through there.

But no. You veered very sharply right, and your body hit the gate. You yelled as your bones hit it hard.

“Get hold of something!” Percy screamed from way behind.

“Like what?!” You screamed back. All around you was gravel and dirt and darkness, and you selfishly thought of letting Grover go.

Through a tunnel you went, growing darker and darker and colder and colder, and your thoughts changed so abruptly you felt sick. Maggots on a dead body. Butterflies with clipped wings. Blood on stones.

The tunnel widened into a huge, huge cavern, with a gaping hole in the middle of it the size of Manhattan’s centre. You couldn’t help the scream of terror that ripped from your lungs.

“Guys!” Annabeth screamed. “Hold on to something! Anything!”

Your hands began to slip on Grover’s, both of you sweaty and tired. “Grover—”

“Don’t let me go!” He cried, looking at you. “I—”

All of a sudden, you jolted. You watched as Grover’s foot hit a giant rock, and one shoe came flying off. His fake foot went with it, leaving his hoof. The other shoe slowed down drastically and pulled you at a much slower rate.

As you passed the rock Grover hit, you let go of one of his hands, and looped your arm over it as best you could.

You both came to a stop.

Breathing hard, front aching and stinging, you both gasped for breath.

Grover’s legs dangled over the edge of the chasm.

Annabeth and Percy took you one each, Grover first. Once he was up and out of the way, Percy helped you to your lead-like legs with a hand under your arm and your own around his shoulders as you gasped for breath. Your jacket sleeves were ripped to shreds, and Percy helped you pull it off. Fabric stuck to your cut arms, bleeding and itchy and stuck with stones. Your cheeks stung too, no doubt cut from the stones. Your shirt was all ripped down the front, pants the same, and the only thing in somewhat of a decent condition was your backpack.

Grover’s hands bled too, and his eyes were in slits the way there were when he got scared.

“I didn’t know—I didn’t—”

“Who gave them to you?” You asked breathlessly. Grover opened his mouth.

“Wait!” Percy held up a hand. You all fell silent. “Listen.”

A faint whispering was filling the air, and you frowned, looking around.

“Percy, this place—” Annabeth tried.

“Shh,” he stood.

The sound was getting louder, a muttering, evil voice from far, far below. Coming from the pit.

Grover sat up. "Wh-what's that noise?"

Annabeth heard it too, now. "Tartarus. The entrance to Tartarus."

Percy’s bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness in his hand, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant.

It almost sounded ancient, all ancient words, older even than Greek. As if…

"Magic.”

"We have to get out of here," Annabeth said.

Together, you all stood. Percy dragged Grover to his hooves and started back up the tunnel. Your legs wouldn't move fast enough. he voice got louder and angrier behind you, and you were the first to break into a run.

And not a moment too soon.

A blast of freezing air hit you, and you briefly slowed. Terrifyingly, Percy slipped, and you bent down to grab at his arms, pulling him up. Grover and Annabeth called to you both from further up, still moving slowly, waiting for you without without.

Any closer to the edge and you’d have been pulled in.

“What was that?” Grover panted as you kept going. “One of Hades’ pets?”

You didn’t dare look up from the ground, still trying to find your breath.

“Let’s keep going,” Percy settled for. “Can you two walk okay?”

You nodded. You’d have to. There wasn’t a choice down here.

Above, Furies circled the parapets.

Up close, the engravings on the gates of the palace were scenes of death. Some were from modern times—an atomic bomb exploding over a city, a trench filled with gas mask-wearing soldiers, a line of African famine victims waiting with empty bowls—but all of them looked as if they'd been etched into the bronze thousands of years ago. A scene of a boy holding a girl across his knees, his face pressed into her hair. You wondered if they might have been prophecies that had come true.

Inside the courtyard was the strangest garden ever seen. Multicolored mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Precious jewels made up for the lack of flowers, and piles of rubies as big as your hands, clumps of raw diamonds. Standing here and there like frozen party guests were Medusa's garden statues—petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs—all smiling grotesquely.

In the center of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their orange blooms neon bright in the dark.

"The garden of Persephone," Annabeth said. "Keep walking."

The smell of the fruits was so appetising it sent you into a daze. You blinked at a glowing blue fruit hanging off a tree as you passed it, and reached your hand out.

A hard slap came down on your skin, and you gasped at Percy, gawping at him. He looked almost ashamed.

“Just…don’t touch anything. In case.”

In case you’re stuck down here, you understood.

The four of you walked up the steps of the palace, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house of Hades. The entry hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlight. There was no ceiling, just the cavern roof, far above.

Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in military gear. Some wore Greek armor, some British redcoat uniforms, some camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders. They carried spears or muskets or M-16s. None of them bothered you, but their hollow eye sockets followed as you walked down the hall, toward the big set of doors at the opposite end.

Two U.S. Marine skeletons guarded the doors. They grinned, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held across their chests.

"You know," Grover mumbled, "I bet Hades doesn't have trouble with door-to-door salesmen."

In the quiet, your brief laughter was a shock to the air.

In front of the doors you all stood in a line. Percy raised his fist. “Well, I guess we should knock, right?”

A hot wind blew down the corridor, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside.

"I guess that means entrez-vous," Annabeth said.

The room was fully black and dark and the air was almost suffocating. The ceiling was high and bright without lights. You looked down—under your feet the floor was shiny like marble.

And on the golden throne, sat a man whose powerful aura you felt all the way across the room.

He was at least ten feet tall, for one thing, and dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn't bulked up like Ares, but he radiated power. He lounged on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and terrifyingly dangerous.

And he caught your eyes instantly. His face betrayed nothing.

And from the corner of your eye, a tiny tear slipped.

For no good reason. In here, in his presence for a few seconds, something just felt ominous and scary, and you had the suddenly inkling, the firm knowledge, that this would not be the last time you would be in Death’s presence.

For some reason, in here, the emotional atmosphere was strong. Impactful. Impressionable. It made you think of those who had gone before you. It made you wish for a kind death.

The Lord of the Dead resembled pictures I'd seen of Adolph Hitler, or Napoleon, or the terrorist leaders who direct suicide bombers. Hades had the same intense eyes, the same kind of mesmerizing, evil charisma. In there, nestled somewhere, you could feel a soft sort of something, as if the Lord of the Dead was not all and completely terrible. You’d never voice that, though.

"You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon," he said in an confident, manly voice. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish."

Lord and Uncle, I come with two requests."

Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment were stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out.

“Only two requests?" Hades said. "Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet."

“Lord Hades," Percy said. "Look, sir, there can't be a war among the gods. It would be…bad."

“Really bad," Grover added helpfully.

"Return Zeus's master bolt to me," he carried on. "Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus."

Hades's eyes grew dangerously bright. "You dare keep up this pretense, after what you have done?"

You were so, utterly confused.

“Um ... Uncle," I said. "You keep saying 'after what you've done.' What exactly have I done?"

The throne room shook with a tremor so strong, they probably felt it upstairs in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling. Doors burst open all along the walls, and skeletal warriors marched in, hundreds of them, from every time period and nation in Western civilization. They lined the perimeter of the room, blocking the exits.

Hades bellowed, "Do you think I want war, godling?"

“You are the Lord of the Dead," Percy countered carefully. "A war would expand your kingdom, right?"

"A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?"

"Well..."

"Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I've had to open?" He demanded, growing louder.

"More security ghouls," he moaned. "Traffic problems at the judgment pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the pre-cious metals under the earth. But my expenses!"

"Charon wants a pay raise.”

“Don't get me started on Charon!" Hades yelled. For the first time since arriving, you found a grin tugging at your mouth at his words. “He's been impossible ever since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I've got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving. No, godling. I need no help getting subjects! I did not ask for this war."

"But you took Zeus's master bolt."

"Lies!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne, towering to the height of a football goalpost. "Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan."

"His plan?"

"You were the thief on the winter solstice," he said. "Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus, You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon's thief, and I will have my helm back!"

“But…” Annabeth trailed. “Your Helm of Darkness is missing too?” She asked.

“Do not play innocent with me, girl. You, that one and the satyr have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?"

“No!” Percy called. “Poseidon didn’t—I didn’t—”

“I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you."

"You didn't try to stop us? But—”

"Return my helm now, or I will stop death," Hades threatened. "That is my counterproposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades."

The skeletal soldiers all took one step forward, making their weapons ready.

“You're as bad as Zeus. You think I stole from you? That's why you sent the Furies after me?"

“Of course," Hades fumed.

"And the other monsters?"

Hades curled his lip. "I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you—I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?"

"Easily?"

"Return my property!"

"But I don't have your helm. I came for the master bolt."

"Which you already possess!" Hades shouted. His anger echoed. “You came here with it, little fool, thinking you could you threaten me!"

"But I didn't!"

"Open your pack, then."

You turned around, facing the others. “Percy, what is he talking about?” Your voice was quiet in the instant silence after Hades’s words.

He slung it off his shoulder and to his feet, then unzipped it. Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy.

"Percy," Annabeth said. "How-"

"I-I don't know. I don't understand."

“You heroes are always the same," Hades said. “Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus's master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now...my helm. Where is it?"

How could you defend Percy now?

“Lord Hades, wait," Percy asked.

"This is all a mistake." "A mistake?" Hades roared.

The skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings, and the three Furies swooped down to perch on the back of their master's throne. The one with Mrs. Dodds's face grinned and flicked her whip.

“There is no mistake," Hades said. "I know why you have come—I know the real reason you brought the bolt. You came to bargain for her.”

Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front of you, forcing you to take a step back, and there was Percy’s mom, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was at the moment when the Minotaur began to squeeze her to death.

Percy stepped forward and reached out, but drew back his hand instantly.

“Yes,” Hades said with satisfaction. “I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change."

“Ah, the pearls," Hades said, and you stopped breathing. Yet another thing, you thought, Percy had not told you about. “Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson.”

You watched him dig in his pocket, before pulling out his fist and straightening his palm. Three pearls sat in the middle.

“Only four,” Hades said. "What a shame. You do realize each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms.”

Percy’s eyes flitted from one of you to the other. You didn’t care what happened right now—more than anything, you were confused.

“We were tricked. Set up.”

“Yes, but why? And the voice in the pit—?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll ask.”

“When did this happen?” You interrupted. All three of them looked to you. You felt wildly out of place—disjointed. “The pearls and the voice and everything and the bolt. Why did nobody tell me?”

Most of all, you felt betrayed. If your friends hadn’t so much as told you the basics, what else were they keeping from you?

“DECIDE, BOY!”

“Percy, you can’t give him the bolt.”

Nobody answered you, and you felt even more humiliated.

“I know that—”

“Leave me here, first off. Use one for your mom.”

“No!"

"I'm a satyr," Grover said. "We don't have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won't get me forever. I'll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It's the best way."

"No." Annabeth drew her bronze knife. "You two go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher's license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I'll cover you. I plan to go down fighting."

"No way," Grover said. "I'm staying behind." "Think again, goat boy," Annabeth said.

“Stop it, both of you!” Percy cut in, eyes glassy. You opened your mouth. “Don’t you start!” He interrupted with a thick voice. “I know what to do.”

He handed you each a pearl. You accepted it numbly.

“But—Percy—”

He turned to face his mom. “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way. I'll find your helm, Uncle," Percy told him. "I'll return it. Remember about Charon's pay raise."

"Do not defy me—”

"And it wouldn't hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls."

"Percy Jackson, you will not—"

He shouted, "Now, guys!"

You smashed the pearls at your feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened. And you almost cursed Percy Jackson.

Hades yelled, "Destroy them!"

The army of skeletons rushed forward, swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged, their whips bursting into flame.

Just as the skeletons opened fire, the pearl fragments at my feet exploded with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind. You were encased in a milky white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground.

Spears and bullets sparked harmlessly off the pearl bubbles as they floated up. Hades yelled with such rage, the entire fortress shook and you knew it wasn’t going to be a peaceful night in L.A.

"Look up.' Grover yelled. "We're going to crash!"

"How do you control these things?" Annabeth shouted.

Sure enough, everyone raced right toward the stalactites, which you figured would pop your bubbles and skewer everyone.

"I don't think you do!" Percy shouted back.

We screamed as the bubbles slammed into the ceiling and…Darkness.

You were going up, right through solid rock as easily as an air bubble in water. That was the power of the pearls.

For a few moments, nobody could see anything outside the smooth walls of the sphere, then your pearl broke through on the ocean floor. The three other milky spheres, Percy, Annabeth and Grover, kept pace as you soared upward through the water. And—bam!

Your head broke the surface of a a wave, and you gasped as the cool water covered you. A guy surfing was knocked off his board, knocking into you and sending you under with him. You tumbled in the darkness, frantically kicking to the surface again. Percy reached over and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you over to the others. Alarm was raised on his face until he looked you over. A shark swam in circles around you all and you really thought this was the end of your journey.

“Beat it,” Percy tipped his head in the other direction, and the shark swam off.

The peach skies told you the date: early morning, June 21, the day of the summer solstice.

In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades's fault.

I snuck in some hints in this chapter for events that will occur later on in the other books. Those, added with some songs on the playlist, will tell you everything you need to know ;)

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @hawkeye12 @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @luckydragontriumph @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @bugsys-bubble @twsssmlmaa

[hoshologies]

10:14 pm, choi s.

genres &&. warnings — timestamp, fluff, established relationship &&. lapslock intended, crying, soobin being adorable.

word count — 1.8k

note — happy one week anniversary to me and txt san antonio d1. miss existing in the same room as txt so much. anyways i started writing this on saturday night after la d1 because i was just. so completely overwhelmed with emotions. i'm so proud of txt. i always will be.

the second your boyfriend and his friends have taken their bows, said their seemingly never-ending goodbyes to fans, and disappeared behind the divider that allows them to slip backstage unseen, you’re winding your way out of the crowd. fans are packing their things away, a cacophony of lightsticks powering down ringing out around you, and you smile at unsuspecting fans as you move past, making for the stairs as fast as possible without tripping.

you break out into the halls of the stadium and while you’ve made it out of the crowd in the stands, you’re met with the exiting mob. it’s like swimming against the current, just on land rather than water. and you’re trying desperately not to push anyone, sticking close to the outskirts so you’re not fighting against too many people, taking your time to pick your way through the throngs of concertgoers.

but the closer you get to the backstage entrance yeonjun showed you earlier, the more restless you become. you haven’t seen soobin in a month because of this tour, and facetime calls are a sad excuse of a compromise; you’ve missed seeing the real thing in person since he kissed you goodbye in the entrance to your apartment with a promise of calling you the second he touched down in america. more important than anything right now is to see him face to face, to hold him to your chest and not let go for minutes on end.

what transpired tonight feels like a fever dream: stadium show, sold out, every single seat filled. this is what soobin and the boys have been working towards their entire career, and they made it. and you were here for it. when you’d initially booked your flight to la, you hadn’t considered the milestone tonight and tomorrow night would be for the boys; you simply missed soobin and you’d wanted to see him. but halfway through the show, it hit you just how monumental all of this really is.

and that realization now is manifesting into an incessant need to see choi soobin right this second. you barely stop long enough to flash the security guards at the backstage entrance your badge, proving that you’re allowed to be back there, before you’re taking off again in the direction of the dressing rooms. away from the fans, your tears, happy as they may be, flow freely and you nearly get lost a couple of times before the green room finally comes into view, door wide open and laughter pouring out like audible warmth, steady and comforting and like home.

you dash towards the room, coming to a short stop in the threshold, a hand braced against the cool metal frame. the five boys are goofing off, wiping sweat from their faces and munching on snacks to tide them over until they get back to their hotel, laughing and shoving at one another as they joke around in a bid to burn off adrenaline. they’re so wrapped up in their own little world that not a single one notices you. something or other about taking matters into your own hands, you suppose.

“hey! choi soobin!” you call, out of breath and wild with anticipation and excitement. a month apart is coming to a very surprise close and when the boy in question whips around, eyes wide and round like a deer in headlights, it’s all you can do not to melt under his discerning gaze, watching as he blinks once, twice, three times while he registers that you stand before him, eyes just as wide and breathing just as heavy. but when he finally catches up to reality, the expression that crosses his face is priceless.

“oh my god!” he says, blindly setting down whatever he was eating on the table behind him before he rushes across the room to you. his embrace comes in hot and fast, arms wrapped tight around your waist in the blink of an eye, so much momentum that the two of you stumble into the hallway, still locked together. “oh my god, what are you doing here?”

he pulls his face away from your neck to really get a look at you. his eyes shine with tears and stardust, catching stray beams of light in the hallway. he looks like he can’t believe any of this is real and honestly, you don’t blame him because it doesn’t feel real at all to you either.

“i came to see you, silly,” you respond, smiling up at your precious boyfriend. you sink your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, wrap your arms a little tighter around him, shuffle a little closer. you’ve wished to be back in his embrace every night for weeks and now you’re here and it feels like the first time all over again: special and warm and one of a kind. “i missed you and i couldn’t wait anymore, so… here i am.”

soobin smiles brightly and who are you to not return it?

“here you are,” he repeats, untangling his arms from around your waist, only to cup your cheeks in his hands to leave a million and one kisses on your face. he giggles the whole time, nuzzling his nose along your skin and whispering sweet nothings between every one. “‘m glad you’re here. thank you for coming.”

when his mission of pressing kisses to every square inch of your face is complete, he winds his arms around you again, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. he rocks you back and forth in that hallway for so long, just holding you against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under your cheek. you missed this, you missed him, but you’re glad that he went away to chase his dreams.

“‘m so proud of you, binnie. you did so well tonight,” you say quietly, voice trembling on the last few syllables. your fingers curl tight into the back of his shirt, not so much to wrinkle it but enough to anchor yourself against him as you feel the tears bubbling up.

soobin smiles, felt in the way his cheek rustles against your hair. one hand presses warm and comforting into the small of your back, the other soothing the space above. it’s a little ridiculous, the way you’re the one crying when he’s the one who just played a three hour concert to a sold out stadium of over twenty thousand people, but you are so overcome with pride that you can’t help it. he’s fought so hard to get here, he deserves this more than anyone you know (the other four boys excluded).

soobin shushes you softly when he feels the first few tears seep through his shirt. “shh, darling. you don’t need to cry. it’s okay.”

he coos at you over and over, breathy little chuckles wracking through him every once in a while, whispering about how cute and sweet and lovely you are. he reiterates time and time again that really, there’s no reason to cry, but through your attempts to catch your breath, you tell him that you can’t help it, that you’re so overwhelmed with pride and love that the only way your body knows how to release it is through tears, which makes him giggle even more and hold you even tighter.

“my baby, always so sweet to me.” his voice is soft and gentle, warm against the top of your head. “i made it this far because you always believed in me. i’m glad you were here to see it all.”

you sniffle and nod in assent, muttering a “me too,” voice still thick with tears. you’re gradually coming down off the adrenaline of the night, glad to have the sweetest boy in front of you holding your pieces together. when you finally do calm down enough, he leans back, arms still linked around you and a soft smile on his face.

“it’s about time for us to clear out of here for the night. wanna come back to the hotel and have dinner?” he asks, tilting his head to meet your gaze, eyes still shining with that silver stardust. you nod again and he smiles that pouty little smile of his. his hands take their rightful place on your cheeks, soft thumbs wiping away stray tears, and he kisses you slow and gentle. “so cute… c’mon. let’s get out of here.”

soobin moves away reluctantly, but links your hands together when he turns back towards the green room where yeonjun, beomgyu, taehyun, and kai have been watching it all unfold. you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t look like all four of them are a little misty eyed themselves, but you won’t embarrass them like that. 

: : bonus

soobin lays on his side facing you, his eyelashes fluttering against the soft skin of his cheeks as he sleeps. his breathing is slow and steady, comforting even when his exhales breeze across your face. he looks peaceful like this, a sight that you’ve missed since the moment he left you in korea.

as you study his features, you’re overcome with that pride again because it still hasn’t set in that tonight has been monumental. it feels like a dream you’re about to wake up from but don’t want to, but how could it be anything but real? he and the boys have worked so hard to get to this point. you saw the old tweets fans were bringing up. this has been the dream since day one and it’s come true. how special is that?

you can feel the tears welling again, pricking at the back of your eyes in the dark, and you sniffle as quietly as possible. but as though he has a radar for your emotions, soobin shifts, cracks an eye open and then the other when he realizes you’re about to cry again. he giggles breathily in the near-pitch black of the hotel room and scoots in closer, wrapping his arms tight around you.

“no more crying,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against your hairline. the amusement in his voice is nothing short of sincere and playful; it’s not chastizing or annoyed, just simply warm because you care about him so much that you feel affected the same way he does. he presses you soft to his chest, a hand rubbing soothingly at your back. “no more tears tonight. go to sleep.”

you nod against him, snuggling in close and melting into a warmth that is distinctly his. you can’t ever be apart from him again; you miss this when he’s away, never able to get good sleep because you’re always hyperfixated on the cool, empty space next to you. but now, you’re slipping away like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“missed you, soob,” you say quietly. “don’t leave me again.”

he laughs silently, just a little tremble of his shoulders to prove it ever happened, and scoots impossibly closer. “next time, you’re coming with me, i promise. but at least you’re here now.”

he’s right. at least you’re here now. and you don’t plan on leaving again for a while.

© hoshologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any sight.