#will this be a onetime thing or will i come back next week? it's a mystery

[remlionheart]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die (part two)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ask and you shall receive ~ you guys wanted more, so here it is! 𓆩♡𓆪 thank u so much for all the love on this ♡ i didn't expect my first shot at Chuuya to gain so much traction but i'm really glad it did (he's just soooo ♡‿♡ u know?) hope you like a good slowburn bc buckle up, heavy "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, Chuuya would honestly be the most arrogant yet easy to break dom because of how badly he wants to please you and you can't convince me otherwise, porn with a plot, 5.6k words. this fic once again had me swooning and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure writing it so pls lemme know whatcha think, also big shoutout to @bratbby333 for helping me edit this ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ♡ here's part one if you're new here ♡

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh, tugging at the neck of your shirt. It was late August, 90 degrees outside, and you were on day three of wearing a turtleneck.

You felt like you were attending a funeral in your black top, black heels, and black tennis skirt - but it was all you had left. You'd already worn your other patterned and pleated options earlier in the week. Already paired each stifling hot sweater with the nicest necklaces you had to make them look more business casual than walk-of-shame.

But no matter how nonchalant you'd tried to seem about your sudden change in wardrobe, it was impossible to ignore the curious stares you'd been getting. The suspicious glances from Akutagawa who just a few days ago could barely even look in your direction without tripping over his own feet. There was a palpable sense of skepticism that followed you and it only seemed to get worse with each high-collared shirt you wore.

You let out another sharp exhale, surveying yourself one last time before heading back to your office. You were busy trying to decide on which expletive you were going to spend the next 7 hours cross-stitching when you rounded the corner, a sudden rush of warmth spreading across your face as a pair of cerulean eyes locked with yours.

Out of all the looks you'd gotten recently, his were by far the hardest to avoid.

Time seemed to slow as you passed him. A subtle but taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth while he continued his conversation with Mori. Something about his upcoming assignment in Osaka and how it'd require him to be gone for at least two weeks.

You disappeared into your office, closing the door behind you as you took a seat and diligently began working on a new project.

Your thread kit had become invaluable over the last few days. It wasn't just a way to pass time anymore - it was an escape. A tool you used to steer your thoughts away from the one place that they kept relentlessly trying to wander back to.

Since the announcement of his solo mission, there'd hardly been a chance for you to see Chuuya outside of the lingering glances you'd exchange in passing. Mori had been keeping close tabs on him, constantly barging in and out of his office to go over the details of his assignment. You tried to remind yourself that it was probably for the best. That the safest thing you could do was keep what had happened between the two of you a onetime fling and nothing more.

It hadn't mattered in the moment how careless you'd both been when you assumed that you'd never see him again, but now that your time here had been extended, you were quickly realizing how critical it was to keep your wits about you. Up until arriving at Port Mafia, you'd barely been skating by. Living off of a dwindling savings account and more often than not having to choose between dinner or rent.

The first check you received from Mori alone was more than you made all of last year working as a barista. You knew that this sort of opportunity would never come again. That it was absolutely fleeting and subject to change at any given moment, but that's what made keeping it for as long as you could so important. The money you were making now would put you through college. It would grant you a future that didn't involve debt. A sense of stability that you never would've had otherwise.

You had no choice but to lay low, for real this time.

You moved your tapestry needle with ease, adding small, strategically placed hearts around the words, "choke me" as you stretched out your legs with a yawn.

The coffee they had here wasn't nearly as good as the coffee you'd usually get from the cafe down the street, but you decided it was better than nothing as you set your cross-stitch pad on your desk and ventured down the hallway.

For as dangerous as this place was, there was still an odd allure of normalcy about it. There were mundane things like work meetings and fax machines and a breakroom that stayed stocked with beverages and snacks. If it weren't for the people that worked here, this truly would be just another business building in downtown Yokohama.

Your suede pumps tapped against the tile as you entered the breakroom, grabbing a k-cup out of the drawer and popping it into the machine before walking over to the cabinet. Despite the three-inch heels you were wearing, you still had to resort to using your tiptoes to reach the mug you wanted.

Your waist leaned into the counter, your arm reaching as high as it could go when your entire body suddenly froze.

You felt him before you heard him, a pair of gloved hands stealthily gripping around your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath sending chills along your skin as it broke through the barrier of your shirt and danced across the nape of your neck. He pulled you in closer, your ass meeting the firmness of his growing bulge while his palm slowly drifted up past your skirt and brushed against your inner thigh.

"You know you can't ignore me forever, right?" It was posed as a question but held the weight of a threat with the tantalizing way he touched you.

Your pulse raced, heat gathering at your center as he began to toy with the lacy outline of your underwear. His fingers were dangerously close to where you wanted them and where you knew they shouldn't be. Where they couldn't be if you wanted to stay here.

It was cruel irony that just last week it had been him who was trying so hard to keep himself together and now you were somehow the one struggling to maintain your composure. Failing to stop yourself from arching your back against him. Nearly whining when he abruptly pulled away from you and disappeared without another word.

You swallowed hard, looking down at yourself while you straightened out the hem of your skirt, your body still aching from the disappearance of his touch. It was only then that you realized just how fitting your outfit for today actually was.

You were attending a funeral, mourning the loss of your dignity that had died so easily at the hands of Chuuya Nakahara.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Two days had passed since your run-in with the redhead and you'd barely seen him since. You knew he was set to leave for Osaka tomorrow morning from the conversations you'd overheard while wandering the hall and you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Maybe it would've been easier to not care about what he was doing if you weren't forced to be here every day, but there was no such thing as a break when working for Port Mafia. No weekends. No time off. Even as arguably their most useless member, you were still expected to show up day in and day out without complaint.

You didn't like to admit it, but his assignment had been weighing on you since you'd first found out about it. You didn't understand why he was being asked to go alone. Why he'd have to be there for two weeks. Why you even cared to begin with.

It'd been bleeding into everything you touched, your embroidery going from mindless patterns to things you couldn't possibly bring yourself to say out loud.

Your fingers moved with precision, adding dainty purple flowers around the words "please be safe" when the landline on your desk let out a shrill, unexpected ring.

You paused, staring at the phone with hesitant curiosity. You'd assumed up until now that it was a decorative prop. A piece of outdated technology to help add to the illusion that you had a real office rather than just an empty room to keep hidden away in for 9 hours. You were floored that it actually worked.

On the fourth ring, you finally caved, answering it with a reluctant, "Hello...?"

"You'd make a terrible receptionist, y'know that?"

You hated the smile that crept across your face as you twirled the phone cord around your index finger. "Don't you have anything better to do besides bother the help?"

"Nah, not really." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Mori's finally out of my hair for a bit. Somethin' about needing to go check the status of one of our bases out in Tokyo so he should be gone the rest of the day."

"Hmm," You hummed, still fidgeting with the tangled wire. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to clean your office before you leave then."

He let out a semblance of a laugh, his tone still riddled with salacious arrogance as he said, "Get your ass in here." and hung up.

You drew in a shallow breath, mentally kicking yourself yet again for how little self-control you had as you stood up and made your way down the hall. Your skin had just healed from the marks he'd left on you and here you were, flirting with the possibility of getting more.

The door opened seconds after you'd knocked, a set of narrowed blue eyes and tousled red hair greeting you as you stepped into his dimly lit workplace.

You took a seat on the leather couch he had in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice as he locked the door behind you.

"Does Mori not pay you enough to have more than one lamp in here?"

He stood in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, a cocky grin breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. “Sorry, where does he have you working again? That tiny ass room that used to be the broom closet? Yeah, I bet the fluorescent lighting is way better in there.”

You bit back your own dumb smile, rolling your eyes as you crossed one leg over the other. "Did you drag me in here to just insult me or do you actually need something?"

"Depends, do you like being insulted?"

You could feel your body betray you, a telling shade of pink decorating your cheeks as you averted your gaze from his.

"Really?"

You didn't have to look at him to know how much it’d piqued his interest.

"Why are you going to Osaka?" You asked, eager to change the subject.

There was a subtle wave of seriousness that washed over him. His voice losing its playful edge as he rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "I can't really go into too much detail without making you a liability. The less you know about the shit that goes on around here, the better."

Your mouth open and then closed, the objection you had lined up dying on the tip of your tongue as you quietly nodded back at him. Even if you didn't want to accept his answer, you knew he was right.

"Aw, don't tell me you're actually worried about me?" He tilted his head at you, his stare softening when he caught the sincerity in your eyes as you looked back at him. "I'll be fine. Trust me, compared to the other missions I've had to go on, this is nothin'."

You had no choice but to trust him, you knew he was blunt enough to tell you the truth and if he wasn't stressed about leaving, then you couldn't be either. As easy as it was to forget, he wasn't just another member of Port Mafia, he was an executive. There was no way Mori would send him alone if he didn't think it was something he could handle.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He said, breaking your train of thought by nudging your leg with his foot. "What're you gonna do for two whole weeks while I'm gone?"

You buried the rest of your concern with a shrug, uncrossing your legs as you shot him a small smile. "I don't know. Guess I'll have to start fooling around with Akutagawa to pass the time."

He nearly snorted he laughed so hard.

"What? You don't think I could have him if I wanted to?” It was infuriating how easy it was to banter back and forth with him like this. How effortless it was for you to both volley off one another without missing a beat.

He shook his head, trying not to burst into laughter again from the thought of you and his perpetually flustered coworker. "Nah, you could. Just think you'd be disappointed is all. Akutagawa wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a girl like you."

There was something about the way he said it that made the blood dance in your veins.

"Fine." You pressed, still wearing the same slight smile. "Tachihara then."

It was becoming a real problem, the way you loved toying with him as much as he loved toying with you.

"He wouldn't."

"I bet he would."

He bent down to become eye-level with you, butterflies flooding your stomach as he reached out to rest his hand under your chin, a gentle but firm grasp holding you in place. "You can try," he said, his thumb lightly dragging across your bottom lip. "But I don't think you'll have much luck."

"Why?" It was barely a whisper let alone an actual question.

You knew him well enough to know where this was more than likely going, but there was a depraved part of you that wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say it.

"'Cause," His eyes glazed over as he leaned in, closing the already small gap between you so that you were forced to share the same breath. "Tachihara isn't dumb enough to touch things that belong to me."

Your heart was threatening to beat straight out of your chest. A week's worth of pent-up arousal nearly dripping onto his couch as you looked back at him without the faintest bit of restraint left in you.

All of the reasons why you'd been trying so hard to stay away from him suddenly held no real merit. They were lost to his touch. Completely eviscerated the moment his lips finally caught yours and his tongue swirled against you with the same tender urgency you'd been daydreaming about for the last five days. The future didn’t seem so pressing when the present was this heavenly.

Your legs parted without him having to ask, inviting his body to come between them while your hands travelled to the back of his neck. Desperate fingertips sinking into his skin in a feverish attempt to somehow pull him even closer.

"'Take it you're finally done ignorin' me?"

You nodded as you watched him push your skirt up, briefly pausing to take his gloves off with the same toothy method he’d used the last time you were in his office. You could tell it was a seldom act for him. Something he had to consciously remind himself to do, but only when he was with you.

"Good."

His mouth attentively returned back to yours, calloused but gentle fingers digging into the softness of your thigh while his thumb swiped your underwear to the side, granting him access to your weakest point.

"Fuck," he groaned, drawing light circles against you, reveling in the way your hips thrusted up for more.

As eager for a challenge as he was, he secretly loved how easy you were to please. How little it took to rob you of your composure and have your legs shaking around him. How pitiful you looked from only two of his digits slipping in and out of you. How your pupils would dilate in this delirious way each time he went deeper, but how you were still submissive enough to never break eye contact no matter how much you writhed and squirmed beneath him.

"Chuuya -"

"What is it baby?"

He could feel how close you were. Knew it wouldn't take much more to have you soaking him, but he couldn't leave for two weeks without making you cum on more than just his fingers. He needed to know what your walls felt like wrapped around him. What absolutely fucking dazed out noises you would make once he was inside of you.

He undid his belt with his freehand, not letting up on you as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck, yes. P - please." You whimpered, watching him stroke himself as he carefully lined up with your center. "Please, Chuuya, ohmygod, please."

"Jesus Christ." He choked out, reeling in how pretty you sounded begging for him. Almost not being able to stop himself as he watched you come completely undone, still pleading for his dick.

He moaned against you, forehead pressed to yours as he finally found the willpower to pull his fingers out of you. His tip had just barely made it past your entrance when a loud knock brought both of you to an insanely cruel and abrupt pause.

His hand flew over your mouth, fire flickering across his blue eyes as he drew in a sharp breath.

"What?" he called out through gritted teeth.

"Plan's changed." It was Tachihara. "Mori's back. He wants you to leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Now?" The anger in his voice was palpable. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah, he's waiting in the jet."

"You can't be fuckin' serious." He grumbled, a pained expression taking hold of him as he looked back down at you, removing his hand from your mouth.

"Gimme a minute." He yelled, silently trying to ration what he was supposed to do with your body still splayed so beautifully under his.

He wanted to fuck you. God damn, he wanted to ignore everything else in the entire world and fuck you into oblivion at this point, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to either of you to have to rush through it or be stressed about the fact that someone might barge in at any second.

It needed to be the right time because you both deserved it. Especially with how many mutual pent-up emotions there now were between you.

Pulling out of you was torture, but he didn't have a choice.

You could've cried, your heart and pussy both grieving the loss of something they'd never even had.

"I swear," He said, forehead back against yours, "As soon as I get back, it's me and you, okay?"

You nodded, doing your best to swallow down your emotions.

"Okay." You finally agreed, eyes still locked with his, a faint smile poking through your frustration. "But if you're not back in two weeks, don't be surprised when you see me and Akutagawa holding hands in the hallway."

He let out a half-hearted laugh as his lips met yours, kissing you in a way that he hadn't before. Soft, lingering... affectionate.

"Hey," you whispered seriously this time, "Please be safe."

"Promise."

And with that, you began redoing the buttons on your blouse and smoothing down your skirt while you watched him grab a jacket out of his armoire, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

"You smoke?"

"Only when I really need one."

He shot you a wink, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you out of his office, not caring at all who saw.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You knew it would be awkward without him around, but you hadn't anticipated just how slow the next week would go by. You were tired. Out of ideas for cross-stitch patterns and nearly positive that your curled fingers weren't capable of creating anything else even if you wanted to.

You read manga to keep yourself busy. Looked up recipes on your phone. Took naps at your desk that left kinks in your neck. Called your friends from back home, trying to keep the conversation going long after there was nothing left to say. You were bored. Grateful to still be here, but ready for a day off that you knew wouldn't come.

The check you received on Friday was enough of a reason to stay though. It made the long days of staring at a wall worth it. You reminded yourself again and again that there would never be another job like this. That you might actually miss it one day.

You had no idea, however, just how quickly that day would actually come until you were rounding the corner back to your office and ran into Kyoto. She was the same peach-haired woman who had recruited you from the bar, only she was standing with a fresh face. A girl who looked to be about your age with big brown eyes, flowy blonde hair, and a skirt that was somehow even shorter than yours.

When you had first started, they'd told you that there would be other 'administrative assistants' coming eventually, but you'd almost forgotten about it until now.

Your eyes drifted from her to Kyoto, thinking there was surely no way you'd both be expected to share the same office with how small it was.

You started to extend a hand out to the blonde, ready to introduce yourself when you were promptly cut off by Kyoto.

"Your time here is up." She said curtly. "If there's anything you need to get out of your workstation, I suggest you do it now."

A vicious mix of anger and embarrassment churned in your stomach. "My time here is up?" You repeated blankly. "Why?"

"Mori's decided you're a distraction." She shot you a pointed look. "Especially to that of Nakahara. Now, get your things before I have you escorted out."

Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred by tears at how cold and sterile this all felt.

You went into your office for the last time, grabbing the thread kit and books out of your drawer as you made your way down the hall, looking back to see your replacement excitedly taking over the spot that was once yours.

Goodbye college, goodbye easy money, goodbye Chuuya.

You were able to hold yourself together on the train ride home and on the walk back, but the minute you made it into your apartment and closed the door behind you, everything all spilled out at once. Your crafts and manga falling from your hands as you sank down to the floor and sobbed.

You thought nothing could've been as mortifying as your first day with Port Mafia, but your last day had proved to be far worse. You were right back at square one and it felt terrible.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days were a blur of filling out online job applications and revamping your resume. You'd hardly eaten. Hardly showered. Hardly done anything that involved getting out of bed.

It was Sunday and rent was due tomorrow. You'd done the math in your head - you had enough money in your savings account to live here comfortably for the next three months without any additional income. If you really pushed yourself and lived uncomfortably, you could probably even skate by for four.

But no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that there was time, you still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that you'd been left with. If you'd been fired for other reasons, it might not have hurt as bad, but the fact that it really was your fault haunted you.

You took a breath, looking over yourself in the bathroom mirror. A combination of three-day old clothes and a knotted side-bun staring back at you. You decided if you were going to continue to sulk, you could at least do it in some fresh pajamas and washed hair.

The hot water felt good beading across your skin as you scrubbed off the grime and regret that had been stuck on you since the day you’d been let go. The air filling with the smell of vanilla as you exfoliated your legs and ran a conditioning treatment through your tangled locks.

You still didn't feel great, but you felt better and that was a start.

You threw on a white tank-top with a pair of oversized grey sweatpants, running a brush through your hair when you heard the buzz of your doorbell. You froze, looking down at your phone to see the time 11:11 flash across your screen.

You hadn't had a visitor since you'd moved here, let alone had someone stop by at almost midnight.

Your footsteps were light as you crept down your hallway, cautiously peeking through the slit in your door watching him impatiently ring the buzzer again, running a hand along the back of his neck while he waited.

"Chuuya?"

"You'd make a terrible doorman, y'know that?"

It was the first time you'd laughed in the last six days, your arms wrapping around him before you even had the chance to think about what you were doing.

He didn't seem to mind though, his hands locking around your waist as you both pulled each other closer. "How did you -" Your thoughts were everywhere. "How did you find my address?"

He let out a slight laugh, his breath fanning across your neck. “I told you it'd be me and you when I got back.”

There was something so sincere about the way he said it. Something so overwhelming about the way he was looking at you. Out of all the things you'd lost recently, you were incredibly thankful he wasn't one of them.

You let him in, locking the door as he followed you down the hall.

“Sorry," you said sheepishly, realizing that you were about to bring him into the messiest part of your apartment. "It's not always like this."

He took a moment to look over your bedroom. The thumb-tacked pictures of you and your friends that decorated the space above your bed. The string lights and cloud-patterned tapestry adorning the walls. The matching baby-pink sheets and comforter set.

It looked like you. It smelled like you. And no matter how many clothes there might've been scattered across the floor or mugs piled up on your nightstand, it was still way cozier than the hotels he'd been staying at over the last two weeks.

"Looks fine to me." He shrugged, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a velvet chair next to your dresser. "How've things been since I've been gone?" he asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed with a small smirk. "You and Akutagawa official yet?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, "Mori didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I, um..." Your gaze was suddenly on the hem of your shirt as you began to fidget with it instead of looking at him. "I got fired."

"Mori fired you?" There was a sobering sharpness to his voice as he repeated it. "For what?"

You knew he'd find out one way or another, but it was still embarrassing having to relive your conversation with Kyoto. "For 'being a distraction.'" you sighed, your eyes hesitantly dragging up to his. "To you."

There was a brief moment of silence and then, a laugh.

“Huh,” he mused. “Well they're gonna be in for a real fuckin' surprise when you come in tomorrow then.”

You shook your head at him in quiet confusion. "Chuuya, I can't just show back up. Kyoto threatened to have me escorted out when I took more than five minutes to get my stuff out of my office."

His brow arched in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Did she?" The question was somehow calm despite the scornful undertone it carried. "Well," he breathed, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "She's gonna really hate it when the entire building has to hear me fucking you. Every. Single. Day."

A sudden warmth washed over you, beginning at your cheeks and ending at your core as you blinked back at him cluelessly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna be my personal assistant." The smirk he was wearing was lethal. "And I'll pay you more than that asshole ever did. Weekends off. Full benefits. Alla that."

"Are you -" He'd never lied to you before and you weren't sure why he'd start now, but you were struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd just gone from being unemployed to promoted in a matter of minutes. "Are you serious?"

"Well yeah," He said simply, his grin softening a bit. "I mean, who else is gonna clean my office before I go on trips?"

You both smiled this time before your lips were immediately back on his. Eager, unreserved, bliss.

He fell back into the bed with you on top of him, his hands gliding along your curves while you straddled him. The flimsy straps of your tank-top slipping down your arms as you hovered over him, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He didn't care if you left marks on him. Didn't care if he showed up tomorrow smelling like your perfume with blatantly obvious bites covering his collarbone. He wanted everyone to know if they didn't already. Wanted them to stare and whisper and drop fucking dead at the sight of the two of you walking in together. It made him feral just thinking about it.

Your hips were rocking against him, your center aligned perfectly with his as you moaned at the friction your movements were creating. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweats.

"Here." he said in-between breaths, helping you out of them and tossing them onto the floor.

You started to pick up where you left off, but he stopped you, swiftly undoing his belt and adding his pants and boxers into the sea of discarded clothing too. You hadn't even been able to see it until now. Hadn't been able to fully appreciate the length and fucking girth of his cock up until this very moment.

You left another kiss on his neck and then on his chest and then on his torso, meticulously leaving them all over while making your descent down to the one place you so desperately wanted to be.

He watched you with wide eyes, your hand wrapping perfectly around him as you looked up and slowly ran your tongue along the side of his base.

"Fuuuck." His voice was heady, his hands tangling into your hair as you made your way up to his tip.

You opened your mouth wider, almost wondering how it was going to fit, but you managed. Taking him inch by inch, going down further each time until you developed a steady rhythm.

You understood why he liked going down on you so much. The noises he was making were gorgeous. Groaning out sweet little nothings the faster you went. "Doin' so fucking good for me, baby." "God, you're so pretty, y'know that?"

You kept one hand on him, gliding him in out of your mouth as the other trailed down to your clit. Feeling your own slick between your fingers only made you all the more blitzed out. You were sucking and moaning and watching him stare down at you like you had put the stars in the sky as you fingered yourself while somehow still staying focused on him.

"C'mere." It was the first coherent thing he'd said since your tongue had so lavishly graced him.

He gave your hair a gentle tug, pulling you back up so that you were almost sitting on top of him.

"I need to feel you so fuckin' bad, you have no idea." he breathed, lining himself up with you, feeling how wet you were before you'd even lowered yourself onto him.

His hands rested on your hips, your grip back around his base as you centered yourself over him.

It’d been so much just to take in your mouth, you were almost afraid of how bad this would hurt, but he was aware of his size. Letting you go at your own pace as he helped keep you steady.

The stretch he provided you with from the first couple of inches alone was noticeable, but heavenly. Your eyebrows knitting together as you looked back at him. A dazed, poutiness taking over you the further down you went.

You took him in deeper and deeper until finally, you were fully riding him.

"There you go, fuck - just like that."

He watched your head lull back, your hand reaching for his as you continued to grind against him. Both of you losing control as he began to thrust into you.

Your eyes went wide, his name echoing across the room while your walls spasmed around him.

"Sucha good girl."

His praises only made you go faster, one of your hands still locked around his and the other now palming at your chest. Squeezing your nipple between your index and ring finger as you looked back down at him. "Chuuya - 'm -"

It was hard to tell where his moans stopped and yours began, the carnal sounds synchronizing the deeper he plunged into you.

He felt another clench, and then, he was suddenly drowning in you. Completely unable to hold himself together anymore as you soaked him.

"Cum inside me." you whimpered, "Please, Chuuya. I wanna feel it. Please, please - fuck, baby, please.”

It didn't take you begging to convince him, but it certainly made it happen faster.

His ocean eyes rolled back as he thrusted into you, absolutely enamored by the sounds you were making. The way you were pleading and pouting as he filled you.

It somehow made every daydream he’d had about you seem lackluster in comparison. You were beautiful you were his.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath before looking back at each other with the same exhausted smile.

He pulled out of you slowly, letting you collapse onto his chest as he ran light fingers through your hair. "You should probably set an alarm for tomorrow." He exhaled. "I heard your new boss is a real asshole."

"Oh yeah," You mused, leaning up so that your lips were ghosting his. "He's the worst."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[hooked-on-elvis]

ELVIS interviewed during filming of 'Change of Habit'

— AMONG OTHER THINGS, YOU'LL LEARN ABOUT HOW ELVIS DID SOME IMPROVISATION IN HIS LINES FOR THE MOVIES AND HOW SELF CONSCIOUS HE WAS ABOUT HIS OWN FILMS

Filmed on location in the Los Angeles area and at Universal Studios during March and April 1969, Change of Habit was released in the United States on November 10, 1969.

Elvis Presley On Set: You Won’t ask Elvis Anything Too Deep?

Elvis talks, but he doesn't say much

BY WILLIAM OTTERBURN-HALL HOLLYWOOD – The notice outside the big grey double-doors was simple and to the point. SET CLOSED, ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE. You find notices like this outside a lot of film studios, and they tend to have a certain elasticity. This one, outside what looked like an aircraft hangar but was actually Stage D at Universal Studios, meant it. Inside, Elvis Presley was filming. And where Elvis goes, the barriers go up as if some sinister germ warfare experiment were being carried on within. Like a suckling infant, he is swathed and coddled against the realities of the world outside, as if he were made of rare porcelain rather than hewn from good old-fashioned Tennessee stock. But this day he was on show. I had been given the magic formula. The secret open-sesame known only by its brand name of “Colonel Parker’s Okay” had been handed me. The doors swung wide, and I was in. They say Colonel Parker is the man who built Elvis from the erotic gyrating days of the swiveling Pelvis through 14 long and fruitful summers to his present status, by pushing and pulling his protege through the tricky cross-currents of pop music taste. I wouldn’t know. I had asked to see him, this onetime Texas fairground barker, to thank him for the green light. But he was always somewhere else. In his office at Universal, over at Metro, down in Palm Springs, in Las Vegas to lay the trail for the next live show... always somewhere else. No matter. Who needed Colonel Parker when Elvis himself was alive and well and filming? The Publicity Man who escorted me as close as if he were handcuffed said proudly: “I’d like to work with him again, he’s so sweet and uncomplicated. I was surprised you got through – no one’s talked to him yet, you know. There must have been a good breeze blowing.” The good breeze continued to blow as far as the set. A mauve-walled pad with kitchen adjacent and a king-size bed visible through half-drawn yellow curtains. Elvis sat at a table, staring at his hands, while three mini-skirted girls, Mary Tyler Moore, Barbara McNair and Jane Elliott, scurried around with trays of food.

L-R: Mary Tyler Moore, Jane Elliott and Barbara McNair.

The film is about three nuns who pose as nurses to “identify with the people” in a Negro ghetto in New York. The title is Change of Habit (yes, it is) and stars Elvis as a medic who falls for one of the nuns. Elvis is wearing a paint-stained blue denim shirt and tight blue jeans. He looks relaxed and affable and rather meatier around the jaw-line than one remembers from previous films. Marriage (back in May 1967 to Priscilla Beaulieu) is obviously agreeing with him. His eyes have that smoky slow-burn of the old-time movie vamp. He seizes a guitar and strums a few chords. It’s the last week of shooting, and like the good days between exams and the end of term.

The atmosphere on the set is hip and loose, full of leather-clad youth and clever in-talk. The director is thin and intense, wears a check shirt and gym shoes, and is called Billy Graham, which is going to look interesting on the posters of a swinging nun. Elvis produces some dialogue. He is never likely to win an award as an actor, but he knows what the kids want and he gives it to them. The girls are talking about a party. The cameras turn. Elvis says: “You get a lot of people down here on a Saturday night, and all the old hates come out. Before you know it they’re bombed out of their skulls and you’ve got World War III on your hands.”

The scene is this one below. NO, it was not cut out during the editing of this movie.

Earth-quaking stuff. But this simple homespun philosophy is off-key. “Bombed out of their skulls” wasn’t in the script. And the director isn’t too happy about it. “It’s a good line,” says Elvis. “Okay, okay,” says Billy Graham. The line stays. Maybe it will come out in the cutting room, but it’s there for now. “The whole thing is downhill,” says a technician. “He don’t talk to anyone, except his own friends.” There is no sign of tension, but then Elvis has nothing to be tense about. He can go on churning out the same thing for another decade, and they’ll still queue to see it. If he’s over the top, as some unkindly souls occasionally try to make out, he doesn’t seem bothered. He is 34 . . . Raised in Memphis . . . Once a truck-driver, stumbled into records, took the world by storm as the original snake-hips . . . Now lives in cloistered seclusion in a colonial mansion near Nashville, with a Rolls, a solid gold Cadillac, a wife, a daughter (Lisa Marie, aged one) and several bodyguards for company . . . Has made 29 films, grossing 220 million dollars at the box office, and sold more than 200 million records.

Elvis Presley and director William A. Graham on the set of Change Of Habit (Universal 1969) between takes.

Elvis heads for his trailer in the far corner. A group of friends (known in some quarters as the Memphis Mafia) close around him like a football scrum after a loose ball. The code-word is given. I am beckoned over. The good breeze was still blowing. “You won’t probe too deep, will you?” The Publicity Man asks anxiously. “This is just an informal chat, that’s the deal. So keep it light and airy, okay?” Well . . . okay. I checked my notes. Does Elvis fly high on acid trips? Does he see himself as a prophet for the new generation? Does he think his style is too square? Does he have any sexual hang-ups? His marriage altered his attitude to life in any way? Does he kick his cat? Does he have a cat to kick? What are his views on pop, religion, hippies, demonstrators, Vietnam? Stuff like that. No, I wasn’t going to probe too deep. In the dressing room Elvis shakes hands in a firm grip. “This is Charlie, this is Doc.” Two small, burly men light leather jackets and open-neck shirts rise and shine briefly and subside again. The trailer feels a bit crowded.

Elvis Presley on the set of Change Of Habit (Universal 1969). Mary Tyler Moore, Elvis and director William A. Graham share a joke between takes.

Elvis talks. He speaks slowly and carefully, and puts a lot of space between his words. “The film? Uh, well . . . it’s a change of pace for me, yeah. It’s more serious than my usual movies, but it don’t mean I’m aiming for a big dramatic acting scene, no sir. The way I’m headed, I want to try something different now, but not too different. I did this film because the script was good, and I guess I know by now what the public goes for." “Most of the scripts that come my way are all the same. They’ve all got a load of songs in them, but I just did a Western called 'Charro', which hasn’t any songs ‘cepting the title tune. It did have a couple of nude scenes, but they’ve been cut. Anyhow, can you imagine a dramatic Western where the hero breaks out into song all the time?” He has said plenty, and now he leaps to his feet, hands flashing to imaginary holsters, and sings in a deep drawl: “Go for your guns . . . you’ve got ’til sundown to get outa town . . . ” It could be the start of a promising sketch. The others follow suit, singing, clowning, all on their feet. If this is the Memphis Mafia, they’re a friendly bunch.

Elvis on set of 'Change of Habit' (Universal 1969) talking to fans.

Elvis sits down, and everyone stops singing. He eyes himself in the dressing room mirror. “I don’t plan too far ahead, but I’m real busy for a while now. I’ve got a date in Vegas, and maybe another film after that. Then I’m going to try to get to Europe, because I’ve always promised I would and I’ve got some good, faithful fans over there.” Slow-talking Elvis may be. But he certainly isn’t the slow-witted hick from the backwoods his detractors make out. If he is, then he’s a better actor than they give him credit for. Get through to him, and you find a pleasant, honest, not-too-articulate hometown boy who has been protected for his own good from the hysterical periphery of his present world. The party was warming up. Elvis cracked a gag. Charlie cracked a gag. There was a call from the door. Elvis was wanted, and the good breeze was still blowing as he made for the set, one hand on my shoulder. Charlie and Doc were all smiles.

Elvis and his manager, Colonel Parker, on set of 'Change of Habit' (Universal 1969).

“Okay?” said the P.M. “You did real fine.” "Well . . . not quite." I said. "This Colonel Parker, would he be around for a word later?" Elvis stopped in his tracks. The P.M. went a whiter shade of pale, and whispered something to a friend. The friend nodded in sympathy. “I must tell you about an experience I had like that once,” he said, eyeing me as if I’d just crawled out of the woodwork. Elvis said: “I think he’s in Palm Springs. I’m not sure...” He hurried off. The P.M. said: “Don’t let’s push our luck any more. We never trouble him for too long a time. You should be very happy. You had more than anyone’s had in years.” Somewhere along the line, unaccountably, the good breeze had dropped. This story is from the July 12th, 1969 issue of Rolling Stone.

Source: www.rollingstone.com

[captainsupernoodle]

Fic Recs!

Metagaming by esama - WIP, SVSSS, 30k, M

[Self-Saving System Activated! You will be now returned to your original starting position.]

Shen Qingqiu dies and gets a second chance and decides to try a different approach.

some perfectly crafted and in-character alternative character dynamics with sqq actually dealing with some of the shit he goes through! latest chapter is binghe pov and the way esama tracks the ripple effect from just one person's change in behavior is super fun to read.

The Bird Under the Water by vibishan - oneshot, MDZS, 914 words, NR

He knows Jin Guangyao thinks he keeps Chenqing in the vault.

Jiang Cheng has kept Wei Wuxian’s awful relative-murdering flute on his person for ten years, and if the lingering air of resentment is having detrimental effects on his personality, it’s not like anyone would be able to tell.

No, the relic of Wei Wuxian in the deepest Jiang vault is far more precious, and far more vile.

A daemon AU that's so short and yet it rips out so much of my heart. I love daemon AUs of all kinds but i think this is one of the few where the daemons aren't just a fun addition, they're integral parts of plot and character dynamics that add depth and complexity to an already fraught relationship. This is part of a series of MDZS daemon fics and there's a sequel in the same continuity, but I'm not sure if they all will be.

the bite that binds the gift that gives by sixthmoon - series, SVSSS, 9k total, T & E installments

PIDW AU, where OG Shang Qinghua decides the best way to avoid his impending death is to force Mobei-jun to marry him...or die.

Joke's on him, OG Mobei-jun is into that shit.

Speaking of amazing character dynamics, sixthmoon has a few OG SQH fics that boil my brain in a wonderful way. it's surprisingly sweet for the amount of viciousness OG SQH is packing in that devious brain. It's an ongoing series but each oneshot is wonderful on its own. The latest installment has a confrontation with OG Luo Binghe (Bingge?) that's just *chef's kiss* for the sheer amount of interpersonal dysfunction.

pride is not the word I'm looking for by Tossawary - completed longfic (400K DUDE IT'S LONG), SVSSS, M

Shang Qinghua goes to take a self-indulgent peek at his baby protagonist son and gets a kick to the shrivelled heart for his troubles. He gave up on changing the story years ago! Yet he finds himself helping his protagonist son's adoptive mother anyway. Just this one change won't matter too much, right?

One little change leads to more. Shang Qinghua never meant to care, but he becomes invested in making sure that his new family survives the looming plot. With the changes to the world cascading around him, with his position as a traitor pulling him between his sect and a certain ice demon, and with the protagonist growing up so quickly, how is one displaced author meant to ensure that everything turns out all right?

I would have to break this fic into chunks to actually comment on a fraction of what I love about it, but a few of my top favorite things:

Absolutely delicious character development of the type you only get in longfic. There are time skips, but given this starts pre-canon and runs up to just after the Immortal Alliance Conference, we get a look at a SQH who actually feels like he's growing into his years. There's an age to him that's refreshing amongst the "eternally 20" vibes in a lot of fic. There are seasons of family dynamics and odd friendships that grow across years, really allowing time to dig into difficult characters and let them develop in a natural time frame.

Incredible description absolutely peaking in combat and a series of dungeons where poor SQH has to go fetch miracle cures and things. There's a chapter that introduces multiple powerful demons and the DESCRIPTIONS. IT WAS CINEMATIC. i could picture it SO CLEARLY and it gave me CHILLS before they even did anything. The dungeons are described in such luscious detail that it feels like stepping into some really cool videogame locations. If I could do art i would do an art series for these dungeons and then plaster them all over my walls.

It's cute. like that doesn't sound like a big thing but SQH building (or being built into lol) a family that keeps growing and loving is the glue that holds all the intrigue and drama together. The amount of found family warm fuzzies (sometimes with some gentle angst to make it even better) cannot be overstated. People like each other and encourage people to be the best versions of themselves here.

I know it's intimidatingly long, but at the end of every arc (ranges from about 60k at the beginning to 100k at the end) Tossawary wraps up the most immediate plot points and makes a note that it's a good place to stop and rest. They also warn for cliffhangers, so if you want to treat this like a series it's easy to break up the reading experience.

[angellesword]

PERSONA | KNJ

Kim Namjoon was a smart guy, genius even. But why couldn’t he figure you out?

Alternatively:

"Persona, who the hell am I?”

word count: 2.4k (one -shot) PART OF INTRO SERIES

pairing: professor!namjoon x student!reader

genre & content warnings: kissing, dry humping, smut (not explicit)

The club wasn’t the best place to hang out and Kim Namjoon knew it.

 It wasn’t like he was an introvert. He was actually the life of the party when he was still an undergrad student. College parties were usually held in his frat house.

Namjoon used to be a fun guy, always high and never dry.

 People liked him because of his personality. Everyone envied him for being a thot while still having the highest gpa in class; however, all of this changed when he decided to work at the university right after graduation.

 The thot guy with deep dimples was now known as the annoying and boring professor with deep dimples.

 This was why he knew it was a bad idea to go to a club. He wasn’t welcomed here anymore. Professors like him should be inside the office to work. He couldn’t afford to be seen by his students like this—by ‘this’ he meant that he couldn’t be seen when a girl was straddling his lap, kissing him fervently.

 He couldn’t help it though. You were so hot. Your soft lips felt good on the base of his neck. Your ass—God. He couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling of his big hands gripping your bottom.

 This was wrong in so many levels. You were sucking bruises all over his neck. He could only hope that he still had clean turtle necks or scarf to cover them. Namjoon knew it was inappropriate to show up in his class tomorrow while he was covered with hickeys.

 It was the first day of classes tomorrow. The beginning of new semester. He wanted to paint a new image in school.

 He wanted to appear like a cool professor. He no longer wanted to be called annoying and boring. He wanted his students to see him as a person who didn’t just care about getting As.

 Biology was already a difficult subject for many. College students didn’t need an ass of a professor.

 But change was never easy.

 Namjoon was fifteen minutes late on his first day of class. He could feel the judgmental stares and smirks of his students.

 He was so embarrassed. Namjoon hated people who were always late. He was strict when it came to attendance. There was no grace period. If you were late, even if it was only a few minutes, you would still be marked as absent.

 “Uhm.” Namjoon cleared his throat. He was standing proud and tall. The stern look was back. He wouldn’t let anyone intimidate him.

 “I’m Kim Namjoon, your professor for this—” He abruptly stopped introducing himself when he saw you.

 Namjoon blinked.

 He only drank two shots of tequila last night so he was sure that the girl he fucked in the nasty bathroom of the club was none other than you.

 How could he forget?

 It happened not more than a day ago. He was silently waiting for his drink when you came to him. You were so bold and so sexy when you introduced yourself; the dress you were wearing hugged your body perfectly. Your makeup was also on point—it was so different from the girl he was seeing now.

 You were seated on chair at the back. The empty spots on your either side were empty. It felt like no one wanted to sit beside you, which of course, he did not understand.

 You looked like a sin last night. Right now, however, you looked as though you were a saint. Bare face. Innocent eyes and comfortable clothes.

 You were wearing a knitted sweater and denim jeans. The look on your face made Namjoon felt like you didn’t remember him.

 God. He could only hope that you did not remember him. The thought of you telling everyone about what happened last night actually sent shiver down his spine.

  Just...what the hell would people think of him? He fucked one of his students, for God’s sake!

 Namjoon felt so stupid. Out of all the clubs he could visit, why did he choose the one near campus?

 He must be out of his mind.

  Should he talk to you? Should he force—beg you to keep your mouth shut and forget about what happened? It was a onetime thing, anyway. He didn’t even catch your name.

 He was horny and so were you. You were actually the one who came to him.

 Did you know?

 Did you know that he was going to be your professor this semester? Did you know him? Have you heard about what people thought of him? Were you like them? Did you think he was boring and annoying too?

 “Professor Kim?” One of his students called his attention, pulling him from his train of ugly thoughts.

 “Right.” Namjoon cleared his throat again. He glanced at you once more before proceeding with his introduction.

 Namjoon was the kind of professor who didn’t want to waste time. He consumed the whole three hours of today’s meeting even though it was just the first day of class.

 There was even a pop up quiz so that he could test the knowledge of his students with regard to the subject he was teaching.

 “Park Jimin,” Namjoon called. He was ruthless. He was loudly calling the names of every student so that the whole class could hear their scores in the quiz.

 “Fifteen!” Jimin smirked. The boy was proud since he had a perfect score.

 Namjoon continued the roll call. His breathing hitched when he heard your voice as soon as he called your name.

 “Four,” your voice was soft.

 Namjoon blinked.

 Four? Did you just say four?

 “I’m sorry?” Namjoon narrowed his eyes at you, making you blush.

 “Four.” You repeated, this time your voice was loud and clear.

 Some of the students tried not to laugh. You had the lowest mark. They thought you were stupid. How could you come to Kim Namjoon’s class unprepared?

 Namjoon was also the type of professor who would call the students who had low grades to recite every meeting. He thought that this would force the students to study. 

 “Kim Taehyung?”

The students were surprised when Namjoon simply brushed it off. Normally, he would ask the students to stand and explain why their score was low.

 What changed now? Why did he let you off the hook?

 “Nine.” Taehyung announced his score and the rest was history.

 Everyone rushed out of the door the moment Namjoon announced that class was dismissed. You were the only one taking your sweet time fixing your stuff. It was as if you had no energy at all.

 Namjoon’s heart was beating erratically as he looked at you. He was contemplating whether he should talk to you or just let things be, but before he knew it, he just found himself walking towards your direction.

 The two of you were the only ones in the classroom.

 Namjoon was facing your back so he gently tapped your shoulder, startling you.

 “Sorry,” your professor blushed. He looked like a big baby. Kim Namjoon was tall, the lab coat he was required to wear made him more intimidating. His deep dimples were the only reason why he appeared soft.

 “I’m sorry.” You copied his apology, causing Namjoon to look at you quizzically.

 Why were you apologizing? 

 You flashed an awkward smile before answering him.

 “I know you hate students with failing grades. It’s just that...” You bit your lower lip, trailing off.

 Namjoon knew it was creepy, but he ended up staring at your delicious lips. He wanted to slap himself for being like this.

 He was in school. He should act like a professional.

 “Never mind. I’ll do better next meeting. I promise.”

 Namjoon could only nod. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to confront you about what happened last night, yet you didn’t seem to care—it was as though this was the first time you met him.

 Should he act like nothing happened too?

 That’s probably the best thing to do.

 Namjoon realized that he shouldn’t worry about it anymore since weeks after your first meeting with him in class; you still didn’t act like you would expose him.

 You simply didn’t care about Namjoon. It actually made him think if the thing he had with you was only a dream.

 Except that it wasn’t.

 You proved him this when Namjoon was about to go home. His 8pm class just ended. He was walking in the hallway when you suddenly appeared, pulling him inside the janitor’s closet.

 “What are you doing—”

 You shushed Namjoon by kissing his parted lips. He was so confused, but he couldn’t make a sound because he heard a group of students passing by.

 “I hate Professor Kim so much!” One of the students wailed in annoyance.

 Namjoon’s jaw clenched. He was aware that his students hated him; though this was the first time he actually heard them say it.

 “I’ve been in his class for three fucking semester already! I just want to pass his stupid class!” Another one cried.

 Namjoon felt like he was going to explode. It wasn’t his fault that his students couldn’t reach his standards. He was simply doing his job.

 He wanted so bad to confront them, but you were stopping him—your mouth felt so good crashing against his lips. It was enough to distract him.

 The students didn’t stop ranting, though. They were still talking shit about Namjoon. You, on the other hand, busied yourself pleasuring him.

 “I’m going to give him zero stars in the evaluation sheet!”

 Namjoon clenched his fist upon hearing that. You heard it too, but instead of getting mad, you giggled.

 “Go to hell, Kim Namjoon!”

 “Don’t mind them.” You cupped both of his cheeks while humping your clothed heat against his thigh.

 Namjoon sucked in a breath.

 “You’re a piece of shit, Kim Namjoon!”

 “Focus on me, baby,” you kissed the shell of his ear and he couldn’t help but moan your name.

 The pain and pleasure continued.

 Pain of hearing his students talk shit about him despite him doing his best.

 Pleasure. The pleasure of your sweet mouth and cunt.

 You were amazing.

 Namjoon knew this was wrong. He always knew what was right and wrong, but then again, he still ended up doing the latter—he still ended up fucking you in the janitor closet and the next day, you still ended up ignoring him like nothing happened.

 It frustrated Namjoon.

 He should be grateful, right? You were keeping this a secret. You were acting like you weren’t down on your knees, facing his hips. What a relief. He still had a job. He was still feared and respected by many.

 This should be enough, but why did he want more? Namjoon was so attracted to you he felt his heart breaking every time you ignore him.

 “Fuck,” Namjoon crumpled your test paper. You failed the test. Again. Judging your output, he was sure that there was no way you would pass this semester.

 This frustrated him even more.

 He had an ugly thought. What if...you were only getting him all hot and bothered because you wanted him to give you high grades? If this was the case, then Namjoon was fucked. Doomed. Going to hell.

 He was certain you had him wrapped around your fingers. He would do anything you wanted. You just gotta ask.

 But you never asked—not even when he was rubbing circles in your clit.

 “N-Namjoon!” You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

 The two of you were in his office. Anyone could walk in to you right now. Namjoon didn’t seem to care, though. He was lost in pleasure and you.

 You had him all riled up that he wanted nothing but to destroy you.

 You were acting like an innocent slut a short while ago. Namjoon didn’t know where you found the audacity to flirt with Jeon Jeongguk right in front of his face.

 But Namjoon wasn’t sure if he really hated it. He actually liked it when you were bold. He also liked it when you were acting all naive, like you didn’t know him.

 He liked both side of yours.

 However, he realized that he shouldn’t be unfair. He liked you, yes, but you were failing his class. He couldn’t just give you an A, right?

 Namjoon then decided to talk to Kim Seokjin, your coach. The former saw you practicing non-stop with your coach. Apparently, you were part of the school’s swimming team.

 Namjoon figured that the reason why you were failing his class was because you didn’t know how to manage your time. How could you practice five hours a day? Were you crazy? Were you trying to kill yourself?

 And so right after his last subject for the day, Namjoon went straight to Kim Seokjin’s office.

 Namjoon opened the door the moment he got the coach’s permission.

 “Good evening, Mr. Kim. What can I do for you?” Seokjin smiled at Namjoon. The latter cleared his throat before smiling.

 He parted his mouth to voice out his concern, but then no word came out. He was shocked to see you there.

 He didn’t realize at first that it was you who was talking to Seokjin before he entered the office.

 “Hello, Professor Kim.” The corner of your mouth turned up upon seeing his stunned expression.

 Fortunately Namjoon recovered quickly.

 “I’m glad you’re here.” Namjoon nodded at you. “We need to talk,” and then he switched his gaze at your coach. “With your coach.”

 Namjoon didn’t beat around the bush. He immediately told Mr. Kim Seokjin about his concern with regard to your failing grade.

 To Namjoon’s surprise, Kim Seokjin simply laughed.

 Namjoon felt insulted. This wasn’t funny. This matter was serious.

 Seokjin realized that Namjoon misunderstood his reaction, so he apologized.

 “I’m sorry, Namjoon. It’s just that you got it all wrong.”

 “What...do you mean?” The biology professor crossed his arms, his jaw tensing.

 “My dear mentee isn’t your student. I think you’re referring to her twin sister.”

 As if on cue, the door opened—revealing you. You came to pick up your sister.

 Seokjin saw how Namjoon’s eyes widened in complete horror, causing him to laugh again. This kind of encounter never failed to make Seokjin laugh.

 People always confused you with your twin.

 “Namjoon,” Seokjin smiled again. “I want you to meet the twins.”

 Namjoon’s world stopped.

[mightysteelix]

Hunger - A Bleach Weight Gain Story

Yeah, another finished story. In the clichéd plot (but who reads kink stories for the plot), Grimmjow discovers the joys of fast food and being Grimmjow, goes too far with his newfound passion.

Grimmjow growled. The orange bastard had dropped him to lounge on the bed, counting the seconds while he came back. “Amuse yourself,” Ichigo had said before nudging the door close. “I’ll be home once college ends!”

“And how you propose doing that?” Grimmjow roared after him, but the strawberry ignored him and ran to catch the bus or something. Grimmjow did not care about the human world customs; it was a temporary lodging until Ichigo tired of it and came to Hueco Mundo.

At least, that was the plan. But his patience was stretched thin, and he wanted to tear the flat so that Ichigo had one reason less to stay. He barely held himself back - and the mocking mustache guy on most book covers made it worse. That face was made for being slashed.

If Grimmjow went and destroyed everything, Ichigo would only anger - onetime fury, which would not help him. Fine, no wanton destruction, no matter how much Grimmjow wanted it. How should an Arrancar enjoy this boredom?

Leaving? Grimmjow snorted. He had to stuff himself in a damn uncomfortable gigai that was tight in the wrong places and limited his powers until he was a weak human. Why would he wear it? If he left as is, one pathetic shinigami or another would chase him and waste his day with the blandest fight ever. They should send captains after him, at least!

He did not do much in the tiny apartment, either. The TV set lost its charm after a few hours of sitting; why did humans enjoy it like a bunch of brain-dead zombies? Another thing he would never understand. And reading Ichigo’s extensive collection of ‘The Canterbury Tales’ or ‘The Waste Land’? He would rather fight the weakest shinigami! (It had happened once - that fourth squad twerp, who only flailed and ran.)

What did Ichigo enjoy about this life? It was bland, long-drawn, and so secure that Grimmjow was going to be sick. Where was the excitement of fighting for one’s life? Where was the push to survive and grow stronger? How had someone like the strawberry become so powerful in such a peaceful place? In Hueco Mundo, they’d be at the top of the food chain; hell, they could kick Tier off her throne and show her the real boss!

As he thought of that, Grimmjow’s stomach rumbled. “Could have let me hunt, at least,” he murmured while patting his abs above his Hollow hole. “But no, even that would be too much.” Pluses were off-limits, per Ichigo’s orders - not that he cared about his opinion. Still, if he angered him too much, it would give him a fight - and also break whatever connection they had. He could chase a random Hollow or two, but they tasted like shit. Anything short of a Menos Grande wasn’t worth the effort.

“Damn, where did he throw it?” Ichigo wasn’t starving him. He had explained something about ordering takeout and left a number on a note, along with some paper scraps. It could not be that easy (who gave food for them), and Grimmjow would have to force himself in the gigai, but if it quelled the hunger, he would handle it.

One phone call later, the extra-large menu was on its way, and Grimmjow was forcing himself into the damned artificial body. The cursed shopkeeper must have made it uncomfortable on purpose. Grimmjow felt as if his clothes - two sizes too small - would tear apart at the first movement. Still, somehow he dragged himself to the door, picked the food, and gave the papers. He even got some metal pieces - spare change or something like that.

Fine, perhaps the living world was not completely shitty. But the food had to taste worse than the sand. It couldn’t be so easy!

Grimmjow sniffed the burger and licked his lips. It smelt delicious - but not in the way of freshly killed souls. His fangs tore an enormous chunk of the meal, and he gulped down. Then he had another bite. And another. Compared to Pluses, it was still nothing. To the rubbery butter as hell Menos Grande? A universe of difference - and all that a mere phone call away as long as he could throw some papers.

Once they ran to Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow would struggle for food once again. One never knew when they would find prey in that dark desert. So, why not let himself enjoy a chance any Hollow would kill for? He would order those extra-large menus over and over until the money ran out. Ichigo had told him to amuse himself, had he not?

----

In the past few weeks, Grimmjow had realized some things. First: not hunting the food down was damn amazing. Second: human foods had more variety than the Menos. And third - most important: he had to try them.

Once the door slapped shut behind Ichigo today - “I’m coming back soon, I promise!” - Grimmjow punched the number of a pizza place. His stomach growled; he could barely stand hunger. A horrible habit for Hueco Mundo, where food was scarce. But here, where he could stuff himself after a single call - not a problem! His lips dried as he ordered all the snacks he wanted: a pizza after a pizza, heavy with toppings and sauces, plus countless bottles of soda.

“Twenty minutes!” Grimmjow roared as he slammed the phone close. “I’ll starve!” At least, it gave him enough time to force himself into the gigai. The constant junk food was a godsend for his appetite, but not his waistline. His trim body - sculpted by the harsh life - had succumbed to the calories, and now he sported a new, soft belly. If he sucked in and flexed, he could still notice the distant memory of abs. Not that it mattered. Grimmjow wanted to eat; anything else was secondary. The damned strawberry had better decide to pack his things for Hueco Mundo before Grimmjow grew even larger.

Although - an insatiable smile formed on his face - if he gained so much, he would frighten most of his enemies. Who would want to challenge a wrecking ball of an Arrancar? Grimmjow patted his belly and felt it jiggle. It was small, far from a proper gut. If he wanted to reach that size, he had to double - no, triple! - his efforts. To keep his stomach stuffed and stretched, always seeking more. To eat and eat, to be pinned under the weight of his overfilled stomach and force more greasy fries and sugary donuts in his maw. To grow unrivaled, unstoppable, gargantuan.

Grimmjow got hard. Fuck, where was the pizza? He had to stuff himself on the verge of a food coma and jerk off now!

Fine, he’d get in the gigai to pass the time.

Was the damned thing always so tight? The washboard, fake abs pressed over his newly formed flab. The pecs cramped his sightly sagging moobs. His arms and legs felt squished into sausage casings. Did the cursed shopkeeper expand those? To hell, even if he did! Grimmjow would not ask him! He’d break this one and order a bigger size!

Slowly - because at any sudden movement, the thing would split at his stomach, and Grimmjow wanted to juice as many uses as possible - he stood by the door and waited. At the set hour - roughly the same every day - Grimmjow opened, took the tower of pizzas, and threw the man his money. “Be faster next time!” Not that it mattered; next time, he would buy something else.

Finally, he left the damned gigai. And for the best, since that puny fake body would not survive longer. Grimmjow plopped on the bed and rubbed his achy belly. His fingers sank in the soft flesh.

“You’ve rested enough,” Grimmjow decided, opened the first box, and grabbed a pizza slice. The gooey, salty cheese melted on his tongue, and he forced it whole in his mouth before he could sample it better. Damn - he’d eat the second one slower for a better sense. Expect, as soon as the greasy slice entered his mouth, he devoured it to sate his craving. Fine, he’d stuff himself first and then taste-test! In quick succession, the slices disappeared. One pizza had not made a dent in his hunger. At least he had nine more.

His belly rumbled. “Time to see if Hollows are truly insatiable!” Slices full of spicy meats and dense, caloric cheese were devoured by his gluttonous mouth. His fingers stained with grease, but he did not care - not as long as he had more to eat. His gut pushed out with every gulp, expanded, and still roared for more. Not bad - but he could do much, much better.

The second pizza - this one with multiple cheese toppings - was almost nothing, either. Grimmjow felt a faint sense of fullness, weak but there. His hunger won over it as he gulped the third one. The rim of his pants was digging in his belly and pressed deeper and deeper with each hearty gulp. He winced; he should take them off, but that meant that he would stop stuffing his face for a second; a second, when he would not chew and swallow. As if!

The fullness was replaced by a dull ache which would only grow stronger. How would it not when Grimmjow’s gut was protruding over him like a dome and poked out more and more before his eyes? It was sticking out, rounded than it had ever been, filled to the brim with food. And it rumbled for more.

Grimmjow was even hornier. Hastily, he devoured the rest of pizza number four and - using both hands - began feeding himself the fifth one. He did not tend to his dick as the Arrancar’s natural limitless hunger forced him to engorge himself into total temporary immobility. And through the mist of arousal, greed, and pain, he missed the door opening.

----

Ichigo entered his home. “Hey, Grimmjow!” he shouted in the small apartment. Strange: no murderous, bored out of his mind kitty had pounced on him. “Speak up if you’re jerking off again because I don’t want to see it!”

No reply. Ichigo shrugged, guessed it was safe enough, and entered the bedroom. A risk he should not have taken.

He’d rather have caught Grimmjow jerking off - then he could explain why he was so flustered. Instead, he had to deal with an overfed, bloated, greedy Arrancar, whose football-sized gut jutted out of his body, and he still was reaching for the next slice of pizza. Ichigo bit his lip. He was absolutely not getting hard at that sight!

He had to act. No, he should have acted when Grimmjow wasted so much cash on food or when he got softer. Actually, Ichigo did one thing: he left his not-exactly-boyfriend-but-more-than-a-fuck-buddy more money to satisfy his gluttony and hoped he would stop at a reasonable point. Except - and he knew it too well to be a mistake - Grimmjow was the opposite of reasonable.

“Are you only gonna watch, or you’ll help?” Grimmjow fisted his gut - taut like a drum - and drew Ichigo’s attention. “Bring the pizza to my mouth, for example! With this overfilled tank in the way, it’s painful to reach for it!” The stuffed sphere responded with a low rumble. The recently gained layer of flab was stretched, and it was rock hard to the touch.

He had eaten himself into temporary immobility and wanted more? Amazing. If Ichigo went and fed him... No! He shook his head. It was anything but amazing!

Even if Grimmjow had missed Ichigo’s growing erection, he must have seen his burning red face.

“Did a Hollow eat your ears? Come and feed me. I’m starving here!” A strong pat, accompanied by a loud echo, dried Ichigo’s lips.

Starving. Ichigo gulped. Four empty boxes were haphazardly thrown around the floor. The fifth one was lying nearby. All that food and Grimmjow still needed to indulge his gluttony more. If this kept on, Ichigo would jizz his underpants like a dumb, horny teenager.

And the Arrancar did not help. “Or take off my damned tight pants.” His fingers tweaked near their hem. The engorged gut left no breathing space, and if Ichigo pulled them down, he would find a sore, red line.

Cold shower: Ichigo needed one. Otherwise, he would make a very hasty, horrible decision.

“Or rub my belly, at least, because this thing is pretty packed.” Grimmjow gave it a few powerful pats. It gurgled, and the Arrancar let out a long-drawn burp. “Ya see?” Oh, Ichigo definitely did. Grimmjow had eaten like a ravenous beast, encouraged by Ichigo’s ever-growing sponsorship. Now, Ichigo was not sure if Grimmjow could eat without thrashing restraint. And it was all his fault.

Fine, Ichigo would think with his dick this time! “You want to be fed?” He came closer with a single shunpo and grabbed a slice. “Better prepare because I’m doing it!”

[davidmann95]

*sighs* Modern times are weird. Thoughts on *that* Morrison announcement today?

Anonymous said: Thoughts on Superman and The Authority by Morrison, Janin and Bellaire? Its in the Penguin Random House catalogue as a hardcover coming in November this year

Anonymous said: Thoughts on the news about Morrison doing Superman and the Authority?

Anonymous said: So uhhh, Morrison is doing a surprise Superman & Authority book?

Anonymous said: how do you feel about the upcoming Grant Morrison-penned Superman and the Authority

Anonymous said: Morrison writing Superman & The Authority?!?!? MORRISON WRITING MANCHESTER BLACK?!?!?! Fuck yes, now you’ll have to admit Manchester Black is awesome.

Anonymous said: Superman and the Authority???

Anonymous said: Authority/Superman book being written by Morrison?

jcogginsa said: So Grant Morrison's not done with Superman it seems.

Anonymous said: So, Superman and the Authority? Thoughts on Morrison staying at DC?

Anonymous said: You’ve probably already been asked by thoughts on the Superman and The Authority announcement?

adudewholikescomicsandotherstuff said: So, there’s a new grant Morrison Superman comic. Thoughts?

oh look someone took a video of me this morning

...actually not really, because I was tipped off a couple weeks ago as to this being a rumor in certain non-public circles, so I was left to mull on the notion in private for awhile. I had in fact assumed that it wasn’t real, and that while Superman & The Authority was in fact happening it had probably only been offered to Morrison as a courtesy and really someone else would be doing it.

Lots of thoughts between what I had on my own and from talking with Ritesh Babu/seeing his own responses, let’s get to it. Obviously the main reason this is happening is because Jim Lee wants it to be happening - he can’t let his baby die on the vine with Ellis, and he needs a BIG name to wash the taste out of everyone’s mouth. The question then is why Morrison would go for it when The Green Lantern and Wonder Woman: Earth One were such pointed goodbyes to Big Two comics, Klaus remains as an outlet for any cape stories they want to tell, and they’re making TV money now. I’d say the answer is that while Wonder Woman is a tale about clearing away the old ways of things to make room for the new, and Green Lantern is about what’s cleared away getting one last bow...Clark Kent can’t gracefully exit stage left the way Hal Jordan can. Even if most of the rest of pop culture will be supplanted by the tide of time we’re not going to stop getting Superman stories anytime soon. But while in Batman and The Just the big question was “What son could ever live up to the eternal, glorious father who will never fade?”, now the question is “Oh shit, wait, Jon Kent is on the CW and probably taking over the Superman book proper, and that Coates/Abrams movie might not even be about Clark one way or another. What’s the *old* guy supposed to do if he’s gonna keep hanging around?” That’s why it has to be a ‘proper’ DC book - it asks whether the old things we won’t shake can ever truly be new again, or at least find a new role for themselves. And that role involves the team from the last moment mainstream superhero comics really felt like the future to Morrison, the team that represented the next step past their own breakout work in JLA and that their onetime protege’s career would later springboard off of, that was the template for 21st century superhero aesthetics in general. I want the first words of the first interview for this to be “I swear to god this time I’m really done afterwards”, but however crassly commercial the origins, I can see how Morrison would be convinced to do this as a trilogy-capper conclusion to their post-Multiversity DC work (especially with how Pax Americana and Wonder Woman were both in conversation with that whole Mills/Ellis/Ennis/Millar mode of superhero comics). What role can the old archetypes serve in a brave new world?

Additional thoughts:

* According to the Penguin listing this while filling out a 139 page trade will only be two issues, so it seems they’ll both be massively oversized (wonder if there’ll be backups?) and released as a whole pretty much immediately. In line with the Klaus format, and pretty close to the original plan for Superman Beyond.

* Guess Morrison was consulting on the Superman stuff in Future State as more than a gesture of goodwill. This does seem to potentially be set in that period given Clark’s graying at the temples, and since Superman & The Authority was a 5G rumor from way back (notably the same month as the Ellis allegations coming out) there’s an additional question of how long ago this was written. Not long enough ago or standalone enough that they put it in Future State itself, but even so.

* Really glad Janin’s here - not only is he a perfect choice and tied into Superman right now, he’s the guy who drew Midnighter in Grayson, out of which we got Orlando and ACO’s Midnighter, so he’s at the root of the Wildstorm resurgence. Also curious to see how far Morrison can push him.

* Ritesh pointed this out: Clark’s fully Tom Strong. The hair, the short sleeves, the gloves, the science hero vibe. And a thread of PKJ’s run is Superman’s power is beginning to fade, so he’ll probably be in that territory physically too and therefore needing to rely on help from other heavy-hitters.

* The roster mostly makes sense: Midnighter and Apollo are the givens, a new speedster (Lightray?), they like Steel so Natasha Irons being here isn’t surprising, and of course they’d include OMAC. But Manchester? And a Manchester who looks like Peter Capaldi? A Manchester who as you note I’ll be forced to like now? Wild. And...Enchantress? Okay?

* As far as cameos go I’m curious if we’ll see Jon, since he’s the guy who needs to have replaced Superman for the story to make thematic sense as I’m assuming it is, or the Superman Squad for similar reasons + then this can be an avenue for Morrison to tell that big Squad story they had in mind.

* It’s curious that the cover isn’t on a surface level aggressively provocative, because there’s so much about this that is. Not even the obvious fact of a Superman & The Authority book with Manchester Black on it (itself a hilarious fuck you to What’s So Funny), but that it’s the Superman shield from Kingdom Come - the iconography of that version of that guy hanging out with the 90s ass-kicker team in excelsis isn’t inconsequential. And while Action Comics and its socialist strongman was playing as nice as it could with its New 52 surroundings, this as a Grant Morrison future for Superman that isn’t All-Star is itself a pretty plain statement of intent that hey, THIS is what they think about what Superman's potential now, not what they did 15 years ago. Will that be a condemnation alongside Blackstars and the Hyperman story in TGL, or a testament to Superman’s ability to change with the times and continue serving as the man of tomorrow? If this is being collected in November, I imagine we’ll see this summer.

[a-bts-world]

Fake dating II part 4 II Wong Yukhei

see masterlist for part 1-3

fashion designer ! wong yukhei x florist ! reader

It has been a few weeks since your high school reunion when Yukhei texts you without any warning. But since you are at work, you decided to ignore the text for now. You will deal with it later, atleast that was your plan. With every passing minute you get more curious, wondering why he would even text you after three weeks with no contact. With your mind not at your work you cut yourself instead of the flower’s stem. ‘y/n, what happened? You are usually not this clumsy. What is on your mind?’ your boss asks your concerned. Your boss is an older lady who’s love for flowers is almost bigger than the love for her husband. You answer her question it’s nothing and you are just a bit tired. ‘You know what, you can get five minutes of to get a band-aid and ease your mind. So you do as your told, going into the back of the shop to get a band-aid and a glass of water. Your curiosity got the best of you and after aiding your finger you decide to unlock your phone and up the text Yukhei sent you.

Hii,

Lucas here. Do you remember me talking to Kun at the reunion? Well he was willing to invest in my fashion line. But he still thinks we are dating, so he invited the two of us over for dinner. Are you willing to help me out? If not I can just tell him we broke up.

Let me know what you think

Bye

Not knowing what to respond to this you just leave him on read and decide to text him back when you finish work. So after finishing your glass of water you go back in to the shop, helping your boss making a few bouquets.

It has been a long day at work when you arrive home. After finishing the bouquets for the next day, another order came in for four more bouquets. You offered to stay overtime and finish the bouquets, since your boss is a bit older and you don’t want her to overwork herself. So when you finally open te door to your apartment you just want to go to bed. But as you enter the living room you see Da-hee sitting on your couch and as you want to ask her what she’s doing her, you notice Ten walking out the kitchen. ‘Hey y/n, how are you? We thought it was time to have a small get together. We missed you, our hard working girl,’ Ten excitedly explains why they are at your apartment. Setting down the glasses and bottle of water he was carrying. You just sighed and sat down next to Da-hee on the couch. ‘what’s with that sigh, my friend?’ Ten asks you curious.

‘I’m just very tired from working all week,’ you answer, forgetting about the text Lucas send you halfway during the day. You grab the bottle of water and fill your glass, gulping the water down in mere seconds. Da-hee follows your example and also fill her glass with water. Ten however grabs the remote from the television and puts on some show. ‘Do you guys want something to eat as well? I haven’t had dinner yet, so I will just make some ramen. Nothing special,’ you tell them and they shake their heads. They probably had dinner before going to your apartment. You get up from the couch and walk towards the kitchen. While making the ramen your hear some screaming from the couch.

‘y/n! why didn’t you tell me this?’ Ten questions you about something you apparently should have told him. ‘Since when are you and Lucas texting?’ He screams excitedly, and that is when you remember the text you were still supposed to answer. You hurry to the couch making sure you can get your phone back from Ten. You see another text

Okay, I knew this was a onetime thing. But leaving me on read, when I ask a favor back is a bit low y/n. I hope you know that.

‘F*ck!’ you scream not explaining anything to Ten and Da-hee. You sigh and fall down on the couch, your head in Da-hee’s lap. She just starts stroking your hair to calm you down. ‘Guys, I f*cked up,’ You then see and Ten starts laughing. In between his laughs you can make out that he grabbed your phone and saw Yukhei’s text. ‘Ten! Stop laughing,’ you whine, feeling really bad for yourself.

‘I’m sorry, but this is hilarious and such a Lucas thing to do.’

‘Well since you know him so good, why don’t you help me?’ getting a bit angry with Ten for only laughing at you. Atleast Da-hee is trying to comfort you even though she still doesn’t know what happened. ‘now please hand me back my phone.’

‘Okay,’ Ten answers and hands you your phone back. Since you are feeling so bad for yourself you don’t want to explain what happened to Da-hee, so you just hand her your phone. She looks at you confused but your eyes tell her to read the texts.

‘Okay, I think your reaction was a bit too much. You can just tell him you forgot to answer since you were busy at work. I don’t think it’s that bad,’ Da-hee comforts you after reading the texts. She also starts typing immediately. Within a minute she shows you the text she thought out. You read it over.

Hii,

I’m sorry for not replying earlier. I was very busy at work and when I read your text a costumer came in and it stayed busy after that. To answer your first text, I think the least I can do is going to that dinner. How is your fashion line working out so far, do you have any options for me to buy?

Bye

‘Thank you so much girlie!’ you scream at Da-hee and click send. Afterwards you give your friend a tight hug and put your phone away. ‘No it’s time to have fun,’ you tell your friends excitedly and your evening with a lot of laughing and drinking starts.

It’s been almost two weeks since Yukhei had texted you about Kun wanting to meet the both of you again and you have been texting every day since. It started out as getting to know each other more, so nothing weird could happen, but now you actually enjoy it. Right now you are at work, but when you get off in an hour or so, Yukhei will be here to pick you up. You have a change of clothes in your bag, so you can change out of your work clothes at the shop.

Hii, I will be a bit earlier to pick up a bouquet for Kun and his girlfriend. Is that okay?

You read the text Yukhei just send you, you just answer his text with a thumbs up emoji. Then the bell rings announcing there is new costumer in the shop. ‘Hello! How can I help you?’ you question the costumer and start picking out a bouquet. After this costumer a few other costumers also come in. Up until five minutes before closing time it’s pretty busy in the shop. You sigh cleaning everything as fast as possible. Just before it’s closing time your hear the bell again.

‘Hello? y/n?’ you hear Yukhei ask. Relieved it’s not another costumer you answer him that you still need to clean. ‘no problem, take your time. Just know that I still need to have a bouquet, so if you can request anything that would be great,’ Yukhei casually lets you know and sits down on the stairs that are next to the counter.

‘Yeah yeah, I remember. I have them ready in the back. Just need to clean and count the sales and then after I changed we can go. You answer starting the cleaning process. Yukhei walks to you and takes over the vacuum cleaner. Cleaning the floor, you thank him and go to the counter to count the sales you had today. After cleaning and counting you quickly go to the back of  the shop and change into your outfit for the night. Nothing special, a white blouse and black jeans. It still looks classy, but it doesn’t look like you tried to hard. When facing Yukhei you notice his eyes on your body. ‘let’s go, before we are too late,’ you say trying to avoid his eyes. Yukhei nods and opens the door for you, since you are holding the bouquet. He follows after you, until you realize you can’t find his car.

‘Hello Yukhei, nice to see you. Good to see you brought your girlfriend along,’ Kun beams at you two. Yukhei enthusiastically hugs him, while you shake his hand respectfully. He is still a older than you, can’t forget to show him respect. ‘how are you guys?’ Kun then continues to ask while looking at you. As if he knows Yukhei’s answer already.

‘we are good. I just finished work so Yukhei picked me up to join the diner. It is nice seeing you again,’ you respond friendly but with manners. Kun just smiles, apparently content with your answer. He does tell you, that his girlfriend Ji-su is going to be late. She got hold up at work, but you don’t mind it. Since was one of the bullies at your high school.

After ordering and some more small talk, Ji-su arrived at the restaurant. She instantly looked shocked, as if she didn’t realize you would join the dinner. ‘Hi baby, how was work?’ Kun asks her as he places a quick kiss on her lips after she sat down at the table. She answered telling it was a lot, but it was also still fun.

‘what do you do for work?’ you decide to ask her, showing her you could be the mature one. Feeling slightly scared by her stare at you, you look down. Your hands fumbling with the ring on your finger. Yukhei notices and grabs your hand under the table. Hoping the other two wouldn’t notice your anxiety.

‘I work as a nurse at the hospital. I hope to become one of the head surgeons some time in the future. But what about you, what kind of work do you do?’ She asks you weirdly curious. You expected her to say something about not getting to know it at the reunion, but somehow she doesn’t.

‘I am a florist, I work at a local flower shop,’ you answer her question.

‘Oh really? That is so amazing! You must see a lot of different people every day. Each of them requesting something different for you. Must be pretty difficult,’ she mocks you and your job. You just sigh and nod your head, being used to it. Yukhei however doesn’t enjoy it and looks at Kun accusingly. Who notices the animosity between the two of the girls as well and tries to minimalize it.

‘She is right. I think it is a hard job y/n, not everybody can do it and a lot of people underestimate it. I mean, I know I couldn’t make a bouquet look pretty,’ he soothes everything down a bit. And everyone let’s out a little chuckle at his remark.

‘So while the girls catch up with each other. Shall we talk about fashion?’ Kun continues his conversation with Yukhei. As if Ji-su heard it as well she ask you a few question about your job and the place you live in. But she also asks about Yukhei and how things are going, if you are living together, or planning on getting married. You surprise yourself and answer all her question without any anger, and most of them even honestly. When she gets to the questions about Yukhei you start doubting your answers, what would someone in love say. But since Ji-su is interested in your answers, you can’t dodge the questions. Which means you got to think about them.

‘you know, that is a good question Ji-su. I don’t immediately know what I would say is Yukhei’s best feature. And do you mean like personality wise or appearance wise?’ you answer Ji-su’s question.

‘You can answer both, and I know it’s a good question. I asked it,’ she answer laughing softly.

‘it’s my humor, of course,’ Yukhei saves you once again laughing at his own joke. You just nod in agreement and look at him. You notices the sparkles in his eyes, it makes it look like he really does enjoy this dinner. Well he should, he is talking about his fashion line. But deep down you know, you hope it is something more. You hope he enjoys your company.

‘you are indeed very funny Lucas.’

‘thank you,’ Yukhei mutters a bit flustered. She seemed to be lowkey flirting with him, even with her boyfriend present. You sigh at her actions. Yukhei turns his head to you. ‘is there something wrong, babe?’ he questions your sigh. You shake your head and tell him you’ve got to use the bathroom.

Dinner with Kun and Ji-su was a success according to Yukhei. He seems over the moon with everything. You guess you would be too, if someone wants to invest in your clothing line. ‘y/n, I don’t want this to end yet. Do you want to come over to my apartment?’ he sing-songs his question to you. He did have a bit too much to drink, so maybe it would be safer for him and you if you would drive him home.

‘Yeah sure, why not. Shall I drive us?’

‘No! I can drive. I didn’t have that much to drink. You see, I can still walk in a straight line,’ he tells you walking in front of you. Indeed he did walk a straight line, without wobbling or stopping in between. Maybe he really didn’t have that much to drink. So you give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

‘okay, you can drive. Where is your car?’ you ask. Yukhei doesn’t answer, instead he puts his arm around your shoulders. Leading you towards his car. he opens the door for you and you sit down in the car. he jogs around the car to the driver’s side and sits down as well. As he starts the engine, you realize you’re actually going to his apartment. You start to panic a bit, you didn’t think this through, if the both of you drink more alcohol you won’t be able to go home. But you also can’t stay at his place, what are you supposed to do now. Did Yukhei even think this through? Suddenly you feel his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing circling in order to try and calm you down. At least, that is what it did. How he knew you were stressed is still a mystery to you, but at least you calmed down. His hand remains on your thigh for the rest of the drive, except for when he needed to switch gears of course.

[the-crows-typist]

Hi lemilia-san, i really love your stories they make my heart ache in a good way! May i ask for a ficlet with trey and the word “liar”? Thank you!

CW for Slight discussion of Sports Injury and Angst.

The Possibilities Are Endless

“Don’t lie to me...Please.”

They had a habit of lying, Trey’s friend of his.

He didn’t understand why they had to lie to him, he didn’t understand why they had to hide every moment of weakness from him, and he didn’t understand why they refused to cry in front of him or refused to cry in front of anyone at all.

Was it because they hated the feeling of being weak?

They wore their training gear, the schools volleyball varsity jacket, and their favorite training shoes. “I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a little extreme to train for longer periods of time when you’re so close to the competition?” Trey asked, stopping to let his friend re-tie their shoe laces. “It is but I think the extra time will help with improving my serving and spiking.”

“Serving and spiking are two different things, right?”

“Yup, yup. Totally different. You start with serving and ending with spiking.”

Trey looks to the wrap around their ankle, a reminder to both of the loss that put a toll on both of them.

The piercing whistle followed by the gasp of the crowd, the thud of a body falling on the floor, the boll bouncing wildly, and the squeaking footsteps of the team that scrambled to get to their injured teammate who held their painful leg. The ball rolled to the other side of the court at that very moment, ignored and abandoned. The concerned opponents exchanging looks between each other and abandoning their positions to help their fallen opponent; the court was on time out, the medics on stand-by rush in to assess the scene.

Trey watched as Vargas and another teacher spoke to one another. There was a nod and nudge to one of the players on the bench who was warming up in any way he could. A medic approaches Vargas and the couch, normally so gregarious and jolly, was straight faced and serious.

“A sprain,” Said one of the spectators. “And it looked like a painful one too. I hope it’s not too serious.”

He watched his friend was pulled from the ground and a hand over their eyes as they limped back to the bench and only stopping to nod their head as they talked to their coach, accepting the player switch. They sit down on the bench, with the help of a teammate, and their ankle wrapped with brown medical gauze. He could see the longing in the in their eyes and the tinge of disappointment and despair.

It was as if they had failed.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, alright?” They straightened their back to full height, pouting their lips at him. “Don’t be such a busybody! Me running after a bus in the rain was a onetime thing, alright?” Trey pushed his finger to their forehead; a fake exasperated sigh leaving his lips but a smile betrayed that sentiment. “That’s not what I meant.”

He points to their ankle. “This is what I meant.”

“Oh.”

There was a silence between them as they looked at the ankle wrap. The sprain had healed with the proper care and proper practice but they haven’t stop wearing it since. To them, it was a reminder never to fall flat again. To him, it was a sign that things weren’t the way they tried to make it out to be. A flash of realization, one of dread and remembrance, and Trey pulled back knowing well the repercussion of that reminder. “I just…” His shoulders slackened and his face calm and his smile grew to one easy and sympathetic. “I don’t want you to push yourself, that’s all. A sprain is still a sprain. You told me how tough it was to recover from that.”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a worrywart! I’ll be fine. I’ll take care of myself, okay?”

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m listening.” They pat his shoulder. “I’m fine, really. Don’t worry. As if a sprain is gonna get me down in the dumps!

“Ah, I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow, Trey!”

He waved as they ran towards the gym, the wind blew again and Trey was left alone in the school’s now empty walkway. He remembers the face of defeat when he ran to the gym after the losing match, he remembers seeing their teeth grit together hard, their brows furrowing, and he remembers the rising tension within them.

“As if a sprain is gonna get me down in the dumps!”

“Liar.”

The venue for the competition was a large stadium that stood high above everyone watching. The colors of white and black dominated the stadium as two schools were fighting for to the gold; supporters of Night Raven College and Royal Swords Academy littered the entrances. Upon entering the stadium, the smell of salonpas and mint spray hit his nose, the squeak of volleyball shoes, and the labored breathes of practicing athletes. He looked around, trying to spot the elegant black and purple design of Night Raven’s volleyball club. He was looking for them, his friend.

“Trey!”

A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, his breath hitched as his feet left the floor suddenly. “You made it!” He turned around, looking at them with a smile and a hand to his stomach as soon as he was set down. Their strength never ceased to astound him. “Of course I am.” He ruffled their hair making them squirm. “Can’t have my junior being lonely during their tournament.”

“Trey, you’re messing up my hair!”

“It’s a good luck charm, y’know?”

“I’ve received too much luck now! Stop it!”

A hearty laugh and a clap of calloused hands, Coach Vargas approached the two with a smile. “Mr Clover, I didn’t know you were a fan of the sport.” And like the polite student he is, he nodded in greeting to his PE teacher and to the team. “I wasn’t initially but my friend had pulled me into it.” His hand rested on their shoulder, “I’m not familiar with the terminologies, though.”

Vargas laughed again, his voice thundering in the small confines of the lobby. Everyone looked at him, his team, the opponents, and the onlookers and supporters. There was a collective exasperated sigh from the NRC’s volleyball team, Coach Vargas was always like this.

“I’ll go wait in the seats. I’m pretty sure you’re going to get called soon.”

Trey eyed the staff member with a megaphone and multiple papers. The megaphone rang and the voice of the announcer echoed through.

“All participating volleyball teams please make your way to the stadium entrances!”

“Night Raven College to the left entrance please!”

“Royal Swords Academy to right entrance please!”

“Good luck.” He says, patting them on the back. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

There was a fearful look in their eyes, the nervousness that they felt when entering the stadium. Trey wished they could hug them and hold them close. His hand went out patting their shoulder.

“Good luck.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The two teams left for their respective entrances and Trey was soon left alone in the crowd of onlookers and fans.

“Liar.”

The ball flew over the net as a spiker from Royal Swords hit the ball with his hand, Night Raven’s libero making a running start to try and fail to save the ball. The whistle blowing hard to signal the point given to the opposing team, Trey bit back a groan when his team lost the point. His eyes look to them, their teeth grit and shoulders square.

Frustration.

The whistle of the referee blared into through the court, signaling the change of players. There was a small sense of dread when he saw the number on the placard, it was theirs. He pressed his lips together, seeing the walk of defeat they made as they took the card from their teammate. It was Vargas who met them with a towel in hand, putting over their head.

His mouth moved, giving them a small speech and letting them sit down the rest of the game.

“I’ll be fine.”

Even after the weeks and months of recovery, Trey knew that the pain of the sprain still lingered within them.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Liar.”                                                                                                                      

“We were so close too.” They complained, walking with Trey to the nearest eatery. “Next time for sure, we’re gonna win. I just know it.” They always pushed this image of positivity. “I just need lots and lots of practice.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard again.” Trey said, his tone slightly harsh. “If all you do is practice and practice then you’ll end up with another sprain.”

“Oh come on, you worry so much. I said I’m gonna be fine…”

Trey stopped in his tracks, letting his friend take a few steps ahead. His brows furrowed and lips pressed in a straight line. “Liar.”

They stopped in their tracks, turning around to look at him. “You don’t have to keep lying to yourself and to me, y’know?” He walked with them, bumping his shoulder with theirs. “You’re the strongest person I know and no amount of losses are going to change that.”

The two of them walked silently after that, their hand coming to hold Trey’s as they walked and their head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to look weak in front of you.”

“You aren’t.” He held their hand tightly. “You never were.”

[anonymous0writer]

2AM Love

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Warnings: Swearing. Alcohol use. Inferences to sex.

Requested: Yes! Another songfic! :) 

“Songfic request :: Let's Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS × JJ Maybank”

A/N: There will be SO MANY SONGFICS TO COME!! @lindzaylove​ sent me so many! I’m so excited! My master list is gonna burst! :) Also, the song is a little more upbeat than this, but I couldn’t help myself and the words sparked this, so yeah.

Requests are always open even though it’ll take me a hot sec. But please! I love them.

(Song lyrics are in italics)

Let's fall in love for the night And forget in the mornin'

The pattern was the same. Friends during the day. Lovers at night. At first, you were hurt, but then when night came rolling around, he make you forget the pain of the friend zone during the day. He was so good at kissing away your doubts and making you forget. And god, when his pale eyes landed on yours, you were lost. 

His eyes held everything. The crashing oceans you surfed and went swimming in on the regular. They held the soft sky of a sunny day. And they washed away all your fears of the future, your worries, and your pain. No matter what, his eyes made everything fade out and it was just you. He made you feel on top of the world. When his eyes landed on your skin, you felt like the only one. The one that he wanted to love and worship. He made you feel like the only girl in the world. 

He kissed and traced every crease and expanse of your smooth skin. Every bump and imperfection he smiled at like he loved it and it made you feel perfect. That you didn’t have any imperfections. You felt invisible when his eyes were heavy on you. And when he was loving you, he made you feel amazing. Pleasure exploded in every part of your body like fireworks on Fourth of July. His fingers digging into your hips, heightening your pleasure. He knew how to get you arching your back and eyes rolling back. And he knew every spot in your body, knew exactly what to do to you to get you moaning and whining in his sheets. To get you panting and sweat beading at your forehead. To get your eyes fluttering as you came down from your high, body collapsing in his bed, and fingers limp in his hair. 

He knew your body like the back of your hand. And he knew your mind like no one else. In those late nights, he would watch you rapt. He listened while watching your mouth tilt up in a soft laugh when you told something funny, or the crease in your eyebrows when you tried to remember something on the tip of your tongue. He loved the way your eyes light up when you talked about your family, or one of the Pogues or something you loved. They shone so brightly, reflecting just how much you loved them so dearly. As you wove stories and memories in the dark room, he ran his finger tips along your skin, raising goosebumps. His lips would ghost yours, and whispered sweet words and pretty things. 

Nights were the best. When it was just you and him. Nothing but you two. The world didn’t exist, as far as you knew, it was just you guys, and the beds. The darkness settled over you, embracing you. Your hands would be intertwined, gently at war to people the other. His other hand would be on the side of your waist, thumb flicking slowly across the bare skin. Your other hand would be curled into the edges of his hair at the nape of his neck, and your legs would be tangled with his. Sheets would cover you two, twisting and folding against your skin. You’d wake up in the morning, a mess of bare skin and thin sheets. 

But mornings were the worst. You woke, a sinking feeling in your gut as you steeled yourself for the day. You wanted the nights to last forever, suspended in time. But your wish never came true. Not even when you wished apon a shooting star during one of the first nights.

Mornings made him a friend. Mornings cast him in an angelic light that you were forbidden to admire him in. The early light forced you in a cage that held you back from touching him and pressing loving kisses to his skin. Love wasn’t allowed during the day. But you desperately wanted it to be. You wanted to kiss him awake and let him make love to you in the early time. 

But you learned the hard way. The first night was magical. Just as wonderful as every other time, but it was new. Exciting and magical. Forever cast in your mind as the perfect moment in your life. But the morning came, as it always did, harsh and sneaky. It grabbed you by the shoulders and woke you, making you face what you didn’t want to. But it always came, and every daybreak forced you into the cage. 

After the night, he picked himself up, pulling on clothes and shielding his body from you. You were still sprawled in the bed, a frown etched into your mouth. You asked him breathlessly where he was going. He answered with, 

“We have to keep this a secret.”

The words sparked a mischievous light in you. You’d never snuck around with a boy before, and you knew it’d be amazing with the blonde before you. But the light was snuffed out by the words still coming from his throat. 

“This isn’t a relationship, Y/N. Just a onetime thing.”

But it was a pattern. You’d open the door the following evening, confused and ready for bed. But then your eyes landed on the well-built salt-lifer standing at your door. Your eyes widened, and you joined him in the hot night. You breathed his name, studying his frame. 

“Maybe this can be a two time thing?” He asked, eyes rapt on you and body hovering over yours. 

Your heart leapt and slammed against your rib cage, throwing your breathing into an uneven gallop. The memory of last night flashed through your mind and you arched your back and moved closer unconsciously. And JJ knew that. He saw the way your breathing shortened just a little and the way your shuffled forward and you peered up at him.

So he took it as a yes and asked if he could come inside. You obliged, unable to refuse. You lead him quietly to your room, anticipation making you practically bolt into the room. Before you could close the door, his lips landed and planted themselves on your neck. You gasped and watched as one of his hands shut and locked the door before he pushed you forward. You landed on your bed, hair around you in a halo. 

And the two time thing turned into three. Which bled into four and soon, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been going on. It’d been months, but the surfer had made it clear: friends until the sun falls. 

Play me a song that you like You can bet I'll know every line

You giggled and stuck your hand out the window of the van, savoring the feeling of the wind brushing through your open fingers. It cooled you, and whipped past you, but you loved the feeling and let out a small whoop. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a head swivel your way, so you turned to meet their eyes. JJ’s hands gripped the steering wheel, but his eyes were locked with yours. And for a split second, you felt like the only girl in the world. And the feeling was spectacular- because it was during the day. And you weren’t allowed to feel this way during the day.

You grinned at him, and sang loudly to the song playing from the radio. You stopped when another voice cut through you and the rest of the Pogues singing. JJ was singing. 

And he knew every line. He was singing it like a pro, taking the drops and rises of the song easily. You gaped as John B. whooped in the back. The rest of the Pogues freaked out, but it faded out as JJ sang the lyrics, keeping eye contact with you. 

He sang to you, his voice rough and a little gruff, but it was your favorite sound. Your heart swelled. He was singing to you. But it didn’t last long because JJ’s eyes flicked back to the road and the song faded into another.

The the moment lingered in your mind for long after it happened. Because for the first time- even if it was for a second- that wasn’t a friend moment. The cage opened, letting you see what it was like to have JJ love you all the time.

I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid Don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise I know better than to call you mine

JJ lounged on the couch, a beer propped in his hand. His usually light eyes were dark as he watched you and the newest member of the group laugh. Your hand was pressed against his chest and you smiled so brightly that it blinded JJ. 

Over the time of your nightly loving, JJ knew better than to call you his. And you knew better than to think he was yours. But seeing you be that flirty with someone else rubbed him the wrong way. He had gotten good at not catching feelings during the day, and not falling in love with you, but with sex and late night talks every night for at least three months came with attachment. And JJ was trying to push it away, but he studied the way your eyes danced to him and your smile brightened before turning back to the new boy.

Satisfaction sparked in JJ’s chest. Both of you knew better than to call each other theirs, but the attachment was still there. A small rope that was so fragile kept you connected. It was small, but it was there. And it was growing stronger each time you two connected. 

You sat next to the blonde, laughing at his jokes and smiling at his words. From the corner of his eyes, JJ saw the tall boy glare lightly. He was jealous. Little did he know that you moaned JJ’s name every night. JJ took another swig of his drink, watching you intently. He was going to make sure that you didn’t worry about any body else beside him tonight. He would make sure you weren’t thinking of the wrong boy.

Even though that boy had his claim on you. And he had it two weeks ago. But JJ never stopped showing at your door and you never stopped letting him in. It was a natural, habitual thing. It would be foreign to stop. Even if you had a boy, and had him for a month. But the month with him was nothing compared to the few with JJ. 

And that night, JJ made you forget. Like he always did. But now, he made you forget the name of the boy in the back of your mind. He kept going until you could barely form a thought and you were shaking.

I like to push my luck So take my hand, let's take a drive

JJ leaned over, whispering in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. He’d never done this. Never got this close. Not during the day. Not with your boy around. But he wasn’t, and neither was anyone else. You were alone. During the day, so you stayed friends and a normal distance apart, but JJ was breaking the rule he created. 

Your lips parted as he suggested a drive and kissed your neck, lips hot against your cool skin. You gasped lightly as the boy curled his hands around you, nose pressed against the hollow of your neck. You shivered lightly, and agreed. 

And soon you were driving. And sooner than that, you were loving during the day. His fingers dancing across your skin, lighting you up like no body else. His fingers touched and hit spots your boy could never. His skin slid against your sweaty skin. He made you scream his name, the sound quieted as he held his ring clad hand over your mouth as he pounded into you. But you back arched and he grunted in you ear. 

And as you neared you high you understood. This was a goodbye. He would never break the rule. Or love you during the day. This beautiful connection of souls was a goodbye. A farewell to the months of pleasure and late night loving.

You stopped, laying next to each other, bodies sweating and aching for air. And before regaining your friendship status, you leaned over and whispered in his ear, your own breath curling into his ear and tickling him. His blue eyes crinkled a he smiled, and returned the words.

It was your first time in the day, but your last time. Both of you said silent goodbyes to your late night loving.

I know better I know better I know better than to ever call you mine

You were curled in your boys arms, head resting on his chest. His arms were loose around you, but his chin rested on you head and his fingers drew lazy circles on the small of your back. You shivered at the feeling, but it brought a memory back. 

The memory of a certain blonde’s fingers doing the same exact thing. Your eyes roamed the room, passing over everyone until they landed on who you were looking for. The blue eyes seemed to understand as they locked with yours.

You seemed to remember the same exact moment that started your two am love.

[afinepricklypear]

Confessions & Deleted Scenes

I get a lot of anxiety when it comes to comments on my writing. When a story of mine starts to garner a lot of attention, replying to readers and continuing the work, becomes increasingly difficult. Maybe it’s a touch of Imposter Syndrome, but I get stage fright. Yet, if I got no comments, or I saw no increase in comments, I couldn’t continue either. It’s this strange “damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t” struggle. I used to get around it by starting new fanfiction accounts and starting over, rebuilding an audience in a new fandom, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to run from my stories. But. I’m in that mental place right now, even looking at comments and trying to muster the werewithal to reply makes me sick to my stomach and want to break down. I can’t breathe and I start crying, the thoughts in my head: I’m not this person, I didn’t write this thing that you liked so much, it’s trash, it’s all trash, and if I did, it was a fluke, and I can’t recreate it. Then the paranoia sets in: the readers are leaving, they see that I can’t do this, they hate me, they hate my work, I knew all along it wasn’t good enough.

Ah. Well. I’m working on it. I want to move past this and feel confident and continue with the stories in my head without the fear that no one will like it or they’ll like it too much so that eventually I’ll disappoint them. The words are there, I just can’t get them on to paper right now in a way that is satisfactory. So I’ll try and I’ll fail and I’ll try and I’ll fail.

In the meantime, while I get my shit together, here’s the original chapter 1 from my first attempt at writing “Wake Up” for my BSD fanfiction series Release (posted here on AO3). I haven’t read it since I retconned it, so it’s not edited. I wonder if anyone will find this here.

*Chapter*

A cold gray frost coated the windows of every building along the dusky alleyway. Chuuya leaned back against a building’s brick wall, crouched low to the ground, head tipped to one side, and a heavy gray, linen coat draped over his shoulders. He tried not to think about the lingering scent of urine on the air, or the fact his thin shirt and jeans provided little protection from the severe drop in temperature that evening. The hair on his arms and back of neck prickled on end, his ability, For the Tainted Sorrow, was desperate to unleash and wreak havoc on the cityscape around them. But like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, he wouldn’t be using his ability that night.  

A week had passed since Chuuya was forced to join the Armed Detective Agency after his violent departure from the Port Mafia. The injuries he sustained from leaving the organization he’d called home for seven years, and the incident leading up to it out in Hiratsuka, were little more than dull aches and scars, now, thanks in part to the Agency doctor and her healing ability, but the memories lingered like bad dreams. He kept waking in the middle of the night, lost and disoriented, in a vaguely familiar bedroll that his instincts rejected as ‘home’. It was only Dazai’s slumbering embrace, unconsciously blanketing Chuuya with No Longer Human that kept Chuuya from doing damage to his surroundings on instinct with For the Tainted Sorrow.

On top of that, he was still adjusting to his change in employment, still settling into his decision and the concept that it could be right for him, even beneficial, to work with the Agency of detectives he’d called enemy a month ago, and even tried to kill on more than one occasion. Those facts, of course, were the reasoning behind the strict conditions of his joining the Agency, which included a moratorium on his ability use without ‘permission’ from the Boss, Agency President Fukuzawa, and a zero-tolerance policy of No-Killing, No-Torturing. To say sticking to these conditions proved difficult was an understatement but Chuuya was nothing if not willing to rise to any challenge. Even despite Dazai’s constant efforts to rile him up at the office, or Kunikida breathing down his neck, eager for him slip up so they could oust him like the Port Mafia. Every day he felt like a caged tiger, gawked at by zoo patrons, while pacing his confines, flexing his claws and unable to do anything with them.

Luckily, and speaking of caged tigers, Chuuya’s week with the Agency had been spent shadowing his new “mentor” in the Agency, Atsushi. He worked alongside the boy and the boy’s partner, another newcomer to the Agency from the Port Mafia, Kyouka. They were the greenest detectives in the Agency, so while the rest of the detectives took on any higher priority cases that walked through the door, Atsushi and his mentees were tasked with handling all of the smaller, more tedious, and lower risk ones. That night they were following up on a serial burglary case in a prominent neighborhood following a lead given to them by the Agency’s resident smug bastard detective, Ranpo. After hitting multiple dead-ends on their case all week, Atsushi finally took their case file to the “best detective in the world” and appealed to him with a box of candy to use his “Ultimate Deduction”. He recommended they stake out a particular convenience store in the targeted neighborhood that night – odd, because all of the burglaries had been at residences – and he warned that they were dealing with an ability user.

“As if we hadn’t already figured out we were dealing with an ability user,” Chuuya muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been impressed with Ranpo’s display. There had been no signs of a break-in, no forced entry, just items missing. The only clue was uncovered at one of the victimized houses, the back portion of a shoeprint cut in half by the house’s exterior wall. Chuuya shuddered again from a wintery breeze nipping at any exposed bit of his skin. He knew he should’ve brought a scarf, but he’d been too preoccupied about ensuring Dazai was properly packed and prepared for an overnight in Hiratsuka. Chuuya couldn’t decide if the other man was really so terrible at taking care of himself, or if he just got a kick out of Chuuya doting over him. Years of ‘hating’ one another had taught Chuuya the latter was more likely.

For the most part, the Agency was in limbo regarding their most recent case out in Hiratsuka that had revealed there was a mysterious organization kidnapping ability users for experimentation and using them to manufacture replica abilities. It was the kind of discovery that, according to everyone at the Agency, despite Chuuya’s skepticism, needed to be handed up the ladder to government officials for them to determine the next plans of action. Meanwhile, Dazai and his partner, Kunikida, were tasked with gathering any and all evidence left behind in Hiratsuka, as well as, maintaining relations with the leader of Hiratsuka’s syndicate, Lady Murasaki, who had hired Dazai to investigate the disappaereance of one of her employees, Fujiawra Sadaei, before the conspiracy was exposed.

It was Dazai who uncovered the entire plot, only to go missing himself, but not before setting up a series of cryptic messages to be sent to Chuuya. Chuuya had been ordered to ignore the messages and delete them from his phone, but he couldn’t turn his back on his former partner, and onetime Port Mafia traitor, regardless of the fact they’d spent the months prior sneaking off to play house together at a small house out in crater city, Suribachi. The decision, and a stack of intimate photographs from that Suribachi house that had been delivered unbeknownst to Chuuya to his former Boss, Mori Oogai, were the toppled pai gow pieces that led to his own fall from grace in the Port Mafia. He still didn’t know where the photographs had come from, but he narrowly escaped their fallout with his life.

Chuuya spotted Kyouka across the street at a park, sitting in a swing and fiddling with the phone she constantly wore around her neck. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a young, middle school aged girl, that was enjoying her winter break. Atsushi, Chuuya knew, was on the other side of the building keeping watch towards the backside. They all wore headpieces to keep in contact with one another.

“Was it supposed to be this cold tonight?” Atsushi’s voice crackled through the headset.

Chuuya frowned, letting his breath out in a puff of steam. He heard a crackle and pop from the metal dumpster beside him and, glancing to it, realized with a start that he could see the frost crystals growing, “I don’t think it’s ever supposed to be this cold, kid. Looks like an ice ability, user’s got to be nearby.”

“There’s movement,” Kyouka’s voice was soft, almost inaudible as a whip of wind roared from nowhere, but firm, “Above you. Third floor window.”

“I can walk up there, no problem,” Chuuya offered, itching for the excuse to defy gravity.

“No,” Atsushi quickly and sharply replied. Chuuya could feel the boy wince at the severity of his own reply through the headset, “I mean…what I mean is…I’ll go, Mr. Nakahara. You and Kyouka stay put, continue watching, in case anyone else shows up.”

Chuuya bit back his frustration, he knew Atsushi was only worried about him, as he said between grit teeth, “Fine. You’re in charge, kid.”

On the other side of the building, Atsushi activated his ability, Beast Under the Moonlight, partially transforming into a mystical white tiger form. He climbed up the wall in a few short jumps, and rounded the corner to investigate the movement Kyouka had seen. Chuuya tucked his gloved hands under his arms, his fingertips aching from the growing chill in the air around him. He stalked towards the back of the building to take up Atsushi’s post. After a couple minutes, Chuuya tapped his foot impatiently.

“You see anything interesting, kid?” he asked.

Silence.

“Atsushi? What’s going on up there?”

Still silence.

“Kyouka, you got eyes on Atsushi?” Chuuya said, pulling away from the backside of the building and hurrying back towards the front, spotting the little girl in her position at the park, dull gaze now fixed skyward, cell phone dangling from its chain around her neck.

“Yes,” she answered, her typical monotone trembling slightly, “He’s at the window. He hasn’t moved for many seconds.”

The sound of several gunshots erupted through the night, and before the ring of their report could finish, Chuuya was sprinting up the fire escape. One quick, last glance to the park to note Kyouka was gone from her post, as well, and without thought to his agreement in joining the Agency, Chuuya used his ability to lift the third-floor window, diving through its entry and rolling to his feet in a light fighting stance, hands loose at his side and senses on high alert. The hallway he’d landed in was empty and somehow cooler than outside, it felt like an ice box. Somewhere inside was the sound of soft sobs. He started forward through the dark apartment and nearly slipped backwards to the ground, catching himself on the wall and a hallway table, the framed pictures atop it quacking and falling over. He winced, but the sobbing didn’t stop, his carelessness hadn’t been heard. Breathing a sigh, his eyes dropped downward to find the wood floorboards were coated in permafrost.  

Delicately, Chuuya righted himself and took small, deliberate steps to slide with some semblance of control along the hall. He passed by dark, empty rooms towards a luminescent glow ahead in what, Chuuya assumed, would be the kitchen. He sidled up next to the entryway, listened for a moment. The sobbing, he surmised, was a woman. There were no other noises. He frowned, reached for the knife he kept strapped at his thigh and held it low against his side, out of sight but ready if he needed it. He stepped into the kitchen.

On the floor, there was a woman kneeling in a tattered gray bathrobe, a gun on the ground beside her. There was splintered wood around shallow bullet holes in the wall on the far side of the room where her gunshots had hit. Chuuya’s breath caught. Outside of the window was Atsushi, his skin pale and lips turning blue. His eyes were moving but the expression behind them was dull, as though staring through a fog, and, every so often, his breath steamed the window in wet puffs.

The floorboard creaked under Chuuya’s weight and the woman reached for her gun, spinning around to point the barrel at Chuuya. Her crisp green eyes were wide, her short, chestnut colored hair falling in greasy, uneven dregs around her tear-stained face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kyouka’s demon ability hovering beside Atsushi outside, its hand on the ethereal sword at its hip.

“Whoa, let’s be reasonable about this, lady,” Chuuya said, loud enough for Kyouka to hear from wherever she was hiding, undoubtedly nearby. He slipped the knife back into its sheath and put his hands up in as unthreatening a manner as he could, his mind turning possible outcomes from this encounter around in his mind. Every ounce of his body and heart was screaming to kill her swiftly, but then there was the niggling voice in the back of his head, that sounded not unlike Kunikida, whispering, when you slip up…

“I…I didn’t mean to…” the woman cried, whimpering, more, fresh tears forming, turning to droplets of ice on her cheeks, “It wasn’t my fault…I swear…it wasn’t…I had no idea what he was…I had no idea. Please…”

“It’s okay,” Chuuya told her, having no idea what she was ranting about, he assured her, “I know you had nothing to do with it. Not your fault, right? We all make mistakes, put our trust in people that turn around and betray us. You’re just a victim in all of this, huh? Why don’t you put the gun down, Lady Winter, and unfreeze my friend outside, and we can talk about this like civilized people, alright?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder at Atsushi outside, spotted the Demon before it could duck out of sight, and her eyes widened with panic. She yelped, half-crab walking towards the far wall, stumbling to her feet and dropping the pin of the gun, she pointed it back and forth between the window and Chuuya, her hands visibly shaking, unable to hold the gun straight. At that rate, she was more likely to miss than hit if she fired off a shot. Chuuya sighed, and placed his hands in his pockets. He was not cut out for this negotiation crap.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, “We would’ve done it already if we were.”

That made her hesitate. Her eyes flickered from him to the window.

“Why are you here, then?” she demanded.

“Still trying to figure that one out,” Chuuya admitted with a shrug, he glanced at the wall behind her, those bullet holes and furrowed his brow, darting a look back at Atsushi, “Maybe you could start by telling us who you were shooting at.”

“No-no way,” the woman whispered, jabbing the gun at Chuuya, “You tell me who you are first, I’m not just going to confess my life story to some stranger that broke into my home.”

Chuuya smirked, tilting his head to one side, “Fair enough. We’re detectives, investigating the burglaries from that nearby housing community. Someone told us this would be a good lead for solving the case. I’ve got an idea who you are too. You own the convenience store downstairs, nice set-up, only store like it in this city block. I bet you know everyone in this neighborhood. Which house they live in, where they work, what kind of money they make, how many people they’ve got living with them, and what everyone’s schedule is.”

Another trickle of tears that froze halfway down the woman’s face and peeled off like crystalline beads.

“You and a friend get the idea that you could make a little extra cash, on the side. So, you start putting that information to good use. It’s gone good for a while now, but one of you got greedy…or maybe cold-feet, thought the other was going to talk. My friend shows up peeking in the window and it looks like betrayal. Shots are fired and your friend took off,” Chuuya said, “How’d I do?”

“Burglaries…?” the woman faltered, shaking her head, a look of puzzlement crossing her features, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Chuuya scowled, “Everything made sense though…”

Admittedly, there were still missing pieces to the puzzle. There was no sign of break-in, so he assumed her partner had the ability that got them into the houses undetected. The question of where the stuff was could likely be answered by a thorough search downstairs. Still, where was the partner, why had she been firing off a gun, and what had she been blathering on about when he got there…something about not being her fault and some mysterious ‘he’ – likely the partner, but what didn’t she know about him? Was he working another angle behind her back? As if on cue, a flicker of movement caught Chuuya’s eye, a man stepping through the wall behind the woman, a glinting chef’s knife in hand, poised to stab the unsuspecting woman in the back.

“Hey, watch out,” Chuuya shouted, moving before the words had left his mouth.

The woman, stunned by his sudden lunge at her, fired off a couple shots that Chuuya deflected easily. The man with the knife grabbed the woman, she screamed, Chuuya’s hand brushed the man’s forearm as the blade began to bite into her backside, and Chuuya sent the man flying back towards the wall. He passed harmlessly through. Chuuya pulled the woman behind him, darted looks around the kitchen, jaw set and muscles tense, searching for movement.

“Oh god! He’s going to kill us. You can’t do anything against him. You can’t, he’s too powerful,” the woman blubbered.

“Lady, we just met. Seems too early for you to make that call, don’t you think?” Chuuya felt the ground give out beneath him, and he dropped his gaze to find his foot sinking through the floor, “What the hell?” He darted an anxious look to the woman, barking out commands rapid-fire, “Unfreeze my friend. Find the little girl. Get out of here with them.”

He felt a pinch at his calf, he was starting to solidify in the floor. He sent out a shudder of energy and the ground gave out under him in a hailstorm of plaster and wooden splinters. He picked himself up from the wreckage, coughing and dusting away the debris, finding the startled man standing across from him.

“Dammit, that’s twice now you’ve made me use my ability. I’m on parole,” Chuuya yelled, rushing at the momentarily stunned man and swinging a roundhouse to his head. Chuuya’s leg passed right through, but he didn’t let it slow him down, swinging and thrusting kicks and punches with deadly precision, all of which would have landed if the man wasn’t a fucking ghost. Chuuya fell back, trying to hide that he was a bit out of breath.

“My turn,” the man grinned and began his own assault. When Chuuya raised a block, the man’s strikes passed through unhindered only to solidify and land their hit. He cut across Chuuya’s cheek, jabbed into his side, and blasted him back with a kick to the chest that Chuuya caught himself on with For the Tainted Sorrow. He spit blood and fixed his stance.

“So, you’re the thief, huh? Why do you want the woman dead?” Chuuya said.

“What business is that of yours? You can die with her if you’d like, though,” the man threw a cross jab and, as predicted, his hand passed through Chuuya’s block, but the second it was close enough to Chuuya’s face, the man was dropped to the floor with an increased density. The man used his own ability, and passed through the floor. Chuuya stumbled around as the man reappeared behind him and shot out a fist into his stomach. Chuuya stared down in surprise, puzzled at what the point was, the man’s entire arm was sticking through Chuuya.

“Do you know what happens when an incorporeal object becomes corporeal inside of you?” the man taunted.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, using his ability to propel himself backwards at a breakneck pace, feeling a growing tug as he flew away from the man. He stumbled rather than landed gracefully back against the far wall, gasping in pain, and grasping at his stomach, fingers brushing along a hand sized hole in his shirt, underneath the flesh was damp and jagged. He dropped to his knees and coughed out a thick wad of blood. His eyes blurred, and he shuddered, feeling like he might vomit. There was a crunch of debris under foot as the man approached. Chuuya steeled himself, his thoughts tumbling towards a singular decision: if he was going down here, he’d take the man with him. When the man became solid, Chuuya would crush him to a bloody pulp.

On his way across the room the man swept up a broken pipe from the wreckage, whistling dramatically some off-key tune.

“Where should I put this, I wonder?” the man mused, tapping the pipe in his hand, then pointing it to Chuuya’s forehead, covered in a thin film of sweat, “Your brain?” He lowered it to point at Chuuya’s jugular, “Your throat?” The man’s lip curled up into a sinister grin, as he hovered the pipe in front of Chuuya’s chest, “Your heart.”

“Do it,” Chuuya bit out, “You die with me.”

The man’s pupils dilated with his murderous intent, and he drove the pipe towards Chuuya…only to find resistance. The man frowned, desperately pushing the pipe at Chuuya’s chest but the pipe remained solid, refusing to pass through. Chuuya perked a brow up at the man, and the man scowled, swatting distractedly at something brushing the back of his neck.

“Oy, careful now. I almost lost contact,” a familiar voice chirped in mock cheer, the finger that had been gingerly touching the man’s neck giving way to a bandaged palm wrapping firmly under the man’s chin. Dazai’s face appeared peeking over the man’s shoulder, his other hand pressing a gun into the man’s side, “Hi, Chuuya! This seems like a bad situation.”

“Idiot. I thought you were in Hiratsuka for the night,” Chuuya replied, partially choking on his own blood and the mix of emotions swelling through him at the welcome sight of the other man.

“What’s this? Did you miss me already?” Dazai mused, his lips pressed into a thin frown, his eyes wide with amusement, “I suppose that means I’ll have to give you extra attention tonight...”

The man took their conversation to mean Dazai was distracted, seizing his opportunity, he swung the pipe over his shoulder towards Dazai’s head, and Chuuya’s hand shot out to grab the man’s leg and send him flying, first to slam into the ceiling and then crashing back into the ground, which cratered under his body. He wheezed, blood pooling around him, seeping from his every orifice. Chuuya guessed all of the man’s bones were broken, ground into a fine powder from the impact not unlike falling from a thousand feet overhead, and the thought made Chuuya feel a tiny bit better about the gaping hole in his stomach. Dazai stared blankly at the dying man and blinked a few times.

“That was dramatic, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole,” Chuuya said, words trembling, and his face flushed white, “Where’s the doctor?”

“I sent Kunikida to retrieve her, he took Atsushi and Kyouka with Miss Gould back to the Agency, as well. They should be returning with Yosano shortly,” Dazai knelt in front of Chuuya and smiled, careful not to touch as it was Chuuya’s ability alone holding his guts inside, and Dazai’s No Longer Human would nullify his one lifeline, “It’s a good thing Ranpo called or, it seems, I’d be coming home to a tiny pincushion. Ranpo said ‘Chuuya will definitely do something stupid tonight’. He’s never wrong, you know, so I had no choice but to come here.”

“We only showed Ranpo the file an hour and a half ago. There’s no way he called you with enough time for you to get back here from Hiratsuka. You never made it there, did you?” Chuuya replied.

“Hmm…what’s this? That’s very clever, Chuuya, to figure out on your own…Atsushi must be training you well. I’ll have to reward you later,” Dazai grinned from ear to ear, “A good dog deserves a good treat.”

Chuuya flustered and fell forward, Dazai scrambling back to avoid him as he slumped towards the floor.

“Hey, hey, slug, what are you doing? Taking a nap? I can’t reward a dog that doesn’t greet its master with energy,” Dazai cried out, concern laced beneath his otherwise lighthearted words. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, plopping his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his hands, he began to explain, “Don’t you want to know that you’re right? We returned early from Hiratsuka. The government contacted President Fukuzawa. We have a meeting with them in the morning.”

“We, huh? You’ll actually show up to it, then?” Chuuya murmured reply, trying desperately to keep his eyes open as black, inky splotches exploded along the edge of his vision.

“Wha-at? You make it sound like I skip out on important work all the time,” Dazai complained, “That’s not very nice, Chuuya. You’re worse than Kunikida, you know.”

“…crossing…the line…” Chuuya murmured.

“It’s not polite to fall asleep when someone is talking to you,” Dazai said, worry now heavy in his words, “I have no choice but to show up. President Fukuzawa personally requested I be there. Ah…but there are really so many other places I’d rather be, more exciting things I could be doing.”

“…oh yeah…like where?”

“Where…hm…anywhere, really. A small country village with a cottage, cobbled streets and cafes. Vineyards and sweet-smelling pastry shops…” he sighed, his voice faraway, “Somewhere where there is a quiet room with an ocean view.”

“…sounds nice…” Chuuya was struggling to draw his breath in, “…should go…sometime…”

“Mmm…maybe. I wonder if someone will be waiting for me there,” Dazai whispered, and Chuuya couldn’t muster a reply. He felt the other man lean over him, breath tickling his ear, “Rest now, Chuuya. Kunikida’s car is here. I’ll take care of you tonight; you take care of me in the morning.”

Like hell, Chuuya tried to reply, but his energy left him all at once, and he leaned unconscious on the ground. It was a few hours later when Chuuya woke in the Agency clinic. He pushed himself up to sitting, found the doctor, Yosano, rearranging the medical supplies in her cabinet nearby. She spared him a glance over her shoulder when his bed creaked protest of his movement. On a nearby bed was laid the ghost man.

“Starting to think we should set you up a permanent bed here. It’s only your first week, but I’m sensing a pattern,” the doctor said, there was an edge to her words that let Chuuya know she hated the thought of him spending more time than necessary in her clinic as much as he did, but the comment was an attempt to meet halfway. They were far from being friends but they were co-workers now. As much as she despised saving his life, she’d continue to do it as long as he worked at the Agency, it was her weird way of saying he could trust her on that, at least. Chuuya gave her a wary look.

“You know, I never had nearly as many near-death experiences working at the Port Mafia as I have working with your Agency. I’m starting to think forcing me to join here was part of a grand ploy to torture me the rest of my life,” Chuuya replied. His throat was dry and his words came out rasped. He gave a nod to the man in the other bed, “You managed to save this tool, too, I see.”

“Despite your best efforts. Quite the number you did on him. I’ve seen the dead bodies of people who fell from hundred story buildings that had less concussive injury than this guy when you were done with him,” Yosano crossed over to the man’s bedside to check on an IV drip attached to his arm. She spotted Chuuya’s questioning look and explained, “Drug induced coma. His ability would make it difficult to keep him locked up, and this seemed like the better solution than forcing Dazai to hold his hand until we could transfer him to government custody.”

“Would’ve been a better punishment to trap him with the waste of bandages,” Chuuya muttered, inspecting the bloody hole in his t-shirt with a click of his tongue.

“Speaking from experience?” Yosano pointed to a bag on the chair beside Chuuya’s bed, “He brought you some clothes from home.”

Home. Home, with Dazai. Their home that they shared. Chuuya smirked, picking himself off the bed and making his way to the chair on unsteady legs, “Fine. Maybe it would’ve just been more entertaining for me. Dazai ‘loves’ holding hands with strange men.” He frowned. “Where’re the kids?”

“Outside, in the office, I presume. Drafting the report for your case tonight.”

She hesitated, pressed her lips into a thin line, examining Chuuya in a way that sent a tiny, self-conscious shiver down his spine. He ignored her staring, picked out the garments in the bag and busied himself with changing. She averted her gaze when he removed his ruined t-shirt, revealing a bandage over his stomach where the ghost-man had stuck his arm. Yosano had the ability to heal him completely, but she never did, only enough that he would live, leaving the rest for him to heal naturally. She thought of it as her own way of getting a bit of justice for Chuuya’s ‘victims’ during his time with the mafia, but from what he understood of how her ability worked, he decided she was really letting him off easy.

“Atsushi is alright, if you were worried. The woman had entombed him in ice, but the tiger kept him safe while he was trapped. His recovery after she unfroze him took no time,” Yosano leaned back against the cabinets and folded her arms across her chest.

Chuuya pulled the fresh shirt over his head and bagged up the tattered one, tossing it in a waste bin. He swept his hat off the chair where it has been propped up next to the change of clothes and strode to the door, leaving without another word. As the doctor surmised, Atsushi and Kyouka were out in the Agency’s main office area, hovered together over Atsushi’s computer. Ranpo was also there, sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, some flashy cartoon that looked to feature robots streaming on his computer screen and a box of caramel coated popcorn in his lap, he laughed uproariously between mouthfuls of the saccharine snack. Chuuya wrinkled his nose in disgust at the childish man and joined the kids.

“Mr. Nakahara, you’re awake. I’m so relieved,” Atsushi perked in his chair, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry…about what happened today…it’s my fault that…”

“Don’t stress it, kid, we were all caught off guard,” Chuuya shot Ranpo a scalding glare, Ranpo continued to watch his cartoon and showed no outward sign that he noticed the look, “Not that we couldn’t have been better prepared if someone had given us more to go off, but that’s not your fault.”

“Right…though I don’t know if any amount of preparation could’ve really prepared us for that. It’s a good thing Dazai showed up,” Atsushi said, and Chuuya bit back the reflexive bitter retort, reminding himself they were on the same side now, but it did little to sway the competitiveness he still felt towards the other man. He was doing just fine on his own, dammit, he didn’t need Dazai to rescue him, “We still haven’t pieced together everything, but it seems the woman’s name is Hannah Gould. She came to Yokohama from America to live as a refugee after her father died in the war. According to Miss Gould, the man’s name is Marcel Aymé but she doesn’t know anything about why he was at her place or why he was trying to kill her.”

“That doesn’t make sense. She said something about…something not being her fault and she mentioned a ‘him’ before that guy showed up. I was sure she was talking about this Aymé guy. She’s got to be lying,” Chuuya said.

“That’s what Dazai thought, Ranpo agreed but he told us she’s not lying about not knowing anything of the burglaries and Marcel is our burglar. We’ll be transferring his custody over to the Special Abilities Department in the morning when they come for that meeting,” Atsushi explained. He paused, his features furrowed. His eyes flickered away; his expression mildly guilty. Chuuya glanced at Kyouka but her face was lowered and features naturally blank.

“There’s more,” Chuuya decided, folding his arms over his chest and tapping his foot, “But you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” Atsushi said quickly, his eyes shooting up to Chuuya’s, wide with emotion, “It’s just…”

There was the sound of a door opening and closing down the corridor where the Agency President’s office was located. Kunikida and Dazai’s voices preceded their entry into the main office area, bickering about something nonsensical. It seemed Dazai was trying to convince Kunikida that lemon juice mixed with a bit of clay was restorative when worn on the face and feet at night, President Fukuzawa trailed behind them. When they reached the office, Kunikida’s eyes swept over the room, deliberately avoiding Chuuya. He made a comment to the other two men, said in a gruff voice, “Atsushi, I expect your report on my desk in the morning,” and left for the exit.

“Nakahara. A word,” the Agency President said. Chuuya frowned, meeting Dazai’s eyes momentarily, but the other man gave nothing away.

“Sure thing, ‘Boss’,” Chuuya muttered, moving to follow President Fukuzawa back to his office.

“I’ll help Atsushi with his paperwork,” Dazai declared, cheerfully making his way to Atsushi’s desk.

“Shouldn’t you do your own paperwork…?” Atsushi pointed out to Dazai’s laughter.

“You’re so silly, Atsushi, if I did my paperwork, then what would Kunikida do?”

Once they were in the president’s office, Chuuya plopped down in the available chair and waited for Fukuzawa to pour out two cups of tea. Chuuya had only been in the office once before, when he delivered his choice as to what his post-Port Mafia fate should be. The feeling of that day, and the weight of that decision, came back to him as he settled back in the chair and braced himself for the inevitable fallout of his earlier fight with the ‘ghost’, Marcel. He’d used his ability multiple times, albeit the situation was life or death, and then did his best to kill Marcel.

“We’ve reached the end of your first week,” Fukuzawa began in a tone that Chuuya hadn’t expected. Fukuzawa set one tea cup in front of Chuuya, took his own to his seat. Chuuya glanced at the cup but said nothing. Fukuzawa fixed him with a cool stare, “How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” Chuuya replied, narrowing his eyes on the older man, scrutinizing him for the meaning behind his words. Mori could never be taken at face value, there was a plan in motion, and a plan underneath the plan, and a plan under that plan. No question, no matter how innocuous it may seem, was ever without some unseen intent. Working for Mori meant staying on guard, and being successful in the organization required looking under the layers to see the layers beyond, but also, understanding your place in those layers and, all the while, not questioning the parts you didn’t understand even as you were intended to predict their subtle meanings.

“You’re comfortable working with Atsushi and Kyouka?”

“Sure,” Chuuya shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the upholstery of his chair.

“And the other’s in the Agency? I know some have expressed a distaste in working with…”

“Can we cut the crap?” Chuuya interjected, eyeing Fukuzawa dangerously, “I know I screwed up tonight. I used my ability without your permission and I did my damndest to kill that Aymé guy. I’m not even going to pretend I’m happy he’s still alive, I would’ve squashed him into mush like the roach he is if I’d known the doc was on her way, made sure he was good and dead before she got there.”

“Is that what you truly want right now? Aymé to be dead?” Fukuzawa mused, “In the moment, it could be construed as self-defense, but to still feel so strongly after the fact…to kill him now might be called vengeance.”

“He stuck his arm right through my stomach and out my back. Call me crazy, but I kind of hold it against people when they stick things in my body without my permission,” Chuuya grumbled, slumping down in the chair and tapping his foot on the ground, “So what now, huh? What’s my punishment, ‘Boss’? Am I out?”

“I wonder, if you were given the chance now, left alone with Aymé, would you kill him?”

“Huh?” Chuuya wrinkled his brow, eyed the Agency President suspiciously, “What are you getting at?”

“Merely curious. Is there harm in answering, if you’re already ‘out’, as you say?”

“No. I guess I can’t get in any more trouble, can I?” Chuuya leaned his head back and frowned at the ceiling, “We’d be better off if he was dead. His power was difficult enough for me to take on, hell, he almost killed me, and it’s no secret, I’ve got the most power and skill here in a fight. Not to mention, the man walks through walls, how do you keep someone like that locked up short of sticking them in a permanent sleep or gluing him to Dazai?”

“He has certainly proved himself to be a danger to society.”

“Same is said about me, though, right? Kill what you can’t control. But that’s the government’s style, not mine,” Chuuya smirked wryly at Fukuzawa, reaching forward to take a sip of his tea, and feeling a strange nostalgia from the scene, flashing to a meld of memories of being a younger man seated on a tatami mat across from an oddly serene woman in a kimono, katana sheathed and laid flat beside her. Their conversations then had the same energy and Chuuya felt an inexplicable tranquility cast over him, as he realized, there’s no Mori-level hidden schemes here, Fukuzawa just wants to understand, “Like you said, in the moment, I would’ve killed him because I want to live and, besides, he pissed me off. Same for him, I got in his way, so he wanted me dead. Self-defense, if that’s what you want to call it. But now, I don’t know the whole story and I’d really like to know what the hell is going on. It’d be better to wait for him to wake up so I can ask him, rather than kill him in his sleep and never know, right?”

“And when you have your answers? Would you kill him then?”

“Not my choice, is it?” Chuuya said.

“If it was,” Fukuzawa prompted patiently.

“No,” Chuuya met Fukuzawa’s stare evenly, “If he wants to come for my life or my organization again, I’ll accept the challenge and I’ll make sure there aren’t enough pieces left for the doc to save, but what’s the point in killing him otherwise?”

“I understand.”

“So,” Chuuya crossed his legs at the knee and leaned back in the chair, smiling at Fukuzawa, “You still haven’t told me my punishment for breaking my parole.”

“Even though it went against restrictions imposed on you by our Agency when you joined, you acted in the only way that you could to protect your team and our organization’s interests. I wonder, in this type of circumstance, would Dr. Mori have punished you?” Fukuzawa said, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Chuuya with a stern intent.

Chuuya cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, thought it over a moment before carefully answering, “Mori always said that it’s okay to bend or break the rules sometimes if it’s for the greater good of the organization.”

“A reasonable concept. Why then do you believe that I should act less reasonably than him?”

Chuuya ran his fingers over his palm where he could sense, more than feel, under the fabric that aching scar left behind by Mori’s scalpel driven through his palm. Fukuzawa caught the action, the corner of his lip twitching downward.

“I’m not Dr. Mori, I have no ulterior motives,” Fukuzawa said, in a tone as cold and firm as granite. Chuuya’s eyes flickered to his hard expression and then lowered to the ground, “If we’re to work together, you need to understand that. I’ve conferred with Kunikida and Dazai, we’ve concluded your actions were reasonable given the situation. There is no punishment. Rest tonight, your presence is expected in the meeting with the government’s representative tomorrow.”

“Oh good, and here I thought you said there was no punishment,” Chuuya muttered. He rose from his chair and started to the door.

“Nakahara,” Fukuzawa called him to a halt, “Thank you for protecting Atsushi and Kyouka tonight.”

Chuuya nodded, feeling stiff and a thousand times more exhausted than after using Corruption as he exited the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He found Dazai seated atop Atsushi’s desk, his legs folded and his body entirely blocking the flabbergasted tiger boy and his bemused partner from the computer screen and, what Chuuya could only presume, was their unfinished report. Dazai was speaking excitedly about something or the other, his voice trailed off when Chuuya entered the room and he bounced to his feet.

“Excellent! It’s decided,” Dazai declared.

“Decided? What’s decided?” Chuuya furrowed his brow, certain he was going to regret asking that question. Atsushi and Kyouka looked just as puzzled, and Dazai puffed up, looking rather proud of himself.

“Atsushi and Kyouka will come over for dinner tonight and Chuuya will make us all a wonderful dinner.”

“Who the hell decided that?” Chuuya shouted, his cheeks flustering with the heat of his emotions, and his stomach flopped knowing the futility of his protest.

Dazai’s smile, of course, never faltered, “It is, after all, Chuuya’s fault that we’re all still here.”

“What? No, no, Mr. Nakahara, that’s not…” Atsushi quickly attempted to amend. Kyouka covered a smile, and Chuuya softened his expression on the two young detectives.

“Fine, but we’ll have to stop by the store for ingredients on the way home. I’m not feeding them canned crabmeat,” Chuuya said, leading the way out the door. It only took Dazai a few long strides with his long legs to catch up, resting his hand between Chuuya’s shoulder blades. Kyouka and Atsushi had to scramble to follow after.

At Atsushi’s request, and despite a bit of prodding, because that can’t be all you want, Chuuya prepped some chazuke for dinner that night, topping Dazai’s with crabmeat and Kyouka’s with some fresh tofu cubes, and seared salmon on his and Atsushi’s. He used dashi instead of the traditional green tea, and let Dazai serve the bowls while he plated up some dinner for the kitten winding circles around his ankles. Dazai was regaling the youngsters with a story from their mafia days, with an embarrassing amount of embellishments that Kyouka looked to be taking with a grain of salt and Atsushi devoured wide-eyed and overflowing with naïveté.

“…at that point, my part was done and once they had me chained up in the backroom, all I needed to do was wait for Chuuya to come ‘rescue’ me,” Dazai was saying, Chuuya poured himself a glass of wine, “Of course, Chuuya was late as always. He cleared out the enemy, we returned the hard-drive to Mori, and still had plenty of time for Chuuya to lose ten bets with me before the arcade closed!”

“Amazing! And he really figured out where you were and what you needed him to do just by your turning one book on his shelf backwards?” Atsushi beamed before his features crumpled a little, “I wonder…is it wrong to say that you two made a really impressive team…since the work was for the Mafia?”

“No way, don’t fill his head with that kind of praise, kid. Dazai doesn’t need any more of an ego,” Chuuya complained, making his way to the futon.

“Ah, just who has an ego, glorified hat rack?” Dazai replied haughtily.

“Unlike you, my superiority is real and earned,” Chuuya shot back, scowling down at Dazai with a hand on his hip.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though,” Atsushi interjected before the two could become fully embroiled in their bickering, “Once you were inside of the enemy’s headquarters, Dazai, it seems like you could have cleared the guards and secured the drive on your own. I’ve seen you fight and if you’d had a gun…I guess I can’t help wondering why…”

“Why he called me into all of it? That’s easy to understand. It was more fun for him to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night and make me do all the hard work,” Chuuya sipped his wine and took the seat next to Dazai on the futon, “Also, back in those days, I never let Dazai have a gun when we worked together.”

“Really? Why is that? I’ve seen Dazai shoot a gun before, he’s a very good shot,” Atsushi furrowed his brow in confusion.

“That was the problem exactly. He is a good shooter and…a suicidal prick,” Chuuya cupped Dazai’s chin, pulling the bandaged man’s face down to press a kiss to his jaw, and Dazai smiled sweetly at him in return, “I couldn’t trust him not to shoot me or himself.”

“Oh, I guess that does make sense,” Atsushi murmured, happily spooning some chazuke into his mouth.

“Hmm…always taking care of me. Such a good dog,” Dazai grinned, slinking his arm about Chuuya.

They ate over light conversation and then Dazai saw the two young detectives to the door as Chuuya cleaned their dishes. He smiled when Dazai crossed the room into the kitchen, slipping his arms around Chuuya’s waist from behind and burying his face in Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya relaxed back into Dazai’s embrace, continuing to scrub clean the pot he used to cook their rice that night.

“Mmm…Chuuya…be my lover,” Dazai murmured against Chuuya’s neck, his words vibrating warmly against the skin there, soliciting several shivers of pleasure.

“No,” Chuuya replied softly, rinsing the soap from the pot and his hands, setting the pot on the drying rack beside the sink. He squirmed out of Dazai’s grasp, reaching for a towel and drying his hands. Dazai remained by the sink, head hanging and arms limp, empty and cold, by his sides. Chuuya went to stand in front of Dazai, reaching up to push the shaggy hair from Dazai’s face, curling the tendrils around his fingers and pulling Dazai to his eye level, “I know what you want to do with your lovers, sicko, and I’m not interested.”

“Ah…is that right. So, what are you interested in doing with me then?” Dazai said, grinning into the kiss Chuuya leaned up to his lips, his arms slunk around Chuuya’s body, squeezing out the space between them and deepening their connection. Chuuya ended it first, pressing his forehead to Dazai’s, heat of their kiss coloring his cheeks and smile breathless. He slid his hands down along Dazai’s arms to find Dazai’s wrists, untangling the hold Dazai had on Chuuya’s waist. Chuuya entwined their fingers and led the eager Dazai to their bedroom.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Prettiest Ugliest

For @thatesqcrush​ Holiday Bingo: Naughty or Nice.

Pairing: Jackson Neill x reader

Square: Ugly Sweater.

WC:1825

Warnings: Smut with a sexy Professor. 

You walked up the front steps looking into the glass and wood door with Christmas lights around it. This wasn’t your first time at Jackson’s place, but it was the first time you were there for pleasure so to speak. You had been the personal assistant to the head professor of America Faith’s department for a while now. You had gotten along with the small group of Professor’s working with all of them quite closely, but there was something about Jackson Neill that intrigued you and not just his scruffy face and button downs with jeans and dress jacket.

Jackson walked to your desk about 3 weeks ago handing you a red envelope with Christmas tress down one side. You smiled and said your thanks, opening yours once you had placed the others in the other professor’s pigeon holes. Jackson had invited you to his place for a Christmas dinner party with ugly sweaters for the theme.    

You couldn’t find a really ugly sweater, so you picked a white jumper dress with the face of a snow man on it with a red and green what was meant to be the snow man’s scarf tied around your waist. Hating full stockings, you had thigh high white stockings and knee high black heeled leather boots, your hair down around you straight.

Jackson had seen you walk up the stairs and had started to make his way towards the door before you could knock, with a big smile and one of the most ugliest sweaters you had ever seen. It was brown and red strips with multi-coloured reindeer and wreaths. Jackson swung the door open to welcome you in,

“Good evening Y/N”

You stepped in and he kissed you on the cheek.

“Hey Jackson, thanks for having me”

“You’re welcome here anytime” he placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you in after closing the door “Let’s get you a drink” he smiled down at you “I have to say that is one of my most prettiest ugliest sweaters I have seen” he winked at you making you giggle.

The night had been fun. You were only on your second glass of wine pacing yourself knowing you had a drive home later. Jackson had the food catered but was left to clean up. Most of the professors were older and not long after dinner they all started to leave slowly. You had walked into the kitchen to put your wine glass in the sink when you saw the mess of dishes, luckily they had all been scrapped clean already. You pushed the sleeves of your dress up, putting in the plug and turning on the water to fill up the sink, adding dish washing liquid.

“Goodnight Y/N, see you Monday” The last of the other professor’s yelled from the next room as they left.

“Goodnight” You yelled back.

The Christmas music was flowing through the house now that it was empty.

“You don’t need to do that Y/N, you’re my guest”

“That’s ok, it’s the least I can do after your hospitality. Although” you looked over your shoulder to Jackson leaning in his door frame “Would you- mind before I left, if I can take a look at your books? I have the other one you gave me in my bag to give back”

All the washing was finally done and walked out to your bag pulling out the book. You made your way into Jackson’s library and office at the front of the house. You weren’t quite sure where he was, so you were going to quickly look through his books, pick one and then see yourself out.

You sat the previously borrowed book on his desk and started to scan the shelves, running your pointer finger over the spines of the books. Your finger stopped at a lime green cover with ‘Christmas and Religion’ in gold script writing. You pulled it out of its place turning it over to read the back leaning your back on the shelf. You were biting your bottom lip reading the back when Jackson walked into the room,

“That’s a good read. You’re a very opened minded person and I think you will enjoy it”

You looked up at Jackson who was carrying two glasses of what looked like eggnog, walking towards you handing you a glass,

“I shouldn’t, I have to drive” you sat the glass on the desk leaning back onto the shelf again.

“There’s no rush for you to leave, just take it slow” he smiled at you “And if your going to read that” he walked up to stand right next to you, reaching behind you “You should read this one after it”  he handed you a purple covered book.

He was that close you could smell the wine on his breath and see the lines on his lips clearly, his eyes scanning your face with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grinned reaching over to squeeze his arm.

Jackson took the books out of your hand sitting them on his desk, followed by his glass. He spun back around coming to stand in front of you, resting his hands on the shelf either side of you,

“Tell me Y/N, did you enjoy yourself tonight” Jackson’s eyes were moving between your lips and eyes. You took in a deep breath and cleared your throat,

“I did, thank you for having me.”

“I told you when you arrived your welcome here anytime” Jackson reached up tucking your hair behind your ear “Do you want to leave?” his fingers brushed down from your ear along your cheek and brushing along your lips.

You closed your eyes and whimpered as your body covered in goose bumps.

“No” your eyes snapped open to meet his beautiful green ones.

“So if I was to kiss you now” He lent closer to your face, his lips ghosting yours “You wouldn’t have a problem with that?” he swallowed deep pouting his lips together.

“I would only have a problem with it if it was going to be a onetime thing” you lent forward brushing your nose with his. Jackson smiled big the crinkles coming to his eyes.

“Lucky for us Y/N, it’s not going to be a one time thing”

Jackson’s lips crashed onto yours, his tongue pushing between your lips straight away rolling with yours as he explored your mouth, yours in his. His hands ran down from your shoulders to your boobs, grabbing at them through your dress, down your sides and to the hem on your dress. You felt Jackson’s fingers creep up under the dress to the tops of your thigh highs and you moaned when you felt his fingers on the skin of the tops of your thighs. With one hand Jackson grabbed the back of your left thigh lifting it up and moving it to wrap around his hip and he started to roll into your core.

Your hands moved into his scruffy hair on either side of his face. Your head fell back moaning as he made quick work of kissing you from your ear down your neck. You knew you would have scruff burn in the morning but you didn’t care you wanted more, tightening your leg wrapped around Jackson pulling him into you more.  

“Every time I walk into the office to your beautiful face, all I have ever wanted was to bend you over your desk” Jackson’s forehead was resting of yours, you both swallowing each other’s hot breaths while he continued to roll his hips into your core. You huffed out a laugh and ran your hands from his hair down his chest to the waist of his jeans making your way around to his belt buckle, undoing it, then his button and zipper pushing them all down as far as you could before they fell to his ankles, reaching down to take his impressive length into your hand,

“Then Professor Neill show me how much you want me- I’ am on birth control and clean, I’ am all yours Sir”

Jackson growled at you calling him Sir and in a swift move his hands were between both other bodies reaching under your dress to move your panties to the side with one hand and holding his length in the other to line it up to your opening.

“I’am clean”

 You felt the head of his member spread your lips apart slightly and you grabbed the shelf holding onto it so tight your knuckle’s turned white. Slowly he slid into you, his jaw going slack at the feeling of your hot wet core as he bottomed out, his forehead resting on your shoulder,

“Oh Jackson” Your arms wrapped around his neck tight and your leg tightening again pulling him into you more.

Jackson pulled out slightly and then snapped his hips back into you. He heard your slight moan leaving your lips and he done it again.

“You like that” he grunted. All you could do was nod, to breathless and filled with pleasure to say anything.

You lent your head forward and started to suck on his neck at the collar of his jumper, his facial scruff sending a sensation you had never felt before going straight to your core and you started to grind down on him, your want and need to come taking over now,

Jackson reached between you both to your pussy again, using the tip of his pointer finger to draw circles on your throbbing pearl,

“Oh yes Jackson just like that”

Jackson fastened his hip rolls and finger movements, his lips landing on yours again kissing you deeply swallowing your screams while your orgasm completely took over your body, your legs almost giving way. You clenched around him and he came inside you grunting in your mouth, his eyes squeezing shut and his hip actions getting sloppy.

Slowly he pulled away from you, you both breathing heavy. Jackson moved his hips back pulling out of you, and slowly placing your weak leg back down on the floor. Jackson kissed both cheeks and then kissed your lips lightly.

He took a step back and started to fix himself up bulking himself away. You followed, fixing your panties and flattening your dress back down over your bum and thighs. Jackson took a step back towards you, his hands resting on your elbows pulling you back into him, your hands resting on his hips. Jackson brushed his nose with yours and kissed you deeply again,

“Stay the night, it’s late” he kissed your forehead “And tomorrow I’ll make you breakfast”

“Ok” you sighed looking down at the floor. Jackson’s fingers came to your chin, titling your head back to look into his eyes.

“I don’t want you to think this is a once off thing Y/N, because it’s not” he pecked your lips.

“Promise?”

“On every god that’s up there”  

Tags: @detective-giggles​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @beccabarba​ @permanentlydizzy​ @thatesqcrush​

[yourfriendslimey]

7 Minutes

Bambam x fem. Reader

Genre: smut if you can call it that

TW: mild sexual content

WC: 2.5k

Author’s note:took me long enough. this is literally my first smut (r.i.p.). also the ending is a nit dumb but wow did I not know how I wanted to end it.

Preview: “I can hear you heart beating,” Bambam spoke softly. His face was inches from yours; a soft hand placed gently on your jaw…

You melted into an old beanbag chair slumped haphazardly against the corner and let your eyes wander the smoky room. Lit only by a few table lamps, the whole space seemed to rock to the R&B music being playing around you. Even though you were hesitant at first, coming to this party was the best idea you’d had in weeks. Well it was less of a party and more like you and 11 other people sitting around in your close friend, Yugyeom’s apartment. You didn’t know most of the people here, but social interaction was social interaction, nonetheless. It felt like ages since you’d had any actual fun.

The smell of sweat, weed, and hours old pizza filled your nose with each breath. Your eyes traced over the mostly unfamiliar faces in the room and landed upon Yugyeom’s roommate, Bambam, causing your stomach to float.

You didn’t know him very well, but the longer you looked at him, the more you wanted to. However, he seemed to almost avoid you whenever you came by; ducking into his room or leaving the apartment altogether. On the rare occasions you were both in the same room, you’d barely acknowledge each other, giving only a polite wave and a short “hey”. You never really asked Yugyeom about it, opting to just admire him from a far as you were doing now.

His slender frame was leaned against the wall as a bored hand scrolled aimlessly on his phone. A red plastic cup occupied the other. He wore white skinny jeans paired with a pale brick turtleneck that hugged his form. Short snow-white hair and small silver earrings contrasted with his golden skin.  

“Hey creep.”

Your heart leapt to your throat at the shock. You shot a stern look to your left to see Yugyeom crouched playfully beside you. “Enjoying the view?” The shit-eating grin plastered to his face made your cheeks burn. He’d known for a while about your feelings for his roommate and took every chance to tease you about it. Honestly, he probably needed to bug you as much as he needed to breathe.

Yugyeom lightly patted your cheeks, giggling at the pissy look growing on your face. “Go to hell, Kim,” you pushed his hands away and threw a punch at his shoulder. “Ow, hey! C’mon, I’m just messin’ around, lighten up,” he pouted as he rubbed his shoulder. “Seriously though, why not just ask him out already? I mean what’s the worst that could happen?” You leaned back with folded arms and sighed, “Well for one, he could laugh in my face and say no. And if that happened I would not and could not EVER come over again. Our friendship would then slowly dwindle away to dust since I rarely see you anywhere other than here. And I honestly don’t know if you’re prepared to handle life without me,” a smirk found its way your face. Yugyeom rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped himself and smiled impishly, “I have an idea.” He gave one solid clap of his hands, jumped to his feet, and breezed away, leaving you in a pool of confusion and frankly, mild terror.

You watched as he traversed to the stereo and turned the music down, the sudden silence pulling all eyes to him. “Alright guys, it’s that time…” he paused and rubbed his hands together dramatically, “Anyone down for seven minutes?” The room whooped and laughed excitedly, everyone already moving to sit in a circle on the floor.

“Seven minutes” was shorthand for Seven Minutes in Heaven. From what Yug had told you, he and his friends always played when they got together like this. Your stomach formed a knot as Yugyeom moved the small coffee table off to the side and an empty beer bottle was placed in the center of the carpet. Yug found himself a spot, patting the floor next to him for you to join in. Lazily you made your way over and sat cross-legged beside your friend.

You noticed that Bambam was sat across from you leaning back on his hands. He eyed up everyone in the circle and the moment he landed on you, a slight smirk crept to his face. You quickly looked away, feeling your cheeks grow hot. Excitement sparked within you as you silently wished you’d be paired with him.

Yugyeom piped up, “Before we start, I’m gonna explain the rules since y/n hasn’t played with us before.” You listened intently, “I’ll spin to see who goes first. Then that person spins for their partner. No re-spins. You get who you get. The pair will go into the coat closet together for exactly seven minutes. They’re free to do whatever they want with each other, no questions asked. When seven minutes is up, we open the door and let them out. Then we just go clockwise from the first pick. Questions?” Yugyeom looked directly at you.

You shook your empty head. Even if you did have any questions, you didn’t want to make yourself stick out even more than you did. “Then let’s begin,” Yugyeom said as he spun the bottle.

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

The rounds passed by quickly. Couples were sent into the closet one after another. Each time the timer went off, Yugyeom unceremoniously swung open the door. Make-out sessions were cut short, wandering hands returned to their owners, faces were flushed red.

You remained mostly uninvested, only taking interest when Bambam was finally up. The circle whooped and whistled, a ring of excitement. You could see almost everyone crossing fingers and leaning in, hoping to sway the bottle in their favor. He smugly chuckled and gave a few flirtatious glances at girls he’d probably been paired with before. A pang of jealousy took root within you. Bambam obviously got around and at least half of these girls have gotten a taste before. You watched intently as he reached out and spun the bottle; your heart a lump in your throat.

You weren’t sure if you were hoping to be chosen or not. If you got paired up, would he even be into it? Into you? Would he be disappointed? You mind did somersaults. Time seemed to slow down, the bottle taking its sweet time before finally stopping. Your heart paused; your eyes widened.

You sat frozen, staring at the bottle waiting for it to somehow move to someone else. This moment was too perfect to be true. Your face grew redder; your cheeks hot. For a moment, you only heard blood pumping through your ears. The sounds in the room grew muddy and you thought you might pass out from shock alone.

Yugyeom laughed and nudged your side, bringing you back, “you’re finally in the game!”

He stood and made his way to the closet, opening the door and gesturing inside. Bambam appeared in front of you. He looked like an angel; a vision too good to be real. Smiling he extended a delicate hand. You gently took it, thinking if you grabbed too fast, you’d pass right through him. He pulled you up and guided you towards a giddy Yugyeom who was practically bouncing on his toes. You watched your feet as you walked, too nervous to look anywhere else. Bambam entered first; you crept behind, taking your spot opposite from him.

Dimly lit only by a small strip of purple LED’s the closet took on a cozy air. Save for a few scattered jackets and the building tension, the space was empty. You were practically shaking, wondering if anything would happen between you two or if you’d both sit in awkward silence. “Have fun,” Yugyeom teased in a singsong voice, winking at you as she slowly shut the door.

You were practically glued to the wall, your sense of time skewed. These first few seconds felt as if minutes had already passed by. Now what? You thought. Do I say something? Make a move? Keep looking at my feet, twiddling my thumbs?  You swallowed hard, finally working up the nerve to look up.

Bambam was looking right at you. The weight of his stare keeping you pressed in place. He seemed to take notice of how tense you were.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know. We could just talk; get to know each other better. I mean you’re hear all the time, and I only know your name,” his smile was genuine. It helped to slow your heartbeat just a bit. Even still, your head was swimming.

“Yeah, yeah, sounds great… What do you wanna talk about?”

Bambam thought for a moment, “Well to start, how long have you and Yug been hanging out? He’s never been one to brag about that kinda thing, but he’s never been shy about it either.” You raised a curious eyebrow, “Honestly I thought you were just some onetime hookup, but when you kept coming back-“

A wave of laughter erupted form you. Bambam jumped a bit in shock. “What’s so funny?” he laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” you wiped a tear from your eye and took a deep breath in, “We’re not sleeping together. I love him yeah, but as a friend. That’s it.”

Bambam’s eyes widened, “Oh. That’s good then…”

“What do you mean ‘good’? Would it be bad if we were?”

“Well yeah,” Bambam’s voice was low, the lighthearted smile now replaced by a sultry smirk. He stepped closer to you, “Cause then I’d have to keep staying away from you.” He pressed both hands against the wall on either side of your head, locking you in. You felt your breath leave you.

You stammered a bit. The air in the closet grew thicker. Bambam’s soft features were illuminated by a purple glow; his eyes grew darker and sharper the longer you gazed into them. For a moment, you thought the floor had collapsed under you. Your eyes darted down, making sure there was still solid ground below your feet. There was. You pinched your arm to make sure you were awake. You were.

He leaned in close to you “I like you, y/n.” The musky smell of his cologne took over your senses. Your heart picked up pace, your knees almost buckled, and your breath became shallow. You swallowed hard, your mouth an arid desert. “I can hear you heart beating,” Bambam spoke softly. His face was inches from yours; a soft hand placed gently on your jaw. “Do you want me to stop?” You shook your head and before you knew it, Bambam’s soft lips connected with yours.

Electricity shot through your body. A soft moan left your mouth as the warmth of his body overtook you. Bambam released you face, his hands finding their way to your hips. Without much thought, you brought your arms around his neck and pulled him in deeper. His tongue knocked at your mouth’s door. You willingly let him in. Your tongues battled back and forth; teeth clashing wildly. He pulled your hips into him and you could feel the growing mass in his jeans push against you. He wanted you as bad as you wanted him.

Bambam broke the kiss and set his sights on your neck. You welcomed him, craning your head to the side to give him room. You felt your core grow warm, beginning to throb with desire. He left a trail of animalistic kisses, pulling at the collar of your shirt. Your breath became hollow. A sharp gasp left you as he grabbed your left leg and pulled it up to his hip.

“You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted this…” he groaned before lightly biting your collar bone.

“Tell me…”

“I’ll do you one better,” he lifted you, pressing your back to the wall. His hips ground into yours all on their own. You couldn’t help but let out a moan, your hands finding their way to his shirt, tugging it desperately. As his fingers dug into your thighs, you pulled harder, craving the feeling of his naked skin. He let you down, lip still attached to you, before unbuttoning your jeans. You were practically dripping, your panties ruined. He toyed with the hem of your panties, knowing fully well what he was doing to you. You bit your lips, frustrated, desperate for his touch. He slid his hand down, rubbing his first and second fingers against you through the thin fabric. You groaned. Two can play at this game…you thought, moving to undo his belt and pants button.

You teased back, palming him through his boxer-briefs. The soft groan vibrating against your neck felt euphoric. He grabbed your wandering hand with his free one, pinning it by your head. “You’re so mean,” you sighed. He said nothing, giving only a deep chuckle; his fingers finding, their way into your underwear, lightly brushing against your outer folds. Your hips moved on their own, instinct taking over. You wanted, no, needed Bambam to go further. If he didn’t, you were sure you’d lose your mind.

He slipped a digit in between, lightly feeling out your entrance. “Holy shit you’re wet...” He brought his lips to your ear, nibbling your lobe, “Do you get like this for every guy?” You shook your head and hummed in reply, too lost to speak. “Good,” and he pushed his finger inside.

You bit your finger as you forced yourself to stay silent. Slowly, Bambam curled his fingers in and out, savoring the feeling of you on his hand. You whimpered, trying your best to keep your sounds to yourself. He met your gaze, smirking smugly. “Having trouble keeping quiet, are we? You better be care, or else everyone’s going to hear you,” he pushed his fingers deeper, beginning to pump faster. You bit your bottom lip hard, your breath fast but deep. You began to feel yourself tighten on him, your body on autopilot, chasing a high so out of reach. You needed more so damn badly you thought you’d die. But you knew time was limited. If you both lost control then you’d for sure be exposed to a room of curious eyes. Bambam knew too, slowing his pace to a halt before slipping out of you. You whined in frustration, throwing a pair of big puppy eyes and a pout at him.

“Our time’s almost up,” he sucked you from his fingers, while using his dry hand to caress your cheek. You looked at him inquisitively. “We’ve played so often; I’ve gotten pretty good at gaging the time. We’ll pick this back up later,” he winked and fastened his jeans and belt. You follow suit, quickly straightening yourself out to avoid suspicion.

The two of you returned to your original spots, leaning against the walls. A bright smile stretched across Bambam’s face which you mirrored. The closet door swung open to reveal Yugyeom still bright eyed and grinning. The two of you stepped out and returned to your spots in the circle. Yugyeom took his seat next to you, shaking your shoulder and quietly whispering, “Well? Well?” You smirked, glancing at Bambam before looking back to your friend. “We’re gonna play again later.”

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Surprises (4)

Next chapter is finally here!! God this took a lot of work to actually finish🤫

Previous Chapters are here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3. I’ll do a masterlist soon.

My wonderful beta @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares said that it made her cry so I’m sorry in advance:))

Warnings: There will be swearing, mature themes, mentions of alcohol at times, and mentions of sex. I will update warnings as I go if needed. If I miss something then let me know!

Chapter 4

—————

It had been over a month since the party and Azriel was slowly losing his mind. He had only see Elain a few times after and whenever he tried to say hello, or speak to her when she sat with them at lunch, she’d make an excuse about needing to be somewhere or do something, and disappear before he could get a single word out. These reactions made him assume that she remembered what had happened between them and clearly did not like what had been done. He just wanted her to know that he was sorry and that it was just a onetime thing, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted it to be more than that. For starters he didn’t really know her, not really, and if Nesta ever found out he’d be dead. In her eyes, nobody was good enough for Elain, she was too sweet, too caring and honestly, he agreed. He should never have even looked at her.

As he approached the table that they usually sat at during lunch, Azriel saw no signs of Elain yet. Good, that at least gave him a chance to think about what he’d try to say to her this time. When he finally got to the table, Cassian was eating his ungodly amount of food, Nesta was trying to get him to slow down like she always did, but never made any progress, and Rhys and Feyre had their tongues down each other’s throats. Typical. Slamming his tray down on the table as he sat, making them jump apart, he said casually “Can the pair of you not go five minutes without being attached at the mouths? I’d really like to eat today.”

Rhys the fucking little shit that he was just smirked and replied “Come now Azzie, just because I get more action than you doesn’t mean you need to be so grumpy all of the time.”

At that comment Feyre smacked him over the back of the head with a muttered Prick. Cassian looked as if he was going to join in on the conversation, however, Elain and Lucien finally showed up. Oh, for fucks sake. He hadn’t even thought of what to say yet. Lucien took up the seat next to him while Cass moved around to his side as well so that Elain could sit between Nesta and Feyre.

Azriel tried his damn hardest to zone out, to not focus on her voice as she talked to her sisters about her new English project. But for the life of him he couldn’t do it, because every time he heard her voice, all he could hear in his head was the breathy version of it as she had asked him to just go slow. Gods, that’s all he could ever hear lately. He played that memory on repeat in his mind, kept trying to figure out how they had ended up like that but, he always came up blank. Or he got lost in the vivid sensations of actually being able to feel her and had to go take an extremely cold shower. What in hell’s name was he meant to do? He looked at her then, to say something; anything but when her eyes met his she was standing saying that she had to go get books from the library and that she’d see them at the game later. The game! He was playing but maybe he could catch her afterwards and they could finally talk. Azriel knew from her sisters that she always waited until after everyone else had left before she tried because there was less hustle and bustle for her to get caught up in. Yes, after the game. He’d talk to her then while there was no one around.

It was going to be a long day, wasn’t it?

oOoOo

By the time the day was over, all Elain wanted to do was go home and curl up in a ball but she’d promised her sisters that she’d go watch a game because she hadn’t been to one in ages. Usually, she didn’t mind going to watch one because she liked to stay for a while after they’d finished as it was the peace after such chaos that she enjoyed. However, now she would have all her focus on him and the very scary and new predicament she had found herself in just a few days before. Remembering that day in her bedroom made tears prick at her eyes but she forced them back, willing herself not to cry while she was sat in the stands amongst all of her classmates.

She was late. She was a week late. Fuck. Her movements felt slow and mechanical as he moved around the room to find her phone to send off a text to ask Lucien if he could do something for her. What the fuck had she done?

Breathe. Just breathe. Elain found herself reorganizing her shelves while she waited, not knowing what to do with her body, afraid that if she stopped moving, she’d breakdown and there was no way she was going to do that. By the time the books had been rearranged three times from alphabetical A-Z and then Z-A and then put in order of the colours of the rainbow, a text from Lucien finally came through saying he was outside so she simply said to let himself in and come to her room. Once he was inside her room, he had a look of pity on his face and placed the plastic drug store bag in her hands but spoke gently as he did so. “Are you sure these are needed? Maybe if you waited a few more days...” Wordlessly she just nodded and retreated into the bathroom.

Elain pulled the small boxes from the bag and found that her best friend had bought the most expensive pregnancy tests out there. Well, at least she knew the results would be accurate and not some cheap useless thing that would trick her into a false sense of security. Three tests were enough right? Steadying herself, she peed on the stupid sticks and spared a minute to compose herself before going back into the bedroom and placing them on the table. She told Lucien you had to wait for five minutes after and watched him set a timer on his phone before they lapsed into silence; which meant she finally had room to think. She was seventeen years old and she had just peed on three gods damned pregnancy tests and the most annoying things was, she didn’t even have the privilege of remembering the experience that got her to this point in the first place.

It felt like hours had passed when her best friend’s phone started chiming. Here goes nothing. Elain made herself stand and walk back over to the bedside table; she hadn’t realised her hands were shaking until she reached for the tests. With her eyes shut tight she closed her hand around the small sticks and brought them closer so she could see. Opening her eyes to look, her heart plummeted and she released a small sob into the air, feeling arms close around her waist right before her knees gave out...

She came back to the present when Lucien sat next to her and handed her a pack of jellybeans and a bottle of water. She had told him who she realised the boy was a few hours after the day she’d made them go somewhere else, after spotting him at the diner. Lucien had tried to go ‘deal with the turd’ when she did, but they agreed that he couldn’t because she didn’t want her sisters to find out. He still wasn’t too happy about the idea, but he’d said nothing more on the matter. “Thank you,” she said quietly, still reeling from her thoughts and feelings, yet he just smiled softly at her and turned to watch the game. Doing the same, she caught sight of him huddled with the rest of his team, building up the excitement of what was to come, but he didn’t know.

He didn’t know she was eventually going to have to bring all that happiness crashing down. No. No. Elain wouldn’t tell him. There was no need for the both of them to suffer, right? She could bare it all and save him from having his life ruined and dreams destroyed.

She would not break him like that.

oOoOo

It took Azriel longer than he had anticipated getting back out onto the field, in between their coach congratulating them on an excellent game and Rhys and Cass trying to cajole him into celebrating with them, he was scared that when he got out there, she’d be gone. Luckily for him, she hadn’t, because when he finally found her, she was standing in the middle of the open field with her head tipped back to look at the sky. Seeing her like that, serene and at peace, made his breath catch in his throat. It truly was a beautiful sight to behold, even if he shouldn’t be thinking of her like that.

Taking in a deep breath he forced his feet to push himself towards her and, when he was finally close enough for her to hear but not too close to make her uncomfortable, he gently cleared his throat. “Elain?”

She turned to him then with a slight jolt and breathed, “Oh, Azriel, you scared me. What are you still doing here?” He didn’t fail to notice that she wouldn’t make eye contact and kept darting her eyes between him, the floor and somewhere behind him. He shifted on his feet a little then, his nerves starting to pick up.

“Well, I know from your sisters that after games you like to stay out here on your own for a little while, but I really needed to talk to you so I decided that talking out here like this was probably best.”

This seemed to set her on edge even more, her face started to go a bit red and now she wasn’t even looking at him and was just staring at the floor. Fuck, this wasn’t going well and he’d only just started.

Wringing her hands in front of her she asked in the quietest voice he thought possible “Uh well, what is it?”

Right, straight to the point then. Very well. “It’s about the party. I just wanted you to know that it’s easily forgettable and we can just act like it never happened. I mean, we barely know each other so it’s not like it meant anything and Nesta would kill me if she knew.” Elain looked directly at him then, and for a second he could see hurt and confusion flash across her face, but before he could question it, she started speaking.

“Easily forgettable,” she seethed. “Easily fucking forgettable! Well that’s just fantastic, isn’t it; just what every girl wants to hear. But, fine, if forgetting is what you want then that’s what we’ll do.” Okay he realised he shouldn’t have said it like that but he meant that no one could know about what they’d done.

Before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, she turned as if she was going to leave. Oh no, absolutely not. Azriel didn’t even think about what he was doing and reached out to grab her wrist before she could move too far. “Shit look, I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, I swear. I just really needed you to know that no one can find out.” She let out a humourless laugh at that and he knew he’d said something wrong again. Gods he was making the situation worse than it needed to be. All she had to do was say that it would be their secret.

“It’s way too fucking late for that now, jackass. Now, let me go.” He released her wrist as if it had burned him, not realising he was still holding her. But what she’d said irked at something inside of him.

“What the hell does that mean? All you have to is agree to not make this anymore worse than it is.” Why didn’t she understand that?

“I’m pregnant, you ass! That’s why it’s too late!” He felt like his whole body went cold all at once then. Elain clamped her hand over her mouth within seconds after she spoke, like she could bring them back in. She couldn’t have said that. This was not happening. This could not be happening.

“No. You’re lying. You can’t be.” There were tears in her eyes then, but she hadn’t let them fall yet. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.” The first tears dropped then as she spoke.

“Then why the fuck did you tell me, Elain? This is a joke, right? This has to be a joke.” Her face went from upset to outraged in an instant, and Azriel decided he didn’t like the murderous look in her eyes.

“You said that what we’d done was easily forgettable. That I was easily forgettable, Azriel. I was angry and I just reacted. But now I feel like you deserved to be told like that. Why the hell would I be joking?” There was too much for him to think about just then, too many feelings for him to deal with. They both needed to calm down to talk about anything further, both needed to steady themselves. So as much as he wanted answers, needed answers to the bomb she’d just dropped on him, he did the only thing he could for himself. He turned and walked away.

With his back to her and the further he walked away, he didn’t get to watch as she dropped to her knees in that field alone, and sobbed until there was nothing left for her to let out.

—————

*Runs and Hides* heh like it? You finally got their interaction although I don’t think you wanted it like that😬 let me know your thought on the chapter! If you’d like to be added/removed from the tags I’ll be happy to do so!

A/N: I’m hoping from now on that a new chapter will be out every Monday, but please don’t hold me to it just in case (:

Tags: @starlitfangirl @starsauroras @drunken-starz @myfriendscallmeraba @thesirenwashere @empress-sei @elrielllll @stars-falling @cirieael @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @mirainthedark05 @fancyclodpaintercookie @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @azriel-archeronn @queen-of-glass @bamchickawowow @slightly-sane-fangirl @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @b00kworm @kvi-arts @rhysandhlcor @tswaney17 @awkward-avocado-s

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 15 May 1838

6 10/..

12 35/..

rainy morning F56° at 7 10 – breakfast, and off to visiter les travaux intérieurs de la houillère  de Ste. Marguerite at 8 10 – drove there in 6 minutes the staith being just out of the barrier ......... (right) – commodious yard, sheds etc not many coals up – 3 long brick chimneys – for the pumping engine 100 horse power works (pumps) 48 hours per week – the pulling engine 40 horse power – and the air chimney or vent – shewn into the bureau of the clerk or accountant or what? very civil man –expecting us – we had thought of going down in the panier – the clerk evidently for our going down by the echelles – (ladders) – more safe – had known accidents happen the other way – the chain had broken it seemed some onetime or more since the putting up of the engine – perhaps he thought we should feel sick en descendant – for A-‘s sake he was right – we had brought each a blue blouse from the hotel  and A- a casquette and I my velvet travelling cap (my Mt. Perdu cap given by Lady S. de R-) I gladly took a miners’ leather hat offered by the clerk – the gown well tied up right round the waste [waist] under the blouse and a Davy or safety lamp tied with a strongish cord round our middle 2 doll figures (accompanied by a man and intelligent French speaking youth belonging to the establishment and within his old coat and cap) down we set off at 8 ½ by the ladders common ladders but very good and safe – I should guess the steps to be about 18in. long sticks and about 12 in. distant from each other –

SH:7/ML/E/21/0099

 and perhaps the ladders about 5 yards long? – we got down very well for several ladders till my lamp (quincaille) not being fast enough tied, slipped off and fell down 3 or 4 ladders with a great noise which (poor A- not understanding) rather unnerved her – the lad went 1st then I, then A- and then the man, then George – we could not have fallen down more than 1 ladder even had we slipped for at the foot of each ladder is  a narrow landing as at a, c, e so that we might have fallen without being killed or even very much hurt – but on turning into one of the souterrains at the foot I think the land said the 17th ladder (the depth however = 120 metres = 240 yards +) A- seemed tired and complained of great fatigue in her arms – (she had leaned too much on them in taking hold of the steps as she descended) and after examining the passage where we were (along the last 2/3 of the ladders it had been very wet from the drip of the sides of the excavation) she thought she had better return as we had not descended to ½ the depth – she was right – I put her under the especial care of the man – he returned with her quite safely and I found her just washed and dressed and comfortable on my return home – she said the returning was much less fatiguing than going down and she really did not seem very much tired – however she was poorly sometime afterwards from about 1 ½ till after 4 when we went to see the opening of the exposition of pictures at the musée old church of St. André – said she did not feel quite well on getting up this morning – as soon as I had seen A- well off en route au jour , I and the lad and George set off again downwards – and at 9 20 we were at the bottom  our speed having nearly doubled since poor A- had left us – I felt as if I had got into the habit of going down, and as if sorry that the 140ft. below us could not be visited because full of water – old works – the reservoir for the water in the intervals of pumping –we had arrived at the lading place at the bottom of the shaft at 9 20 – where the men were unloading the little wagons dragged by men the 1st 80 yards from where got up to the Galloway gate where the horses (15 hands high – 4 ½ ft. of this country or France) dragged waggons 4 at a time to the lading place 8 or 9ft. high a sort of cavern where about 4 men had charge of the un-lading and re-lading into waggon holding 2 of the others ready for the pulling up – we visited les écuries – 15 horses – and looked about – then proceeded some way along the Galloway gate – which except in the higher parts every now and then and where the waggons could pass – might be about 5ft. high and 6ft. wide for some distance the roof was timbered by the greater part was quite sufficient to support itself – a close hard smooth scale [widening] cut the right bate of the stone (according to the national cleavage) – it was extremely hot  - and the road a little sludgy – we were soon put into a train of empty return waggons, and went the rest of the way very agreeably tho’ rather joltingly – a distance of 800 metres from the lading place to where the men were working – about ½ dozen in that spot – others working in different places communicating with this main gate – which might be in general about 5ft. high and 6ft. wide – and perhaps 6ft. high and 8ft. wide and sometimes more in the passing places, where the men often changed the horses from the one train to the other – the bed where we descended to the quatre pieds (the lowest working) was not always of so great thickness the ‘veine’called ‘morais’ is the nest above this – In the 4 pieds bed, the bottom steward told me (he joined us on our getting to the bottom and is the father of the lad who had descended with us) that a man would get fourteen of the small waggons a day = seven of the large waggons which might hold perhaps four of our corves .:. a man would get 28 corves a day, working from 3am to noon = nine hours, and reckon the 28 corves = 3 tons for which he is paid 38 sols – or, the bottom steward said, 38 sols a day – and he himself had four florin a day = about 8 fr. 160 sols – but then he has the superintendence of all the workings and altogether about 150 men employed and under his management – I did not learn how many in the 4 pieds – or how many in the marais or next bed above – about 100 men get coal – and he afterwards said about 70 were employed from 12 at noon (I suppose till 9 which would be this shift or time of working) in making and keeping in repair the roads etc. (straight work? etc) Returned dans le panier – the great square box that would hold 2 of the smaller waggons? or more for it held the bottom steward and lad and myself and George very commodiously and was about breast high – perhaps 4ft. or ft. 6in. square and about 4ft. or 4ft. 6in. deep? – I was too much tired up to get easily to my watch but the man said we should be drawn up in 6 minutes and it seemed about that time and I was at the top again at 11 25 – I should think the pit must be about 5 yards by 3 ½ to 4 yards? – I think we passed 4 openings, or workings opening into the pit – very little tubbing and very nice dry shaft – an [apparently] about 3/4in. iron rod from top to bottom pulls (rings) a bell at the top by which means they know when to let down the panier and when not – a terribly dirty figure and my blouse wet, as also my black stuff petticoat all below the blouse – washed my face and hands put on my cloak to cover all, and went into the bureau with my friend the bottom steward to see the plan of the workings – very extensive – but I could make no near guess as to the quantity of ground worked – perhaps double the length of the Galloway gate or main gate by ½ its length in breadth or 1600 metres x 400 =........ gave the clerk 20fr. and he immediately gave the ½ of it in my presence to the bottom steward, the latter seemed exceedingly pleased, the former said his thank-you so that I fancied he had expected more, but on afterwards asking our landlord, I found I had paid handsomely – the carriage was waiting for me – home at 12 and ordered a fire – A- very glad to see me back – I was more wet from heat than from the water that had fallen on me – had everything to change, and so begin getting all my things out and dressing that it was 2 before I was quite dressed again – then got our boiler to make hot wine and water for A- who was now beginning to be poorly and M. Mathiolis’ coming and talking very loud for an hour knocked her up – shewed him our water boiler and he shewed us a coffee-maker – a sort of still heated by spirit of wine – had cost him 40/. and the silver plates for strainers (tin not good for coffee to stand long in) perhaps would be 10/. more – had not paid for them – Madame Mathioli to go with us at 4 to see the opening of the exhibition of pictures at the musée (old church of St- Andrè) – went to the bookseller in the corner of this Place (St. Lambert) Jacques Desoer for ¼ hour

SH:7/ML/E/21/0100

and bought Granvilles’ Spas of Germany 2 vols. 12mo. 7fr. then with our host and hostess at 4 25 for 1 ½ hour to see the pictures and company – the former not particularly good – the latter the elite of the people in Liège – the burgomaster read a discourse of several pages which lasted about near ½ hour – sitting at a table of green with the governor of the town on his right, and several other gentlemen seated at the table, among the colonel (in uniform) commanding the regiment of Chasseurs now here several ladies seated on chairs ranged at a little distance round the table – unluckily I had not got a chair so that A- and I and our host and hostess all the while – a band of music played at intervals – I was glad of his opportunity of seeing the people – never saw a plainer set of ladies – not one pretty – from the musée M. and Madame M- took us to see the small but very choice collection of pictures at the house of comte d’Outrement (the comte himself at Rome now) – a good Murillo (Madonna and child a Madonna by Guido Remi – a couple of Titians – ditto ditto of Rubens etc. – then looked at M. Mathiolis’ Murillo – would sell it for 1600fr. – a Mr. Alexander Morro had bid him 1500fr. – shewed us his Anglo-French letter – a Mr. William Bolton clericus at Bruges had offered 2000 fr. but on conditions no accepted – shewed us his terribly bad French letter – then went to the bookseller to pay for the Saps of Germany – home at 7 – good dinner (much better than yesterday) at 7 ½ to 9 then A- and I asleep for an hour – had nearly finished our yesterday’s bottle of Hermitage blanc, and drank a demie bouteille of champagne – A- had Oddy – we then set off, and ate 7 oranges a piece after which A- too two pills till 11 20 at which hour F56° - rainy morning till about 9 am afterwards fair finish day

[itsthebeckyzone]

27/04 Monday 4. Bet

"I bet you for whatever you want I can make that shot." Dean said, dandeling down the bar chair for the arrows set.

"Dean, you're drunk." Cas said, he was a bit worried about Dean, he got drunk even more times a week than uselly and dragged Cas with him. Not that Cas is complaining, he likes being with Dean.

"Noooo, just a bit tipsy!" Dean whined, "come on Cas, if i make it you have to get drunk too, somehow," Cas blinked in confusion. It would take a whole liquor store the make him drunk. "And if I miss, I do one thing, whatever you want. But I ain't cleaning anyone's underwear that's off-limits."

Cas found it perhaps amusing, seeing Dean do this kind of stuff. But as he anticipated, Dean missed.

"Okay, you won. I lost. What'cha want me to do?" Dean asked and admitted his defeat.

"Anything I want?" Cas asked, wondering. there is only one thing he wanted from Dean, but wasn't sure it was acceptable to ask him for it. "Anyyyything. Minus the underwear part. Already said I wouldn't!"

Well, if Dean said anything then anything applies, right?

"Kiss me." Cas asked, getting a shocked gasp and a red face from Dean. "Are you drunk too and I didn't know?" Dean chuckled. "You said I could ask you to do anything I want. I only want one thing from you right now, so kiss me." Cas repeated. A weird minute of silence passed. "Forget it I'll find something else, maybe-" "no, I'll do it." Dean interrupted him. "I said anything, right?"

The bar seemed so quiet when Dean leaned in and kissed Cas on the lips. It was clumsy, and it tasted a bit like alcohol, but Cas liked it. He liked It so much that when Dean stepped back and looked in his eyes he dragged him down for another but now hot, wet kiss. He liked it so bad he had to stop them from going too far when they were making out at the back of the impala. It was hard to take his hands of Dean and Dean's hands of him, but he knew that Dean would want to do it right too.

So he waited. He drove them to the bunker, and waited. Dean slept it off, Cas still waited. On the next day, Dean didn't say anything about the bar, or the bet, so he waited. When Dean offered him to go on a ride he accepted and waited. When Dean jumped on him once they were parking, he didn't wait anymore.

"We should make the next bet far more specific, " Dean mumbled into his mouth, "what do you mean?" He mumbled back, "this ain't no onetime thing, " Dean answered, stocking a hair of Cas's face with his thumb, "and I'd be happy if underwear were involved." This made Cas laugh. They kissed some more, well, a lot more.

He definitely was right.

I'm doing this cool thing

@bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

[eldritchwriter]

Defeating Sunrise by @eldritchwriter | Fandom: Final Fantasy VII | Rating: Explicit | Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough

Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Found Family, Slow Burn, Pining, Hero Worship, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Sephiroth is Oblivious, Denzel is So Done With Them Both, Grown-Up Cloud

Summary: Cloud isn't good at this whole 'parenting' gig, and even when he tries, it doesn't seem to be doing him any good. He's ready to give up, when he is inexplicably pulled into the past with his young protege in tow. The last thing Cloud expects is to be dropped straight into the Wutai War and in front of a Sephiroth who is younger and still in charge of his own mind.

As Cloud spirals headlong into his trauma-filled past, trying to make sense of his memories and discern truth from his own fictions, long-buried feelings for Sephiroth begin to emerge. With Denzel's help, he can surely change the future, but the biggest question of all is what that future should look like at all. Read here on AO3 or read more below:

Chapter One

“It’s not so easy. We’re all traumatised by what we went through. Cloud most of all.”

Cloud rested his head back against the door to the rebuilt Seventh Heaven and let out a soft sigh. He hadn’t meant to intrude on the conversation between Tifa and Barret, but now it was inevitable. He guessed he was lucky that he hadn’t just walked in and that his enhanced hearing had picked up the urgent tone of Barret’s voice before he’d opened the door.

At least this way he could steel himself for whatever Barret was going to ask him to do.

“Well, we all got heaps of trauma. Enough to keep the shrinks goin’ for decades. But Cloud’s tough. He’ll do it, no problem.”

Do what? Cloud wondered. What more could you possibly have to ask of me?

“When he says no, I don’t want you to push it,” Tifa’s reply was exasperated sounding, and Cloud detected the sound of a bar towel hitting the floor. “I mean it, Barret, I know that Cloud needs… reminding sometimes that people need him to do things, but I don’t want you pestering him. This isn’t something he’s duty-bound to do.”

“I wasn’ planning on it,” Barret said, a creak of a bar stool. “It’s just the easiest way, is all.”

“Well, have a Plan B ready.” The sound of glasses being thrown into a dishwasher, one of the newest additions to Seventh Heaven, now that there was running water into the place.

Cloud had plumbed it in himself, after several assurances from Reeve that the water was definitely clean and not contaminated. Cloud had made him drink it straight from the tap when it was plugged in just to prove the point.

“Roger that. Say, how’s Denzel been doin’ in school? Marlene’s been tellin’ me all kinds of stories- “The conversation turned to the children and Cloud stopped listening. Whispered conversations about him rather than with him were the norm, and he’d long grown used to people acting in his best interest without consulting him. Sometimes he was glad that Tifa acted as a buffer between him and the ridiculous requests of his onetime comrades, other times it frustrated him.

Today, he was just tired.

He pushed away from the wall, steeling himself to head inside, to listen to whatever Barret’s request was and to grit his teeth and give his answer whatever way it went, but then…

Why?

Why indeed. Why did he have to? He had his own plans for the rest of the week. Nothing urgent, certainly, but he had a few delivery jobs, a run out to the Chocobo Farm… Hell, it was Parent-Teacher Meetings this week and he’d promised Denzel that he’d make it to this one despite not feeling remotely like an appropriate paternal figure.

If he stayed away, eventually Barret would leave. Tifa had made it clear she would not bring up whatever this was. He didn’t have to deal with it now unless he wanted to, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to.

He stepped off the porch and walked towards Fenrir, kicking his leg over it. It showed how lost Tifa and Barret had been in their conversation that they hadn’t heard the thing roaring up next to the bar in the first place.

No, he wasn’t going to deal with this now. He’d pick it up later, much later.

He disabled the kickstand and revved the engine.

Cloud was not in the mood to deal with this today.

*

It somewhat surprised Denzel to see Cloud outside his school. Some older boys had gathered around Cloud’s bike, trying to strike up a conversation with him. Cloud remained detached though, his arms folded on his chest and his eyes showing that he was completely lost in thought.

Not so unusual, and it probably made him look cool to the kids who had flocked around him, but Denzel knew better. He knew that, no matter how cool Cloud looked with the all-black motorcycle and the enormous sword strapped to his back, that his unwilling mentor was just a shy space cadet.

“Er, hi?” Denzel leaned around the front of the bike to put his face in front of Cloud’s and snap him from his reverie.

Cloud blinked slowly, then the corners of his mouth tilted up a bit. “Hey. Thought I’d give you a ride back from school today.”

Denzel wondered what had spurred that decision, but he knew he wouldn’t get an actual response from Cloud about it. Cloud and Tifa had been involved in his life for years now. He was in his teens, but they had nowhere near what could be called a father-son relationship. Cloud was too distant, his reasoning for his actions too coloured by his own past, to be much use to Denzel in learning to navigate the world.

But still it was useful, especially when wanting to seem cool in front of some upperclassman.

“Sure. Can I shove my backpack in the storage?” Denzel asked, like it was an everyday occurrence for Cloud to let him ride on the back of Fenrir.

Cloud got off the bike, showing an impressive show of strength by just casually holding it upright with a one-handed loose grip while the other opened the under-seat storage to let Denzel dump his bag in. The other kids were goggle-eyed at Cloud, and that made Denzel smile a bit.

Cloud shoved a helmet and goggles into his hands, causing Denzel to pout. It was less cool to wear this thing. Cloud pulled on his own goggles though, without a dorky helmet though. Denzel knew that Cloud probably couldn’t be killed by coming off the bike at speed like he could though, and if it meant that Cloud might rev the engine harder it was worth looking stupid for.

Helmet in place, Denzel clambered onto the back of the bike. Cloud leaned forward, then looked over his shoulder, waiting for Denzel to adjust himself.

“Hang on,” was all Cloud said, before the engine roared and Cloud was already kicking the bike into a higher gear.

Denzel scrambled to wrap his arms tightly around Cloud’s waist before he fell off the back and found out precisely how effective his helmet would be. Cloud weaved the bike through traffic and crowds and back allies that definitely shouldn’t have been driven down.

In anyone else’s hands, this would have been suicide, but though it was exhilarating, Denzel felt safe. For all Cloud’s faults and sometimes dumb decisions, he never purposefully put anyone in danger. The incredible strength to manoeuvre the bike through tight gaps, and the lightning-fast reflexes he had meant that it was rather more like riding on a rollercoaster. The safe journey to their destination was all but pre-determined, so Denzel could just enjoy the ride there.

Pulling up outside Seventh Heaven wasn’t exactly welcome, but his arms were sore from holding on. Cloud kicked down the stand and waited for Denzel to dismount before making sure that he had his bag and that the helmet and goggles were stored appropriately.

Cloud reached out, self-consciously ruffling Denzel’s hair in a way that was a shadow of paternal instinct that just made both of them feel awkward.

“Go say hi to Tifa,” Cloud said, grabbing a box from inside the storage attached to the bike.

“You mean, go check the coast is clear, don’t you?” Denzel asked, putting his hands in his pockets. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ride, but you only come pick me up when you want a buffer between you and whoever’s in there.”

Cloud’s shoulders hunched. “That’s not- “

“It’s fine,” Denzel said, shrugging. “But at least be honest about it, at least to yourself if not to me.”

He didn’t wait for Cloud to turn round, instead announcing his entry to the bar and greeting Tifa brightly. No one else was here, so maybe Cloud was just trying to avoid being alone with Tifa. It wouldn’t be the first time for that either.

When Cloud entered, he didn’t meet Denzel’s eyes, but there didn’t seem to be a tension between him and Tifa, so Denzel let it go. Whatever this was about, he’d find out in the end anyway, when the row inevitably started and Cloud roared off on his motorcycle at 3am to Ancient’s knew where.

“Denzel!” Denzel turned to see Marlene running from behind the bar, pink bow bouncing in her hair. “Papa says I can stay for dinner tonight! Let’s do our homework together?”

Cloud groaned. “Is Barret still-“

“’Sup. We need to talk.”

*

Returning to Nibelheim, to this Nibelheim, left Cloud with an itching soul. The people here, the few that had returned, were not originally from the town. They didn’t know the legends of the local mountains, or the best way to trap Nibel Wolves, or which paths to avoid so they didn’t run into dragons.

Most of them didn’t even know that Nibelheim had once burnt to the ground. All they knew was that there was a town here, rebuilt and mostly empty, and that the WRO was interested in generating hydropower from the waterfalls in the mountains. That was enough for them.

As usual, it was capitalism that was the driving force of Nibelheim’s destiny, and a new flow of money brought a new flow of residents and washed away the blood and soot and smoke. Even the acrid tinge of mako in the air had long since dissipated except in Cloud’s mind.

“I didn’ think you’d come, bein’ honest,” Barret said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cloud had fully intended not to, but there were some things that he still felt he couldn’t say no to. This was one of them. Nibelheim was a wound on his soul that wouldn’t heal and that he couldn’t stop picking at.

“Right, not feelin’ talkative, got it,” Barret scratched the back of his neck with the barrel of his gun-arm, looking sheepish. “I’ll be headin’ out into the mountains a bit, gotta check up on the generator to report back, y’know? But you’ll be alright here, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cloud waved him off. “But you can’t take longer than a few hours. I have to get back.”

“Yeah. School shit. I remember. I won’t make you late to play daddy, promise.”

Cloud didn’t want to question Barret’s parenting skills, but he thought out of all his former-comrades, the one was most likely to put work above ‘school shit’ was probably Barret. For all his bluster and dedication to Marlene, he had a somewhat lax attitude towards the formal things that it seemed children needed. Like routine. Or regular schooling. Or a parent figure who didn’t disappear on them at the drop of a hat.

Well, Cloud couldn’t really judge any of that. He hadn’t exactly been a model guardian either.

He didn’t bother to answer, instead turning towards the hotel and hoping that there’d be somewhere for him to sit and wait. He had no desire to explore the town the way he had done coming back here five years ago, where he had frantically run from house to house trying to work out why it was different, his own fear and horror reflected at him from Tifa’s eyes.

The hotelkeeper was new, a man with a Rocket Town accent and clothes that were just a little too thin for the mountain temperatures. He greeted Cloud warmly, offered him a room for the night – which Cloud politely declined – and then offered him a warm meal instead.

And so, Cloud spent the afternoon eating Nibel Stew that someone who had never tasted the original had clearly prepared, and waiting for Barret to return. He kept his eyes firmly on the woods outside the window, trying not to give in to the ghosts in his vision of the old townspeople, of the flames, of the shuddering clones.

He didn’t think much of it when it started to rain.

*

Cloud didn’t expect Denzel to actually throw something at him in frustration. It was only a towel from the bar, soaked in beer, but it still hit him in the face with a soft whump all the same. Cloud let it slide to the floor, just as he’d let it hit him. He deserved this.

“I waited for you for hours!” Denzel yelled.

Tifa reached out hesitantly for Denzel’s shoulder but he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked away from her.

“Denzel, I’m sorry. The dam that Barret was working next to burst and-“

“I don’t care! You should never have gone! You could have gone next week! Or he could have found someone else to go with him!” Denzel shouted, his fists balled by his sides. “No one would have died if you’d waited!”

Well, that was debatable, as it wasn’t like Cloud or Barret’s presence had set of the chain of events that caused the dam failure. In fact, their being there had saved many lives. But none of that was going to make an angry thirteen year old like him any more, Cloud was sure of it. Long gone were the days where Denzel was impressed by heroic tales from far-off places. No, now he wanted something more concrete from Cloud, stability and dependency, both things that Cloud had never been in the best situation to provide.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Cloud offered, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. “I should have said no. I shouldn’t have let you down.”

It seemed like the wind went out of Denzel’s sails at that but instead of doing what he usually did and apologising too, it seemed that Denzel truly had settled into his teenage years because he stormed out of the front door of Seventh Heaven instead, letting it bang behind him.

“It’s late, you should go after him,” Tifa said after a few moments silence.

Cloud shook his head. “Better if it’s you. He doesn’t like me much right now.”

“Which is why, it’s got to be you.” Tifa began to push at Cloud’s shoulder, forcing him towards the door. “You might not be forgiven, Cloud, but you have to sort this one out yourself. Family don’t go to bed on fights.”

“We have plenty of times,” he pointed out. “You’re always yelling at me late at night after the patrons have gone.”

“Yes, well, I’m not thirteen years old and I didn’t just wait for you for hours,” Tifa countered, pushing Cloud towards the door again. “Just sort things out, Cloud. And next time… just don’t be late.”

Cloud reluctantly stepped out of the door and onto the porch. Denzel hadn’t gone far. He had a rock in his hand and was standing next to the Fenrir, but Cloud couldn’t see any scratches on it. Clearly Denzel had entertained the thought of scratching it, but thought better of it.

Good, because Cloud would have hated to add that to the fight as well.

“We’re going for a ride again,” Cloud said, walking past Denzel and getting on the bike without looking at him. “Hop on.”

“No,” Denzeil said stubbornly.

Cloud waited as seconds rolled by to become a minute.

He felt hands on his shoulders as Denzel climbed on and waited until the boy was settled before he took off.

He hadn’t really known where he was going until he ended up on the cliff edge. He’d brought Denzel here once before, to show him the place where a hero had died. It seemed fitting that they were here now, in the place where the hero that Cloud had tried to emulate before all else was memorialised, to have this conversation with a child who emulated him.

Cloud got off the bike and went to sit on the edge of the cliff, looking over at the lights of Edge and the ruins of Midgar. There was still so much rebuilding to do.

“I’m only human,” Cloud said finally, mostly to the night, but knowing that Denzel was still awkwardly perched on the bike and no doubt watching him. “If there’s one thing I learned, through all of it, it’s that I’m only a human with faults and flaws.”

“Yeah, well, one of them is being really shitty about remembering to show up for things.”

Cloud couldn’t deny that. “Memory is not my strongpoint, agreed.”

“You’re just never around, even when you promise you’re going to be.”

Again, not something Cloud could deny. How many birthdays and holidays had he missed? Sometimes on purpose, sometimes because he simply forgot about them? His thoughts were always scrambled, stuck in a past he fuzzily remembered and one that he had constructed for himself from pure trauma.

None of those were things that a teenager would understand though, even one like Denzel. Cloud had no intention of burdening him with the knowledge of it either.

“I won’t promise you I’ll always be around,” Cloud conceded, and he heard Denzel getting off the bike. “But you know, there are some things that you get to do that others don’t. You’ve never seen me let Marlene anywhere near the bike.”

“Only because Barret would riddle you with bullets.”

It seemed Denzel wasn’t going to join him, so Cloud stood up, giving up on the male bonding moment over the edge of the cliff with a sight.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am doing my best. This… this whole series of events is just…” Cloud struggled to find the words. “Every event in my life has taken the worst possible turn. Even when I try, I still mess up. It seems inevitable at this point, and though I’m going to try my best, I know that I’ll still disappoint you.”

Stood before Zack's grave, with Denzel's quiet censure worrying between his shoulder blades, Cloud couldn't remember a time when he'd last felt good about himself. He hadn't asked for this hero-worship, or to be the guardian of a teenager who was turning out to be just as taciturn and unruly as Cloud had been at that age. He hadn't asked for any of this, and duty could only take him so far down a path before he had to put some effort in.

"If you truly think this is the worst timeline, the worst it might get, then do you really think it's okay to throw in the towel?" Denzel asked, eyes hot and accusing. "Is it really okay to just give up and not even try for a better one?"

"A better timeline?" Cloud rubbed his temples. "Sure. We'll just magic one into existence for everyone, shall we?"

“Now who’s acting like a kid?” Denzel challenged him.

Cloud turned now, ready to just apologise again, but what he saw chilled his blood. A shrouded figure with long, reaching fingers.

“Denzel! Come here!”

But it was too late, the creature had snatched Denzel, dragging him into a dark portal.

Cloud’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He lunged after the creature, into the dark and cold unknown. It lasted only a fraction of a second where he felt like he was floating in the Lifestream once more, before his boots hit ground at a different level than he’d been expecting and he tripped.

He landed on something soft, and was relieved to take in a surprised expression under a mess of red-hair.

“Where’s the monster?” Cloud asked, looking around them.

Their environment was completely different. From the vegetation, Cloud guessed they were somewhere near Wutai, which was not only impossible, but was also deeply worrying. How had they got so far from home?

“Cloud! Behind you!”

Cloud didn't think, he reacted, immediately bringing First Tsurugi up to parry the blow he vaguely caught from the corner of his eye that would rend him and Denzel in two. He didn't expect for the katana to spiral through the air, landing six feet away, embedded in the dirt with the moonlight reflecting off its blade.

Masamune.

No.

Sephiroth was frozen, hand empty. Green eyes, glowing and surprised, fixed on Cloud and for the first time Cloud recognised that this Sephiroth was not the same Sephiroth he had fought last. He was younger, his features still a little softened by adolescence. The Sephiroth that Cloud had seen in the papers fifteen years ago. The Sephiroth that he had idolised, left home for, joined Shinra for.

"You have got to be fu-" He remembered Denzel was still behind him. "'Effin' kidding me."