#your laptop is in a bag that is too big to bring into the toilet.

[getoutofmytardis]

>get on train.

>train casts ‘bladder refill’.

[toomuchracket]

okayyyy hear me out. d word matty sick fic either before or in the early days of them getting together officially. matty spotting u at work Clearly unwell and having to physically drag you out, insisting all the while ur fine despite yacking in the work toilet like 5 minutes prior. confiscating your laptop so you cant try go answer emails. dodging ur attempts at work chat for the next couple days as ur getting better

oh yes ok so you're like right on the cusp of dating matty - you've hung out a couple of times and it's been sweet but platonic and quite frankly you're both desperate to see each other more often and more seriously. which makes it all the more awkward when you take ill at work and he clocks it - he rocks up like 2 hours after you start to find you sitting at your desk, skin greying a little bit, wearing your cardigan and denim jacket indoors yet still shivering, despite it being literally early june. and he's immediately side-eyeing like "you alright, sweetheart?", to which you're like "mhmm just chilly", and matty's like "hmm ok"; it's a tuesday and it's really quiet in the office, so he sets up his laptop at another desk nearby and keeps an eye on you while he responds to emails and whatnot, unconvinced that you're actually alright. and he's right to think that and be concerned - you're visibly shaky walking over to file something, and then at one point without warning you clap your hand over your mouth and run to the bathroom. when you come back, looking horrid, matty's like "you're not alright, darlin', i think you should just go home", and you're shaking your head like "nope it's fine i'm fine i'll stay. i think i just ate something weird a couple of days ago. no big deal", but literally three seconds later a wave of nausea hits you so hard that you have to grab the bin from under your desk in case you throw up again; you don't, but it's enough for matty to put his foot down and say "nope, i'm giving you a lift home right now". and you're like "no really it's fine. if i have to go i'll just get the tube" and matty's aghast like "you're going to get the tube when you feel like shit? do you want to fucking die? come on, babe". he's got a point - the thought of puking on the tube is a horrible one - but you're still like "i just don't want to inconvenience you, matty. and also, like, what if i yosh in your car? that would be awful", and matty says "you're never an inconvenience to me, sweetheart, really. just want to make sure you're ok". you swear his eyes soften when he says that, and your heart flutters as the two of you smile sweetly at each other - the moment ends quickly, though, as you double over with a stomach cramp and matty's like "actually, maybe bring that bin with you to the car, just in case", before he helps you gather up your shit and ushers you out to his car. you tell him your address (you're quite excited and a bit relieved to hear him say "oh, that's not too far from me! this is the way i'd drive home anyway, babe. and we're on the same train line"), and thus begins the journey; it takes slightly longer than expected because of roadworks and traffic, which matty repeatedly apologises for, but you're both secretly grateful for the extra time spent together, listening to one of matty's insane playlists and chatting, so much so that you actually feel sad when he turns onto your street.

he parks outside your house and carries your bag to the door for you sweetly; less sweetly, though, he does make you forfeit your laptop "so you can't sneak on and work while you're meant to be getting better. don't you try to argue, sweetheart, i know what you're like". you blush at that, which makes matty giggle - after that, he hugs you and kisses your head, running back to his car before you can even react to the affection and promising to check in with you later. and he does; he calls you after dinner that night to see how you're feeling, and you can hear him rolling his eyes when you say "good. haven't eaten, but i've stopped puking, at least. should be fine to come to work tomorrow". matty's like "oh my god please just focus on feeling better, babe, work can wait. in fact, i'm putting a moratorium on work chat. tell me what you thought of my playlist in the car instead", which makes you laugh, and the conversation is just unprofessional after that. he even pops round with flowers on his way home from work the next day - you berate him for going out of his way just to see you, but you're very touched that he would (and lowkey mortified that this is how he's seeing the flat for the first time, you being an invalid). when you tell matty as much (not the bit about the flat), he blushes and shrugs like "like i said, sweetheart, you're on my route home. and i like seeing you, and talking to you" - he takes a nervous drink of his tea and then says "maybe we should start commuting to work together, once you're feeling better. makes sense, if we live near each other. and i know my mornings would be better if you were the first person i saw after i woke up". you smile back just as shyly like "i'd like that. get you on the half 8 train tomorrow?", and matty's like "it's a date" <3

[sluttyten]

workplace (mis)conduct

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Seventeen: Sir Kink/Office Romance w/ Johnny

Word Count: 4,675

** contains semi-public sex/exhibitionism because this is office sex, blowjobs, some light face-slapping

You hated the cliche of a secretary sleeping with the boss. And yet. When your boss is Johnny Suh, you can finally understand the appeal of sleeping with your boss.

Your boss is smart and sexy. He’s funny and kind. Johnny always asks you how you’re doing each morning when he passes your desk. Some mornings he surprises you with a coffee or a smoothie or a pastry from the spot he stops by for breakfast on his way in. He makes it so easy to fall in love with him.

And as his secretary, you spend a lot of time with him. Long days, late hours, business trips.

You were sure everyone else at the company probably already thought that you were fucking Johnny, even long before it became a reality.

The company retreat took place at a campsite. One of those places that is designed for team-building exercises. It was a weekend-long event. Tents were set up, there was a big dinner planned for a Saturday night, a final extravagant lunch picnic on Sunday. Friday night, as everyone arrived, there were drinks.

There were a lot of drinks.

Johnny was your drinking buddy, and as it turned out, neither of you was too good at holding your liquor. It didn’t help that everyone wanted to toast the boss, drinking to each achievement of the company over the past year, and each time Johnny drank, he looked to you to take a shot too.

Before the night was half over, both of you were wasted.

“I think I’d better call it a night,” you force the words out after a few hours. You know you’ve had too much, it’s gonna catch up to you in the morning, and the day is packed with activities. “Drink some water, crawl in… well, not bed. My tent.”

Johnny laughs beside you.

“Boss, I think you need bed too,” laughs one of your associates. “Bed, water, some medicine. We have an early day tomorrow, right?”

You go your own way to your tent, down a half liter of water, pop something to help ease the headache you’ll wake to in the morning, and you snuggle down into your sleeping bag.

Hours later, you wake in the dark.

The campsite is quiet outside. Inside your tent, you can hear the other two women in here breathing (one of them snoring). Outside, the wind blows lightly, there’s the cast of the lights of the guest house (which contains the showers, toilets, and a kitchenette, as well as a wifi connection in case of emergencies) against the wall of the tent.

You’re thirsty. And you need to pee.

Wrapping your blanket around yourself, you leave the tent, walking quickly and quietly through the dark, passing the other tents filled with your sleeping coworkers.

You think you’re alone in your wakefulness until you step inside the guest house.

Johnny sits at the table, his phone to his ear, squinting against the bright light of his laptop’s screen. He looks up when you walk in, nodding at you in acknowledgement, and you head on to the restrooms.

When you return a few moments later, Johnny’s still sitting there, still squinting at the laptop, but his phone is facedown on the table now.

“I thought none of us were working this weekend,” you say as you move around the table to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Not even supposed to bring our laptops, turn our phones off. Just really disconnect.”

Johnny does shut his laptop screen then. He turns to you, and says, “I’m the boss. I’m the exception.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes lightly. You pop the cap off your bottle and sit down beside Johnny at the table. “But what are you doing up? You didn’t have any calls scheduled for this weekend. And besides that, we both drank enough last night that I thought it was going to be a late start for everyone.”

Johnny taps his fingers against the back of his phone. “I just couldn’t sleep. I think I have a lot of pent up energy for this weekend. And I sober up pretty quickly, though it helped that Taeyong and Haechan were almost water-boarding me before they let me fall asleep.”

You can feel pent up energy under your skin too, though yours is likely of a different sort.

For months now you've been crushing on your boss, falling for him a little harder each day. And seeing him like this right now—a little sleepy, with his hair ruffled up on one side, his hoodie and flannel pants and a pair of fluffy socks on with his crocs—you’re just very endeared by him. He looks hot when he’s in his suits and his hair styled properly during the workdays, but seeing him in a much more relaxed state is very attractive too.

“You’re not totally awake, are you?” Johnny laughs, waving his hand in front of your face. “You zoned out there for a minute.”

Yeah, staring right at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble, shaking your head to clear your mind of Johnny, rid yourself of the thoughts of reaching out to smooth down his hair or the wilder imaginings of hugging him from behind with your hands tucked inside his hoodie pocket and your cheek against his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Johnny tilts his head slightly to the side, watching you. “I’m not half-bad to look at, right?”

“Right,” you agree before your brain can fully process. Your eyes go wide as you realize that you just told your boss you find him attractive. “Oh! I mean—“

Johnny laughs, and this time he slaps a hand down on your knee. “You’re really still not awake, are you?”

Either you’re not fully awake or you’re still a little drunk. Maybe both.

Probably both.

Especially when you allow yourself to reach out and lay your hand over his on your knee. Johnny’s gaze drops down to your hand on his, but he doesn’t pull his back, and neither do you.

Drunk, tired, or just bold, you blurt it out now. “I think you’re quite nice to look at, actually, sir.”

You watch as Johnny just blinks down at your hands. Maybe he’s wondering if he’s fully awake right now or if this is just a dream (a nightmare?) playing out.

“You know how Yuta and Ten like to gossip?” You say, the words just spilling out one after the other even though part of you is screaming for your mouth to just stop moving. “Well, there’s a rumor around the company that there’s something going on between you and I. Isn’t that funny?”

Johnny doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t pull away, he just seems to be thinking, until finally he lifts his head.

“I’m your boss,” he says slowly, as if weighing the words on his tongue. “A relationship like that would be inappropriate.”

There’s no condemnation behind his words, no disapproval or disgust. His hand is still under yours. You look into his eyes, warm and deep brown, and he looks right back.

“It’s only inappropriate if we get caught.” Your loose tongue is going to get you in trouble if it just keeps spilling the words that come to mind. But there it goes again with, “You said it yourself. You’ve got a lot of pent up energy. Neither of us can sleep. I doubt anyone will be up to use the showers for at least an hour or two. We could release a bit of energy. Sir.”

Johnny licks his bottom lip, his gaze dipping down to your mouth. “There are rules against this, you know,” he says quietly. You can feel him losing his resolve, slowly leaning closer.

“You’re the boss,” you remind him. “You’re the exception.”

He smiles, a grin that sets your heart alight.

Johnny kisses you right there at the small table in the guest house, within view of the windows. It’s something that could have been a mistake, could have had terrible results if someone else were to be awake to witness it as they emerged from their tent, but in the moment neither of you was thinking properly. Your only thoughts were for Johnny, his hands and his lips and getting him to the showers to release some of your pent up energy.

You run your fingers through his hair, making it even messier, and at some point you pull yourself over onto Johnny’s lap.

You make out with your boss for a good long while until you’re feeling all soft and warm and (for lack of a better word) gooey, like a piece of caramel in Johnny’s hands. His hands knead at your ass, and you maybe subtly grind against him right there at the table until he at last pushes his hand up inside your shirt, touching your tits as he sucks on your tongue.

“Fuck me, sir,” you beg, arching your back, rutting yourself right against his bulge.

The showers in the guest house aren’t the nicest. They need a really nice, thorough deep-clean, or better yet, a renovation. But once Johnny has you inside the men’s shower room, pressing you across the tile floor to one of the private shower stalls, you don’t give a fuck what the state of the room is.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a hideous yellow-green hue. But the water is warm when Johnny turns it on, and his body is comfortable against yours as you press yourself close beneath the spray. For a while, you just touch each other, learning each other’s body while the water washes over you, until Johnny’s cock is aching and he’s got your pussy ready for him.

Your moans echo around the room, the tile bouncing back the sound of Johnny’s skin clapping against your ass right back at you.

He pulls out to cum across your ass, and you cum by pushing back to grind against his thigh. It's not as satisfying as it would’ve been had you had his cock inside you, but it’s still good.

Though, you do finally feel embarrassed afterwards, as you stand outside the shower to wring your hair out over one of the sinks. Johnny stands in the shower stall, the curtain drawn back as he pulls his hoodie back on.

He’s your boss. And you just fucked him, just like all the cliches.

“I’m going back to my tent. Get a little more sleep before the day starts,” you explain.

Johnny nods. “Yeah. That’s probably, uh, a good idea.”

It’s awkward. For what’s meant to be a relaxing, team building weekend, you feel tense and spend a good part of the day avoiding Johnny. You can’t believe that you had sex with him; you feel like a whore.

The awkwardness continues after the team building retreat. Monday morning, Johnny comes in later than usual. He greets you, but only cordially, not with the usual familiarity he treats you with. The tense avoidance stretches throughout the day up until it’s time for you to be leaving.

“Here,” Johnny slips you a note as he passes your desk.

You truly think nothing of it. As his secretary, he leaves you lots of notes, as you do to him as well. But after he disappears down the hallway, you glance at the note and see the invitation it presents.

“I’ve been thinking about Saturday morning,” the note reads, “If you have as well, be in my office when I return in 15. If not, burn this note, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

Naturally, fifteen minutes later when Johnny passes by your desk, he finds it empty.

You’re sitting on his desk when he enters his office.

“Sir, are we repeating history?” You tease by uncrossing your legs, letting them spread apart to hint at a glimpse up your skirt.

Johnny locks the door behind him, closing the distance between the two of you quickly. “We are,” he says, “But this time, you have to be more quiet.”

He ends up fucking you bent over his desk, your panties stuffed in your mouth.

It’s easier after that. Less awkward now that you’ve both acknowledged that this is a mutual thing, this interest in each other. It helps that it begins to become more regular after that. Quickies in his office, secret kisses in the break room, and little gifts tucked inside your desk.

He once has you sit in his office while he’s on a call with some associated companies, and he plays with your pussy the entire call.

There’s a night a couple weeks into this when you’re both working a late night together at the office. Johnny follows you to the break room when you go to make shitty pick-me-up coffees, and you let him cage you in against the countertop, kissing at your neck with his hand down the front of your pants.

You call him sir because he likes it, that reminder of the inappropriate nature of this relationship, that power imbalance. He likes it too because it just sounds nice coming from your lips, the way you say it without total sincerity.

It’s probably quite obvious, you think, that you and Johnny are now finally participating in the activities you were rumored to be doing for so long. You hardly care, only when a coworker nearly walked in on Johnny and you once in the break room. You don’t care if they all suspect, but you don’t want them to see it, and if your coworker had walked into the room even a minute earlier, he’d have seen Johnny casually rubbing your ass while you leaned against his chest, both of you waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

Now, there comes a day several weeks after this whole thing began, when you’re just feeling needy and careless—a dangerous combination.

You don’t care what Johnny’s plans are for the day, all you know is that right now you’re horny, and right now he’s alone in his office. You’ve been sitting quietly behind your desk outside his door, but the longer you sat as he was on calls all morning, the hornier you got. Your thighs were rubbing together, your fingers resisting temptation to just slip down and sneak in a few touches under your skirt.

So now that you know his last call just ended, you knock in the office door and enter the room.

Johnny is sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the surface with his fingers massaging his temples.

“You look stressed, sir.” You step fully inside, closing the door behind you. “Anything I can help with?”

Johnny’s only response is to push back from the desk, baring his lap for you. You don’t for sure if he means for you to sit there, to bend over it, or what, but you do take a seat sideways in his lap, lifting your hand to brush your fingers along his cheek. Johnny sighs, leaning into your touch.

“We have that event coming up, and our organizers are shit.” He slides a hand against your waist. “Already we’ve had two vendors pull out on us, blaming a lack of cooperation from the team. I just got off a call with the venue staff’s rep, and she was telling me that our event has been unfortunately double-booked, that it’s only a slight overlap that will cut our event by an hour and a fucking half.”

Already you can see solutions to these issues. You hadn’t liked this venue much anyway, and it’s still not too late to change it. As for the vendors pulling out, you would just have to reach out to them personally. And then, the issue with the organizers, well, Johnny was head of the company, he could just fire them. There were plenty of people much better and more eager to organize than the present shoddy team.

But you don’t tell him any of that right now. You just stroke his cheek a little, and then lean in to kiss him lightly. “Do you need some stress relief, sir? I could give you a massage?”

Johnny eyes you, like he wants what you’re offering but he shouldn’t take it. Another kiss weakens his resolve.

“Go on,” he gives in. “A massage would be nice.”

His hand taps your ass as you stand to move around behind him. You trail yourself hands over his shoulders, knead your thumbs into the tense muscles, rub along the back of his neck and down his chest as well. Johnny rolls his head back with a low moan.

“Does it feel good, sir?” You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your tits press against his back. “Should I keep going?”

Johnny’s answer is a moan.

Your massage moves solely to his chest, passing your hands over his pecs, teasing your fingernails over his nipples through his crisp white button down. Meanwhile you keep your tits against his back, and you lean around him just enough that you can kiss him.

Your pussy is leaking arousal, ruining your pretty panties in all likelihood, but it’s okay. You know Johnny will fuck you over his desk before the day is done.

When your hands dip lower, over his stomach to brush your fingertips at his belt, Johnny moans again, louder this time, rocking his hips up off the seat. And when you cup your hand over his bulge, Johnny swears.

He pulls your hands away from him, turning his chair around quickly to face you. “Get on your knees,” he commands. “Be good, do it quick.”

Your knees hit the floor so fast you didn’t even have time to think about it. Your mind is blank, buzzing only with desire, the wet heat between your thighs controlling your mind as you watch Johnny unfasten his belt, unzip his pants, and pull his cock out.

“Come get it, sweetheart,” Johnny says, his fingers circling his shaft. “Use only your mouth.”

You scoot in, shoulders pressed between Johnny’s knees as he leans back in his seat.

You’re not sure you’re a fan of handsfree blowjobs, especially when Johnny confuses you by moving his cock just out of your reach, making you work for it. You chase his movement to the left, up, to the right, and then he slaps the tip of his cock against your cheek, leaving a wet blurt of his arousal against your cheek.

You whine, pussy throbbing now with new need. That was hot, and you need to have him in your mouth now. Luckily, Johnny gives you his cock then, allowing you to kiss along the shaft, trace your tongue around the tip and dip it into the weeping slit to taste him salty over your tongue.

You hold your mouth open for Johnny, waiting for him to slip it into your mouth, but instead he slaps his cock against your cheek again before he just lays his cock against your face. The sticky tip rests against your cheekbone for a moment while he taps it there.

“So pretty, sweetheart,” he moans. And then he drags his cock down, pushing into your waiting mouth.

You suck his cock obediently, handsfree, taking Johnny all the way down.

You’re just really getting into it, bobbing your head on him, paying special attention when you pull off to mouth along a prominent vein (that always really gets to him), when there’s suddenly a knock at Johnny’s office door.

“Shit, I forgot,” Johnny swears under his breath. He touches the back of your head, pulling you off him. “I have a little meeting with Lee Haechan. Think you can sit quietly under my desk until he’s gone?”

You nod. “Can I still have you in my mouth?”

Johnny nudges you into the alcove beneath his desk, blocked from the other side all the way to a half-inch above the floor. “Of course, that way you’ll keep quiet.”

“Come in!” Johnny calls, sliding his seat forward, caging you beneath the desk with his thighs.

There’s just enough room for you to slide forward, to fit your head between his lap and the top of the desk. To Johnny’s admirable credit, he doesn’t make a sound as you take his cock back into your mouth.

You hear the office door open and close, hear footsteps crossing the tile floor toward the seats across from the desk.

“Your secretary isn’t at her desk,” Haechan notes. “Otherwise I would’ve had her let you know I was coming in. She seems to be sneaking away from her desk a lot lately. I swear every time I’m in the break room, she’s in there too. Maybe you should punish her, sir.”

You swallow around Johnny, shuffling yourself closer to him on your knees. A punishment sounds fun. He hasn’t punished you much, and truth be told you probably do deserve one.

Johnny laughs. “Is she away from her desk too often or are you, Haechan?”

“Maybe we both are.” Haechan’s smile is evident in his voice. “Forget what I said about punishment.”

After that, you begin to zone out. Their conversation turns toward business, and you’re only business you care about is keeping Johnny hard in your mouth.

He hadn’t said anything about not using your hands now, so you don’t hesitate to bring a hand up and wrap it around his length when you have to pull off for a breath. You only tune in to the conversation again to listen for any signs of what you’re doing affecting Johnny, but his voice sounds surprisingly steady even as you kiss and suck at the sensitive spot just beneath the tip.

You’re having fun, doing whatever you like with his cock. You tap it against your lips, against your cheek again. You lick and kiss him however you like. Johnny doesn’t so much as twitch for the longest time. It’s only when you finally take him deep into your throat again, that he shows a sign.

Johnny clears his throat, his hand dripping down beneath the desk to curl around your wrist, squeezing tight. He shifts in his seat, rocking into the heat of your mouth.

“Are you okay, sir?” Haechan asks from the other side of the desk. “You just got really red.”

“I’m fine.” Johnny says shortly.

Pleased with yourself, you start moving.

Now that he’s given an inch, Johnny seems to keep slipping. He clears his throat more and more as the conversation with Haechan continues. He shifts in his seat, subtly grinding into your mouth, his hand flexes around your wrist until finally it grows to the point of crushing.

You pull off of his cock, barely stifling a hiss of pain as you reach for his hand around your wrist. It hurts. You tug at his fingers with your free hand. And the moment that your wrist is free, you pinch his thigh.

Johnny groans, his knee jumping up to knock against the underside of the desk. “Ah, shit,” he hisses, spinning his chair around so his back is to you and to Haechan. “My damn knee,” he curses, “You’re lucky you’re too young for joint pains.”

Haechan laughs hesitatingly on the other side of the desk. “You’re not that old, sir. And I’ve got my own aches and pains, I understand.”

Does he?, you think to yourself. Does he understand that the true source of Johnny’s ache is currently his cock, the rise to orgasm left unfinished?

You watch from beneath the desk as Johnny stretches his knee out, massaging it before he spins back around and shoves himself back against his desk, pushing his seat so far in that you have to move backwards to avoid getting a knee to the face. Your hands slip on the floor, and you consider staying there with your back pressed against the backing of the desk, but Johnny’s hand reaches beneath the desk, beckoning you forward with two fingers.

“You can go now, Haechan. We can discuss this more tomorrow at the team meeting.” Johnny’s dismissal is clear, concise. His invitation, or rather command, to you is also quite clear.

You move forward, hard-pressed to not sigh as he dives his fingers into your hair, pulling your mouth right back to his cock.

“Yes, sir! Thank you!” Haechan stands up, you hear his chair scraping across the floor. “I would ask if you want me to leave a copy of my report with your secretary, but she’s probably still in the break room, right?” His voice is teasing.

Johnny laughs, fingers tightening in your hair as you go down on him. “You can just leave a copy on her desk. I’m sure she’ll know what it is.”

Moments later you hear the door open and close again.

No sooner has the door latched shut than Johnny is pulling back, tugging at your hair to bring you forward. You crawl out from beneath the desk, following his cock.

“He’s right, you know,” Johnny groans, pulling out of your mouth, to your displeasure. “I should punish you. Always away from your desk. Doing activities inappropriate for the workplace.” He holds his clock right over your open mouth, his hand flying over his length. “How should I punish you, sweetheart?”

You whine. “I’m good, sir. Please, don’t punish me.”

Johnny bites his bottom lip, thumb sliding over his slick tip. “No, I think I will. Stand up.”

Your knees ache as you stand up, but you forget the pain when Johnny spins you around, bending you over his desk just as you’d known he eventually would.

This is familiar and good. Johnny pushing your skirt up, pulling your panties down. He pushes right inside you with no trouble, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning, and when you feel that’s about to fail, you bite at your forearm. There’s a bruise there still from earlier in the week when you’d had a quickie in the restroom. It’s unfortunate because you’ve had to wear long sleeves all week in this tragically warm weather.

As he fucks you against his desk, papers crinkling beneath your body, you can’t stop thinking of the thrill of being beneath his desk just minutes ago, the power of holding his secret, of being his secret.

You cum like that, with Johnny thrusting into you and the taste of his cock still lingering on your tongue.

Johnny follows quickly after, pulling out to cum over your ass, never one to cum inside you.

He hits his softening cock against your bottom, smearing his cock through his cum, rubbing it into your skin like moisturizer. “I’ll have to think up a proper punishment for you, you know.”

You can’t imagine Johnny truly giving you an intense punishment. He’s too soft and gentle for that, but you won’t tell him that.

“Yes, sir,” you agree instead, standing up straight from the desk, crouching down to pull your panties up.

Johnny’s watching you when you turn around.

“Did it work?” You ask him, reaching out to brush your fingers over a wrinkle in his shirt. “Are you less stressed?”

“Yes,” he says, taking your hand from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. “I am.”

You lean in, moving your hand from his lips to kiss him instead. It’s a slow but too-short kiss. “I think I have some ideas, by the way, about the event. To solve our problems.”

Johnny nods. “I’d like to hear them.”

You take a seat on his desk while he sinks back into his chair, rolling it close to you so he can hold your hand while he listens to you. Johnny’s so sweet with you, so attentive and caring, and you can’t help but wonder if this can ever be anything more than just a sexy little office romance.

With the way he’s looking at you like you hold the secrets to the universe, you really hope that there’s more to be had with Johnny.

a/n: a new and improved version of this post

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (10)

Word Count: 11,267 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack, meltdown, blackmail, gun, abuse), toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter if you want to. Enjoy! - 🐰

The distant sound of television in your living room.

‘We bring breaking news…Kim Namjoon, the heir of…yesterday morning…in questioning…accessory of the crime…kidnapping and killing of pregnant fiancée…found motive…’

The splatter of blood on his skin, the taste of blood on your tongue. Your whole world melts into a puddle of red. You feel him inside you, around your throat, his grip tightening, his kisses searing against your lips to pin your tongue underneath his.

A whisper against your ear.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, noona.’

You wake up with a start, gasping for air as you reach over to where Jungkook should be only to be met with a gray rabbit plushie. It has been a week since the night your life changed. Whether for the best or the worse, you can’t tell just yet. You rub a hand over your stomach where you’re cramping, taking deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your lips to calm the panic of hearing and seeing red in your dreams once more. The brain is a relentless organ. No matter how much you force yourself to forget, to justify the past, to let your anger roam free, your dreams follow you as soon as your body succumbs to exhaustion.

Jungkook gifted you a bottle of melatonin for such nights but it was rather hard to sleep when every thought goes back to the sound of Yori’s lifeless body swallowed by the rustle of a black plastic trash bag. It’s a stark dichotomy from the images you have of her in her soft chiffon dresses, bleached hair swaying in the wind, her lithe frame moving effortlessly between the trees in your family garden. To think that you would lose her in such a way is unfathomable even when there is a sick, hideous part of you that felt almost relieved that you’re alone at last. Her existence only served as a reminder of your humiliation. 

It’s why you’d spent so many weeks and months back then cursing her – hoping she miscarry during your most vulnerable nights, hoping Namjoon would leave her for another woman so she gets a taste of how you’ve suffered; yet when the day comes when she’s truly gone, your heart and mind is restless. 

As your stomach settles, the residual guilt rising like bile up your throat gives you a newfound reason to tell yourself you’re still very much a good person. You’re still the woman Jungkook loves for your understanding and hardworking spirit. Partly feeling guilt towards her death meant you still loved her in your true, good nature – or at least you love the memory of what she used to mean to you. The girl you remembered – the girl who would make crowns for you with wildflowers, paint your sleeping form, talk about all the men she wrapped around her fingers – was long gone before you found her lying at the end of a staircase. Your mother can’t kill someone who was already dead in your eyes. 

The body your boyfriend stuffed in his freezer didn’t deserve your kindness nor repentance. It’s why you were able to waltz right into work the next morning from Jungkook’s studio, drinking the same cup of coffee at your desk, working the same files, and mentoring interns with a smile albeit the sudden panic episodes had caused you to empty your stomach after each meal.

You’ve run out of fingernails to bite. You’d expected the world to crumble and fall at your feet in the following days but everything feels oddly normal. The sun still rose. Flowers still bloomed. And Jungkook still loved you. 

Sitting at the edge of the bed, the thin sheen of sweat on your body makes the valley down your spine tingle, prompting you to reach back to scratch your skin raw. When you look over at the nightstand, the red digital numbers on your clock glare into your irises through the sleep haze – it’s barely two o’clock in the morning. With a groan, you stretch an arm towards the floor and pull Jungkook’s shirt towards your feet before bringing it to your chest. The half-buttoned cotton still smells like him. Like comfort.

When you slip the black long-sleeved shirt over your head and roll it down your body, buttoning up to cover your chest, you’re struck with the realization that tonight is the night Jungkook must finish the job. He hasn’t left your side since the accident, treating you with the utmost care, his prying eyes following your every move to the point you ended up pressing your lips against his each and every time just to cease his worries. His fingers melt like butter on your skin when he cups your jaw in search of any anxieties you might have hidden from him. It’s evident that he’s in awe and in confusion at your strength. Maybe he thought too highly of your capacity for forgiveness; like the loud saccharine-faced women you work with, you’re just a tantalizing red apple infested with rot beneath. 

And it’s with that very same façade you faced the detectives. 

The police came knocking at your door two days ago. Jungkook promptly informs you that there was nothing you need to worry about for now except keeping your composure. 

The two men explained the situation – a vague description about Yori’s disappearance, suspicion with Namjoon’s prolonged stay abroad, and odd evidence that she may be kidnapped or blackmailed – just as Jungkook predicted. You feigned passive concern as they took your statement about the last time you saw your former friend, inquired about the wedding incident, and noted the places she could be from your childhood memories. You answered every question with the calmness of an experienced storyteller, comforted when Jungkook confirmed your alibi with his hand wrapped around your fingers to keep you grounded when you trembled. A few angelic tears you shed hearing about Yori softened the mens’ heart although they didn’t have a single inkling of a different kind of fear buried inside you now that there is an investigation ongoing. 

There was something about the glimmer of their handcuffs that made you fear for Jungkook playing the role of the clueless but supportive boyfriend like a seasoned actor. The thought of the men pinning your boyfriend on the ground and ripping him away from you had you hurling digested dinner over the toilet shortly after they left. Your tears must have done much of the heavy lifting during the interrogation that even Jungkook had asked if you were feeling alright, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your cold, wet cheeks. 

You can’t live without him and if he were to be taken away from you, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve learned to fear his absence more than his capability for murder. Such thoughts threaten to cut the last strings of sanity holding you together. 

Despite Jungkook being there for you every step of the way, he was powerless when it comes to protecting you from the stench of office gossip that you must endure for the sake of calming suspicions about your outside activities. It was obvious what your coworkers thought of you as soon as the news came flooding about Yori’s sudden disappearance. Whether you feign concern or not, there have already been rumors about a sabotaged pregnancy. Their fake kindness and whispers gave you the freedom to look as disastrous as you feel. 

If only they knew that the true reasons for your sunken eyes and weight loss are far, far beyond their comprehension. If only they knew you were on your hands and knees scrubbing bodily fluids; the longer their mouths yapped, the more you thought about the red on your fingertips, how satisfying it felt to watch it spiral down the drain.

The first week was grueling but the second week – this week – when the voices of the two detectives, blood-filled memories, and buried dreams resurface, you’re completely cornered. Oh, how much you crave Jungkook’s touch, his gentleness, his ability to read your mind and body even more now that he’s gone to settle your debts. 

You take your cellphone resting on the nightstand next to the digital clock, place the rabbit plushie under your arm, and make your way out of the bedroom. The condo is dead silent except for the muffled cracklings of vehicles running over pebbles on the highway nearby. It’s awfully cold but the sight of the fridge makes you clench your jaw and turn towards the couch, sliding onto the padded surface when another pang of panic hits your stomach, leaving you to press your abdomen inwards with the heel of your palm. You grab your laptop from the dirty coffee table with your free hand and place it on your lap, cursing once more when your nerves refuse to ignore the coolness of the aluminum surface. You squeeze the soft fur ears of the plushie, but it doesn’t feel the same as holding onto your boyfriend’s fingers in times of need. 

It’s cold in the room, you note once more, but Yori’s body curled in Jungkook’s freezer is even colder. 

Would he let her thaw before burying her? Would he burn her somewhere in the woods? Dump her in a lake? Would he admire her beauty first and brush his fingers down her cold cheeks, feeling pitiful about the woman who humiliated you just because she was carrying a child? 

You shake your head, watching the laptop come to life. You need a distraction. Any kind of distraction to forget that your boyfriend and Yori might be alone in a room right now as if they’re on a little date.

The cramp twisting your innards isn’t caused by panic this time. It’s jealousy. 

… 

Taehyung is exhausted to the marrow of his bones. If he didn’t consider Jungkook to be his only family left, he would never have flown to South Korea on such short notice. It’s expensive to leave clients on hold when he’s spending a fortune every month lining bribery pockets. He hopes Jungkook is prepared to work without pay for the next month. Judging by how eager the younger man is to see him, he decided to cut him some slack in the end. That’s what families do. 

Right now, Taehyung is only annoyed to find out that his partner – who had already left the refrigerated room – brought his least favorite pliers when he asked her to lay the tools on the table next to the body. The pliers are black but coppered with rust and prone to slips with its slippery silicone padding resting where his gloved fingers would go. He doesn’t even know when or how he came across such an awful tool but he’ll have to make do. 

He turns back to Jungkook who is sitting on a plastic-covered stool across him on the other side of the body, brows scrunched together as he looks down at the nude woman’s slightly protruding but stiff stomach. There’s no sense of discomfort on his face; a good sign, Taehyung notes, as it has been some time since Jungkook has dealt with a body. Yet he finds himself uncomfortable when looking down at the vicious woman he’d heard an earful about. It’s not a good omen to cut open a pregnant woman, not when Jungkook has been preparing for parenthood ever since he dumped your birth control down the toilet. 

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her alone?”

Jungkook scratches behind his ears, watching Taehyung’s fingers pry open Yori’s frozen mouth to reach her teeth. The older man places a balled cloth inside the mouth before lining the plier towards the molars, gripping the frozen teeth between the iron clamps before yanking the tool to one side. The tooth pops out with a crisp snap, leaving a deep black hole in Yori’s pale gums. Freezing her made cleaning extremely easy – Taehyung can’t help but pat himself in the back when Jungkook seemed to remember all that he’s taught him about the work. He is, however, a bit disgusted that the body was kept in the same fridge as food. Hell, even an experienced butcher like himself has some decency not to do such a thing.  

“I think it’s fine,” Jungkook murmurs, watching Taehyung’s sturdy hands yank each tooth out of her gums with razor-sharp precision. “She’s been sleeping better than the first week so I don’t think she’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

“She’s not like us,” Taehyung scolds, his baritone voice low. A puff of smoke dissipates in the cool air as he speaks. The younger man lowers his head; there should be a limit to the favors he ask for and he’d crossed professional boundaries one too many times. “It’s a big risk you’re taking.”

Jungkook juts his lower lip out like a child filled with remorse. “I know, hyung. But...I trust her and she trusts me. Or else we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Taehyung hums at that, finding it rather odd that a girl with a fine upbringing had the guts to do cleaning work (poorly as expected, according to Jimin showing up with the rest of his crew to spot-clean the rest).

“Trust can be an expensive thing, Jungkook.”

Desperate to appease the older man, Jungkook snaps his gloves in place and reaches over to take an electric saw in his hand, watching the silver glimmer under the lights before standing. He waits until Taehyung finishes the removal, placing the teeth neatly in a plastic cup, before lining the blades to Yori’s pale neck and quickly sawing down her esophagus. The saw groans as it hits her spine but with Taehyung’s palms pushing the saw down further, Yori’s head comes apart clean from the rest of her torso. Under the sharp blue lights her insides look tar black. Such a pretty exterior holding such ugliness inside of her, Jungkook thinks, before he shakes the thought away.

Her beauty can never be compared to you. You’re a goddess. And her? A mere insect to put back into the earth. Yori had caused you immense pain and he would see to it that she will be treated with utmost disrespect.  

“What’s your plan after this?”

Jungkook moves the woman’s hair away from her face then removes the cloth from inside her mouth. He then pushes her jaw up to cover her black gums. 

“I’m going to try to convince her to leave work for a while. Hopefully...she’ll be pregnant by then and it’ll make it easier for her to marry me.”

Taehyung nods. “Then?”

“T-Then…” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. Something about Taehyung’s gaze makes his insides queasy and he doesn’t know whether it’s because the older man is upset or just exhausted. With a poker face like his, with eyes that sink deeper than an eternal labyrinth, it’s difficult to tell. He settles on the most comfortable answer. “Then we’ll live like a normal family. Maybe after she gives birth we can buy a house instead and live near the sea like we used to.”

It’s not a definite answer, but it will do for now. When you regain confidence that life will continue on as it always had, it should be smooth sailing from there. Namjoon or Jin have been a threat but once the baby comes they’ll know better than to approach you again.

Taehyung’s assistant comes back into the room with a soft smile. She glances down at the decapitated woman briefly before walking towards the incinerator in the far corner. Like clockwork she appears once there is a twenty minute time limit before the room reverts back to a comfortable temperature. Jungkook’s freezer preserved the body enough that they can pull apart Yori’s limbs and burn each piece separately; the burning will be handled by her but dismemberment is intimate, a family bonding type of activity that re-establishes their brotherhood.

“Are you happy you’ll have a family soon? Does it bring you joy?”

The younger man nods, lips trembling softly as he looks down at the severed head. His cold breath fans over Yori’s eyelids. “Yes, I am. Very. It’s all I ever wanted. ”

Taehyung stares. From the scar on the left cheek to the mole under his lips, he watches Jungkook as the younger man saws through the arms, letting the frozen limbs fall to the plastic-covered floor with a rustle and blunt thud. Once all four limbs are torn apart on the floor, he lines the saw down the navel just above the slight hill of Yori’s protruding belly. Just as he moves to switch on the saw, Taehyung grips his wrist with a tightness that alarms Jungkook.

They look at each other, truly look at each other in the darkness.

“Will you ever tell her the truth?”

Jungkook jaw tightens as he holds the older man’s gaze. His fingers are going numb, not from the cold but from the grip around his wrist.

The question causes him to chuckle incredulously. One small step and everything can fall apart like a house of cards. The risk he is taking burning someone closely associated with you can pull them both back into the times when they lived like rodents; hidden from light, at risk of being poisoned every step of the way out from the ground.

When Taehyung doesn’t mirror him, he falters. “…What use will it be if we tell her? She doesn’t have to know anything about me.”

“Is it because you’re afraid she’ll be hurt or afraid she might leave if you do?”

The reaction is immediate. Jungkook’s brows come together and he lays the saw on top of the torso, releasing a harsh exhale as he desperately pushes back tears. Taehyung expected the reaction; it’s what he was aiming for in the first place. The minute he walked in the room and saw Jungkook smiling happily in the distance he knew the boy has taken his delusions too far. He’s willing to oblige with the many ridiculous requests in helping him secure you as a wife, but he’s not a hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in soulmates and pure, perfect love that Jungkook pines for. There is only so much luck Jungkook can depend on before you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. With a criminal bond, the stakes have never been higher.  

The boy takes his bottom lip under his teeth. “She won’t leave me.”

“Answer the question.”

“She loves me, okay? That’s all I need.”

He peels his arm away from Taehyung and brings both hands behind his head, burying his face in between the elbows. He turns away towards the concrete wall, his temples pounding from how hard his teeth are clenched. Couldn’t Taehyung just be happy for him? Couldn’t he take time away to celebrate this victorious night?

The reality is that two people who love each other may still never truly know each other. Just like how he doesn’t know the true reason why you wanted him as you watch him from the balcony in silence all those months ago, you won’t know why he can’t tell you everything about his upbringing. There’s no doubt that you would see his lies as betrayal, perhaps even worse than what Yori did because he made you believe he worshipped the ground you walked on (and it’s the truth). If you learned that the doe-eyed boyfriend part of him is dramatized, your heart will take irreversible damage. He had shown what it meant to be in love, to have a place where you both can call home, to care for each other through sickness and crime. He can’t ruin that illusion. Not when he’s this close to taking you away from everyone you’ve ever known.  

“The fire is ready.”

He brings his arms back down to his sides and turn towards the assistant who stands with her hands clasped in front of her as she looks between him and Taehyung.

When neither of them move, she kicks opens the incinerator and releases a waft of hot air towards the thawing body. Jungkook turns back to the body and kick the limbs towards the fire. He grabs Yori’s head by the hair and tosses it towards the limbs, wondering if you would still love him if you saw him now in a grimy lab coat, reeking of frozen flesh. You most likely won’t. You most likely will be disgusted with him, your eyes might resemble his mother’s, peering at him as if you couldn’t waste one more second breathing the same air as him.

“I’m scared,” he whispers at last, walking towards the torso on the table. He places his hand over the blood-stained stomach. The baby didn’t deserve this death, he thinks, but it would have ended up as miserable as he was when he was a child.

“I don’t know how not to be scared. That’s why I…I’m doing all of this for her. It’s why I still can’t tell her everything even if we’re tied together now. But…but I’m…we’re still men, right? We’re not monsters who do this for fun. We do this to protect the people we love.”

The older man puts his hand over Jungkook’s on the cold stomach and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. The younger man relaxes a bit more now that he understands Taehyung isn’t frustrated or upset that he put them all in danger, only concerned.  

Taehyung’s life’s purpose has been to protect this boy and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to protect the woman he’d fallen for. It’s all the more cruel that the woman Jungkook believes to be his soulmate came from wealth, from prestige, from a family that may be dysfunctional but more often than not normal. It pains him that he’s willing to live the rest of his life under a façade just to keep the illusion of a perfect romance alive. If only Taehyung could have convinced him that the beautiful couples in movies aren’t real, that the men in those movies are not like them and the women in those movies are not perfect little angels he think you are.

But that’s a battle Jungkook has chosen to fight and he could do nothing but support. That’s what families do.

“We’re not monsters,” Taehyung finally speaks at last as he walks towards the limbs and crouches down to the open incinerator. He brushes his long fingers along the metal edge, letting the tips of his fingers burn pink. His deep brown eyes reflect the orange hue of the fire yet his pupils welcomed no light. “But we’re damn close.”

…

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you gulp down the remaining ice cold water from the fridge, laying your forehead on the door handle. It’s unbearably hot and cold at once and you’re growing impatient as the minutes tick by and you’re still alone.

It doesn’t take long to bury a body, does it? Jungkook never specified what he was going to do. Maybe the reason why it’s taking too long is because he’s driving far into the woods but your heart pangs in worry at the thought of a witness catching sight of him hunched over with a shovel. He seemed confident when he left (in your sleepy haze you don’t remember clearly) that the thought went away as quickly as it came. Your boyfriend can be meticulous; there’s a high chance that he’s taking extra precautions. He probably isn’t calling because he assumes you’re still asleep. He’d tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead, only murmuring something about being back soon and bringing back breakfast.

You set the glass down in the sink and walk past the kitchen counter, halting in your steps when you find your purse laying haphazardly next to the fruit basket. It’s been there since the police came and the contents of your wallet and keys threaten to tip over into the basket. You pull the undone zipper apart, rummaging around the inside to straighten the sides until your nails click against the uncapped flash drive. It makes your insides quiver when you realize you had been opening the files when your mother called during that day and the world crumbled. Oh how blissful you would be standing here if you never picked up the call, if you let her deal with her own problems, if the guilt of her being alone and scared didn’t affect your tender heart. The worry that Seokjin had written a love letter seemed rather insignificant now that your boyfriend can be taken away in cuffs if evidence surfaces. The tabloids would have another field day for sure.

You turn towards the digital clock on the stove, noting the time once more, and grasp the flash drive in your hands before making your way towards the living room. The flash drive blinks green as you slide the silver end into your computer propped on the coffee table. The laptop will keep you sane because you know damn well if you see Namjoon’s face on the television once more you’d spiral into panic. It’s not wise to speak of his name under your roof.

It’s not wise to speak of Seokjin’s name either, but if Jungkook isn’t coming anytime soon, the least you can do is read what your old friend has to say and be rid of this little tool in case your boyfriend’s curiosity leads to a temper tantrum.

Once again, the document window reveals a ZIP folder along with an array of photo files. You extract the file first, letting it load before double clicking to pull up the document window. It’s not what you’re expecting. There’s no sweet words and no mention of Seokjin’s name on the page. The document is over two hundred pages long and still loading as you scroll down the pages. There is a case number in the middle of the first page and then several police reports from several years ago, all dated within the same year.

Busan.

Two victims.

Two suspects.

Juvenile.

With your brows furrowed, you scroll further down the file, slowly falling back down to earth from the blanket of mental exhaustion. You feel a cold breeze down the curve of your spine, your fingertips slowly coaxing the cursor downwards. Several sentences are censored or cut in the corners. The further you scroll the more you find yourself asking if Seokjin had given you the wrong flash drive or if he was pulling a vicious prank on you. It all seemed like a whirlwind of information you don’t know how to translate until you pause on a page halfway through the document.

Kim Taehyung.

The name is most definitely familiar. The second name listed in the following page, however, you recognize in entirety.  

Jeon Jungkook.

The universe must be playing a sick joke, you think, as your cursor swims around your boyfriend’s name. He would have told you about an incident big enough for a case report that spans over a hundred pages, wouldn’t he? Jungkook wouldn’t hide anything important from you, not after he had urged you to be transparent with him. Not after he had punished you for something as silly as keeping jewelry gifted by or ex or forgetting to wear a brassiere in public. Something in your gut tells you to keep scrolling despite your vision beginning to blur and the air around you becoming heavier as if you’re breathing over a pot of boiling water.

You scroll further down, lips parting as your eyes scan over the document with record speed. The Jeon family massacre, the shack in Busan, the weapons used on the bodies for both murder and disposal – everything is written in clear detail. But it’s impossible, you think, as Jungkook has never once hinted that his parents were deceased. In fact, there were several times when he welcomed the idea of you meeting his family. He wouldn’t have agreed with enthusiasm if he had to reveal the details of this case, would he?

He wouldn’t have his mother’s number saved. It doesn’t make sense and the more you wonder who that woman could be in his cell phone, the more your insides twist.

When you hit the last hundred pages the censorship worsened. Most of the pages are illegible with black boxes shadowing over sentences but you don’t need the missing sentences. The last five pages summarized the timeline of the incident and highlighted possible motives from abuse to undiagnosed mental disorders for both Jungkook and Taehyung. You’re not sure if the file is even reliable considering what you’re reading and the boyfriend you’re living with seem like two different people.

There is hardly any record about the two of them except the elementary, middle, and high school they’ve attended. The paragraphs blur together as you scroll with trembling fingers. Something about Jungkook’s instability, his codependency on Kim Taehyung, the manner in which he was released shortly after Taehyung’s escape from the facility despite facing juvenile charges for second degree murder.

Then, the details of the crime.

Jungkook couldn’t do something like that, could he? Your lungs ache as you pant, a sudden sob leading you to clasp a shaky hand over your mouth. There is no reason for you to claim this case as unreliable when Jungkook is disposing Yori’s body somewhere within the twenty mile radius. There is no reason this case is talking about another Jeon when the first thought your boyfriend had when you confessed your mother’s accident was to help with the cleaning.

This couldn’t be anyone else but Jeon Jungkook, the boyfriend who kisses you until you melt like butter in his arms and pouts whenever someone looks at you the wrong way. Despite the file in front of you, you shake your head.

“It’s not him…it can’t be him.”

Closing the file window, you take a deep breath before opening the image file next to the folder. The first few photos were of the crime scene and your blood turns cold at the disfigured corpses in the room. The room is dirty with peeling wallpaper, blood splatter, broken furniture, and schoolbooks and papers. The couple in the picture is your boyfriend’s parents, there’s no doubt about it. You can see the resemblance in what remains of his father’s face and you wonder if that’s the reason why he never felt comfortable in his skin, as he once told you during pillowtalk.

With your core tightened, bracing for the worst, you open the last image. There is Jungkook, in the flesh, pictured with a uniform and handcuffs, eyes blacker than your morning coffee. His face is littered with bruises and the corner of his lips are swollen, caked with dried blood. The purple and green bruises stretch over his eye socket, reaching far back to his temples where his hair falls. Somehow the fact that his mother had abused him didn’t register in your mind until now. It feels somewhat far away, like a distant memory that has no effect on the person he is now. But Jungkook didn’t become the sensitive and hardworking man you know now because of sheer willpower; he was forced into the role.

He did what he had to do to survive and you know deep in your heart you can’t hate him for it. You can’t justify murder, but you can’t ignore that he was desperate to leave.

You place a trembling hand over your heart and lean back into the couch.

Either way you look at it, one thing remains true. Jeon Jungkook had spun lies upon lies to be in your life. He had successfully kept you in the dark, hardly ever showing how truly dangerous he can be until the time is right. His anger has been, at times, loving and sweet. Other times, it spurred fear. He had promised you time and time again he would never hurt you. Yet, that promise holds no substance when he doesn’t practice his own standards for loyalty and truthfulness that he instilled in you.

There’s the Jungkook from Busan who showed no remorse for what he did and there’s the Jungkook who held your heels in his hands as he led you to safety from that fateful wedding night. Burying your head in your hands, you fist the roots of your hair until your scalp burned.

You’ve been sleeping with a stranger.

…

The precinct is a large, block building next to the subway station that would be invisible if it were not for the newly painted gray-blue gates set around the perimeter of the building. There is a group of photographers huddled against the gates despite the very late hours of the night, sporting the same black padded coats as they tumble over each other like penguins. When Namjoon steps out of the building and into the Mercedes parked in front of the building, the camera shutters click. Reporters shouts his name for a statement. He merely glances at the crowd before stepping into the vehicle, adjusting his coat before slamming the door shut. 

The crowd of reporters part as the vehicle makes its way down the concrete path to the streets. There are no officers in sight to control the crowd, prompting him to watch in silence as they knock on the tinted glass and the side of the car. His chauffeur would seem unbothered if not for the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel, stepping on the gas with urgency while being careful to not anger the hungry journalists desperate for next morning’s cover story. 

He can understand Lee’s anxiety as they drive towards one of his apartments in the city with higher security. He has been in a state of paralysis ever since he landed and was immediately brought into questioning. The handcuffs at the airport wasn’t necessary, he thinks, and he’s convinced some of these cops must be journalists in disguise, blaming him for a crime he had no knowledge of. Aside from such inconveniencies, there are other problems to address such as the dent in his parents’ pocket to keep the media from prying too much into the investigation. He’d faced his father’s wrath earlier before his first shot of whiskey, and then his mother’s who cried on his shoulder as she was too relieved to see him walking freely. He doesn’t understand why people are surprised that he isn’t the culprit when there is so little evidence against him. The precinct wanted to make an example out of him, about how the rich aren’t safe from persecution; however, they fail to consider that the rich aren’t always guilty with whatever they are accused of either. It’s been an exhausting last few weeks to face the same mob of cameras before, during, and after the questioning. They must know by now that Yori’s disappearance was as surprising to him as it is for everyone else.  

There is no end to the investigation – especially when they are set on finding evidence that it was premeditated - and his exhaustion reached its peak this morning when he realizes today was the day the baby is due. Yori wasn’t fond of motherhood – unbeknownst to outsiders who only saw her poised nature – and neither was he. But he had made an oath that he would be there for the child at least financially if not emotionally and would provide the necessities while he legalize their marriage and transfer abroad for work. He swore to not touch a single drop of alcohol when the first cry of his child reaches his ears yet here he is, pouring himself a drink from the mini fridge assembled between the seats.  

“Where do you think she is?” He asks, then takes a shot of straight vodka. This was one of many times he despised how poised he can be when the situation is dire. His lawyers had advised him to be emotional, but he can’t bring himself to put on an award-winning act when he’s one sleepless night away from a coma.

The older man glances at the rearview mirror, lips setting in a thin line as he eyes the bottle in Namjoon’s hand. 

“I’m unsure, sir. The police and your father has been searching in all of the places she could possibly be. I’m sure they will find her soon.”

“Dead or alive?”

The car jolts to a stop at the red light. “Sir?”

“It’s been a week. She hasn’t called, there’s no activity from her bank account, no money taken from the house, and no report of her fleeing the country. She left her belongings behind, including her cellphone and a coat during this weather. The investigation is only ongoing because there’s data from security that she let someone in at night and the back gates were open. The surveillance in the main roads nearby didn’t pick up any suspicious cars either. Now tell me…do you think she’s dead or alive?”

Lee presses on the gas pedal and sighs, staring straight ahead at the roads but unable to focus on any of the signs. 

“I don’t think I can answer that question, sir. Please forgive me.”

Namjoon takes another shot and turns his head towards the cars passing by him. There was no money taken, which concludes that the culprit’s motive had nothing to do with financial gain. It must be the reason why he’s under suspicion.

“Perhaps…” Lee speaks again, his careful eyes meeting Namjoon’s apathetic ones through the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _____ might be able to help with finding Miss Kim. She was very close to her. Maybe she knows a few locations we’ve missed.”

He considers the offer for a moment, knowing that the detectives had reached out to you for more information at the same time of his questioning. It’s true you were Yori’s closest friend for most of your life. Until last year, you talked to her on the phone several times a week and shared a meal with her at least once a week in your former apartment. You invited her to all social events and dressed, shopped, and spent quality time together. It would be a wise choice to call you in such a catastrophic time. He does, however, understand that you would be reluctant to involve yourself in the investigation for you had started a new life with this new boyfriend of yours and had distanced yourself from even Seokjin himself. Not even your mother knew about what you were up to on most days. 

Nonetheless, the situation is too severe to preserve his own pride as well as yours. Yori is with child and there’s still a morsel of a chance that she – and the baby – is safe. You may have changed in the last several months, but if there was one thing he’s still sure about you, it’s your willingness to set aside differences to help others. 

He hopes you would take the call once he musters the courage to dial your number. Maybe he’ll call Seokjin instead if he has a change of heart.

“I’ll consider it.” Namjoon nods as Lee nods back, slightly relieved. 

For the second time in his life, Namjoon is terrified of losing someone close. He had watched you, white chiffon and silk in your hand, as you ran out of the lobby and his life forever. He hoped that he can do right and bring Yori and his child back to safety and make sure – this time – to cherish what he has rather than what he’d lost.

Knocking the last shot of vodka, he leans his head back against the plush leather upholstery and closes his eyes, hoping more than anything to be taken out of his misery. 

…

They say a woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.

You’re thankful that it’s too late in the night and too early in the morning for your neighbors to hear the ding of the elevator as you make your way down the building. You didn’t bother dressing, merely grabbing your purse with the flashdrive tucked safely in one of its compartments on the way out. You’re still wearing Jungkook’s shirt as a dress and you slid into the first pair of sandals you can find through the burning tears. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel in the haze of betrayal but there’s a sense of humiliation that comes with finding out you were lied to – perhaps laughed at behind your back – for months. It’s the same feeling as that wedding night, but a million times worse now that you’ve reached the end of no return.

Even if you call Seokjin and urge him to help, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re an accomplice. There’s nothing you can do to change that a sick part of you enjoyed scrubbing blood off the floors, fucking your dirtied boyfriend afterwards, and pretending life will continue as normal.

Furthermore, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re still utterly in love with Jungkook.

It can’t all be a lie, can it? The reason why he chased after you, jumped over fences to bury his nose in your intimates, and carve your skin isn’t because he’s using you, right? There’s only so much pretending a person can do. Deep in your heart, you feel that Jungkook does really love you. You wouldn’t feel this safe with him, even after knowing he had done something irreversible in his childhood, if his tenderness towards you isn’t genuine.

Yet, you’re also acutely aware of how much money your family has. You know how many valuable assets you have under your name after your father’s passing. You know how easily you can change your life at any given moment if you choose to meet your mother’s expectations in marrying into a conglomerate family and living without worrying about money. The reason why Jungkook helped you during that wedding night can be because he had the opportunity to be with someone who can offer him financial security he didn’t have growing up. Maybe he was attracted to how easygoing your life is, only having to worry about which restaurant you want to pick for date night, unlike his formative years surviving on scraps.

You’re also pathetic, desperate, unloved. It was too easy for Jungkook to charm his way into your life in a moment of vulnerability. He must’ve known you came from money just by the size of the venue and how much you offered to pay him for his photography services. He must’ve known how naïve you were when you were willing to sleep in his arms that night, how willingly you swallowed the painkiller he gave you.

Even then, it doesn’t make sense. He owned a studio. He bought you gifts and took offense when you denied his offer to help pay for things only married couples do. He gifted you flowers every week and take you out to beautiful places when you were sad, never thinking twice about putting down his last dime if that’s what it took to see you smile. He’s patient and empathetic. He’s kind because he understands the pain of being hurt by the ones you love but he can also be kind because staying with you is convenient.

And you don’t want to be the convenient woman. Not anymore.

…

Jungkook’s phone vibrates in the back of his pocket, prompting him to remove his gloves and throw them in the fire with the rest of the corpse. The assistant is asleep on the couch, unaccustomed to night cleaning when Taehyung keeps her in charge during the day. Taehyung, on the other hand, slides his sanitized tools back in the slouchy leather bag, turning his head towards the fire when the alcohol from Jungkook’s gloves reawaken the fire for a moment.

Jungkook reaches behind him and fishes the phone from his pocket to see the notification from a security sensor. His stomach drops when the notification loads, the buffering swirl of the loading screen feeling eerily similar to the swirling aches in his stomach. He’s relieved that there are no police cars in front of the garage, but the relief is short lived as his eyes land on your car instead, the door to the driver’s seat left open.

He quickly switches to the cameras from the inside, pointed directly at the front door to see a figure walking through. He watches as you stumble inside, falling on your hands and knees as you tumble into the boxes of books and accessories he kept near the front steps. He haven’t had the chance to throw them back in the garage when Jimin and his team took away the freezer and left behind a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung comes next to him, peering down at the phone. He watches in silence as Jungkook’s hand trembles.

He watches you grab onto the nearest table and pull yourself up from the ground before switching on the lights. And it was the sight of your swollen eyes, your bloodied knees, and your heaving breaths that had him running out of the room, grabbing the car keys and jacket from the hooks next to the door. The thought that someone might have hurt you set his head into flames. Taehyung’s assistant wakes with a slight gasp the moment Jungkook slams the door open into the bright reception desk area of a run-down funeral home. The walls vibrate.

“I’ll come with you,” is all Taehyung says as they fly out front door. His assistant would know what to do without him.

Taehyung takes the keys from his grasp and starts the car, stepping on the gas without hesitation as Jungkook buries his face in his hands and fold over in the passenger seat. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, cursing underneath his breath. The younger man takes a moment to collect himself before his shaky fingers unlocks his phone once more, the loading screen causing him to bounce his knees as he waits. Even Taehyung’s comforting hand does nothing to soothe the panic rising up his esophagus.

“S-She’s going in the dark room,” he huffs as he keeps his eyes locked on his screen. “I don’t…d-don’t know why she-”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

There are no cameras in the dark room, not even ones he can hide inside everyday objects.

In half the time it usually takes to get to the studio, Taehyung steers the vehicle into the familiar neighborhood, head swinging left and right to check if anyone else is nearby. Before he parks outside the garage, Jungkook undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the moving vehicle, running towards the front doorsteps. His shoulder crashes into the front door as he twirls his head around the studio, checking to see if he missed anything. He sees your handbag on the floor, the sliding doors to the darkroom remaining closed.

You’re inside there, hurt, bleeding, needing him. He should’ve stayed behind with you and let Taehyung take care of Yori; it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but he didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful after asking for numerous favors.

Taehyung steps inside the studio and closes the front door behind him as Jungkook slides the darkroom doors open and step inside, sliding the wood back into place behind him. He steadies his breathing and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark red bulbs above him. When he hears a crunch he looks down to see numerous photos of you underneath his soles, entire binders and broken photo frames laying across the concrete floors.  

Jungkook steadies himself with one hand on the wall, lining the perimeter of the room until he can spot your hunched figure in front of the metal cabinets. Your shoulders are shaking, hand patting around the inside of the of the cabinet, knocking over medication, empty film canisters, and stationery.

“Noona?”

You gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth in the semi-darkness. The bottle of pills in your hand clatters to the floor, rolling towards Jungkook’s boots. Your back slams into the cabinet behind, eyes wide with fright as your tears roll down your face. He keeps his eyes on you as he kneels and takes the bottle in his hands, briefly looking down at the transparent bottle before looking back up at you.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” He asks, panting as he strides towards you with outstretched arms.

In the midst of your anger you fail to realize someone like Jungkook would have taken extra steps to track where you are. You didn’t even check if the car or phone is bugged. Even during this time you’re still stupid, you think. No wonder it’s easy for men to lie to your face with that kind of carelessness.

You shake your head, backing away from him. “Don’t.”

His eyes brim with tears as you clutch your chest, your body trembling. Jungkook shakes his head, holding his bare hands in front of him to show he won’t touch you. You look at those hands – the hands that have caressed your cheeks in the morning, massaged your shoulders after long work hours, buried your old best friend – like they were weapons.  

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathes, his hands trembling as his eyes rake over the scattered pictures on the floor, the open cabinet doors, and at your tattered appearance. You’re still dressed in his button down shirt, the material falling mid-thigh and he catches a glimpse of dried blood on your knees from your fall.

“I thought it was strange. How calm you were about all this. I t-thought…” you put your hands together over your heart, your chest shaking with sobs. He can hardly make out your words from the tears and the sound felt so painful to his ears he wanted to smother you, put his hands over your mouth, and keep you locked in his arms tight.

Your teeth clatters, not because you’re cold, Jungkook knows, but because you’re scared. Of him.

“Noona,” he whimpers again as he waits for your sobs to subside. He struggles to understand.

With the heel of your palm you wipe away the tears but the more you rub the worse it gets until you feel as if your face would drown under your own ministrations. The gut-wrenching pain you felt reading his report lingers in the depths of your stomach, churned into fear that there is a possibility you could end up just like them. How could you even know if his tears are real? How could you even know if the last few months of your relationship was even real?

“You never loved me, Jungkook. You…this is just some sick fantasy of yours, r-right?” Your voice breaks. You don’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth when the only thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Make him feel the way you do now. “Making me fall for you. Believe I can earn your dead parents’ approval. Making me your fucking doll. You got off on me being a naïve little bitch, didn’t you? You sick fuck.”

You know.

Oh god, you know.

Jungkook feels as if someone had wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled. Is it punishment for wanting happiness? Is it because he was bound to this endless life of suffering where the people he loved end up hurting him in the end? End up leaving?

Jungkook shakes his head, mouth falling open as he watches you back away from him into the corner. His sobs are loud and pained as if you had hit him across the cheeks. With every step he takes towards you, you take one step back, as if to say you don’t want him near, you don’t want him to touch you, as if you don’t even want him to look at you with those seemingly innocent eyes.

“You lied to me,” your voice reduces down to a whimper. “You promised me you’d never do that. Did you intend to keep this from me forever?”

“N-Noona…”

He falls to his knees, putting his hands together in prayer as he sobs. Through your anguish and his, Jungkook still holds your heart captive.

Like a dam bursting, his apologies engulfs you.

“Noona, I’m sorry! I-I-I didn’t know how to t-tell you,” he gasps for air, putting his hands down in front of him in surrender. He puts his forehead against the cold concrete, clasping his hands together in prayer, writhing, withering. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t w-want you to think I was a mu- murd-derer,” he hiccups, coughing as his hunched figure trembles. 

Backing away until your shoulder blades lean against the adjacent walls, your body slides down, the phone from your grip clattering onto the floor. The screen brightens with the image of you and him as Jungkook’s trembling figure creeps closer, crawling towards your feet in the darkness. You can’t feel your teeth gnawing on your thumb until you taste blood in your mouth. You watch your boyfriend’s cold hands wrap around your ankles as he puts his forehead onto your calves and begs.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Please don’t hate me noona, please, I don’t know what I’ll do if you hate me. I’m sorry I l-lied to you, I swear I was going to tell you everything soon, noona. W-Whatever you saw is all wrong. I never killed them, I l-loved them with all my heart,” he surrounds your folded legs in his embrace, leaning his wet cheeks against your scraped knees as he sobs. “They hurt me. They m-made me like this, I didn’t want to be like this noona, I ju-just wanted someone to love me. I didn’t mean to b-be bad-“ His clammy hands presses your calves together, keeping your knees still.

Jungkook’s head raises, slowly, his soft dark locks falling from his face. His doe eyes aren’t focused on you but on some invisible spot on the ground. He whimpers your name before doubling over and hurling vomit onto the ends of your shirt, his head slamming into the cabinet next to you. The stench of bile wafts towards your face but you’re given no chance to move when Jungkook gags and empties his stomach once more, acidic saliva slipping down the corner of his mouth as he sobs.

With no warning whatsoever, he brings his head back and slams the side of his head against the metal cabinet doors. You’re frozen stiff, your body trembling as you watch the love of your life knock his head into the doors again and again, drool dripping down his mouth.

When he wails, you reach for him. “K-Kook-”

He brings his head back, eyes glazed, as he rams his head into the metal sheet again. And again.

“I-I’m sorry noona,” he cries, etching the words into his skull. “Noona I’m sorry…I-I didn’t meant to hurt you nng, noona…I won’t…”

With shaky limbs you crawl closer to your boyfriend, pulling him by the collar to stop but the panic causes your shaky hands to slip, merely finding success in pushing him towards the ground. He coughs, gasping for air. When his wails become louder, you hover above his writhing figure, hands on his arms to keep him still in desperation. It’s no use when he continues to apologize, not hearing your pleas to stop, to listen to your voice and breathe. Seeing him like this makes you want to take back your words.

The door to the darkroom slams open, revealing a tall man whose face you can’t see until he steps further into the red hue. You weren’t aware Jungkook didn’t come alone.

He must be Kim Taehyung; there’s no mistake from the stained lab coat he adorns to the tar black eyes that could bore holes through your skull. He looks awfully similar to Jungkook and if you hadn’t read the case and hadn’t known that Jungkook was an only child, you would think they’re brothers.

“Move.” He commands, the edge in his voice causing you to flinch back as he crouches above your blubbering boyfriend’s head and scoop him from under the armpits.

He’s strong enough to uncurl Jungkook’s shaking body, hushing the cries as he places your boyfriend’s face under his chin and press him against his chest. Like a child, Jungkook’s hand reaches up to fist the lapels of Taehyung’s lab coat, sobbing so hard that you were afraid his lungs might burst.

“Hyung is here, Jungkookie. I’m here. She’s here too, okay? We won’t leave you. Hush now.”

Taehyung’s voice is deep but filled with warmth, completely different from all the times you’ve overheard him speak through a call in your living room.

“I-I’m so-sorry noona, I won’t do it again- n-noona-,” he coughs.

The older man reaches inside his coat and fishes out a syringe. He cover Jungkook’s eyes with his long fingers, whispers a word of reassurance, before pressing the needle deep into Jungkook’s arm.

In a few short seconds, the cries lower, Jungkook’s body falling limp against the older man’s chest as your name falls repeatedly from his swollen lips. Taehyung places the syringe in his pocket and wipes the vomit and saliva from Jungkook’s chin with his thumb, his eyes sad as he peers at the boy in his arms.

The sound of water dripping down the faucet seems as loud as fireworks in the silence of the room. With your arms wrapped around yourself, knees pressed against your chest, you watch Taehyung brush away Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair and wipe away the snot and tears on his nose and cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. Once his face is dry, he props Jungkook against the cabinet and stands to face the faucet, gathering a handful of water in his hands and cleaning Jungkook’s forehead where a bruise is starting to form.

“How did you find out?”

The tethered anger in his voice causes you to curl into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. You don’t forget that Taehyung is the reason why they are both free men; the man is every bit terrifying as he is handsome.

“A-A friend of mine…he showed me.”

Taehyung hums, knowing exactly who had caused tonight’s troubles, wiping his hands on his coat. He takes several strides and crouch down in front of you, glancing at Jungkook’s face before turning back. He stares into your eyes without commenting and you’re not sure where to look. You settle on looking down at your scraped knees, the trembling causing your voice to shake.

“Are you disgusted?”

You meet his eyes, biting the insides of your cheeks. “D-Disgusted…no. Not disgusted. I’m just…scared…s-scared of what he did.”

He exhales, his long fingers coming up to massage his temples.

“I killed them.” He blinks. He nods shortly afterwards, as if he were reliving the moment. “Jungkook was simply there. They were going to kill him. It was me who did everything you saw in those photos.”

You swallow, eyes brimming with tears as your body warms in response. Your boyfriend is innocent. Maybe not completely, but enough that you can release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay.” You murmur, nodding. You’re not sure what the proper response is for that kind of confession.

“There are some people who don’t deserve to be parents. His mother, especially. You would be surprised how happy he became when we had no more family.”

You nod, keeping your eyes lowered. Your eyes fall to your cellphone near Taehyung’s shoes, your lips parting.

“T-Then…he wasn’t adopted afterwards?”

Taehyung cocks his head. “Adopted?”

“I-it’s just,” you stammer, wondering if it would anger him if you asked but something tells you Taehyung is a reasonable man albeit his brutality. “There’s a co-contact in his phone…a-and he labeled her as ‘mother’…”

The older man nods. “We call her our mother. She helped us when we had nowhere to go, gave us a place to sleep.”

As if the weight from your shoulders melted away once more, you slump against the wall. Of course, Jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you with another woman.

Taehyung continues. “We did what we had to do. We learned how to make fake documents, little things like IDs, and it kept us afloat for a while. Jungkook prefers that kind of work still, but I don’t. You’ll never see a photographer making this kind of money without dabbling into…indecent practices. It’s expensive to feel secure, I’m sure you can at least relate to that.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the kind of life we had now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip. There’s no doubt you love Jungkook but the wound remains agape, the initial ugly feeling of betrayal swimming in your belly. You have the right to feel this way, but Taehyung is rather unconcerned about your feelings. If you weren’t loved by Jungkook, he would have stuck the barrel of his gun down your throat and threaten to blow out your organs out the other end. He’ll be patient this time and let nature takes its course; there’s a possibility you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to leave now, and you won’t be able to leave once you carry the baby to full term.

“I do,” you answer, the trembling gone.

You glance over at Jungkook’s sleeping form. Despite how hurt you may be now, you need to be there for him. You can’t imagine how sick he would feel, how much panic he would feel, when he wakes.

“I’m glad you do. After all,” Taehyung stands. “You’re not completely innocent either.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He knows about Yori.

“Did you…?”

He confirms your thoughts. “I did. There’s no need to worry unless you talk, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”

You release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

You’ve reached a dead end. You can’t amend your mistakes like good people, sane people, do. You’re as good as married to Jeon Jungkook, Yori’s burial being the glue tying you to him in holy matrimony. You have no choice but to vow to protect and love him in sickness and health. In all honestly, you can’t imagine your life any other way.

Taehyung brushes invisible dust off his coat.

“There is one more thing,” he says and with new conviction you meet his gaze once more. “If by any chance you do something stupid, I will kill you. And Jungkook can’t stop me then. Remember that.”

…

Seokjin follows the scent of a cigarette. It’s hardly half past six in the morning and the wind makes him push his head down as he maneuvers through the trees to the abandoned park. The playground he played in as a child is torn down, the blue slides and yellow swings torn apart by ongoing construction. Between the trees and industrial machinery he struggles to find his former co-worker and friend who had messaged him quite suddenly about the investigation on Jungkook. It’s something big, he says, and Hoseok doesn’t say something like that unless he means it. And if it’s bigger than the case file, then it’s bound to be something incriminating. He wasn’t sure if Yoongi might be here too, but he doubt it since the man can hardly drag himself out of bed in the morning.

It’s a little odd that Hoseok asked to meet immediately and he wonders if it was because he responded as soon as he received the text. Maybe if he had answered later in the day he could sleep in before work, but with Yori’s disappearance his nights have been filled with thoughts about you. Some fresh air would serve him well.

“Hoseok?!” He turns his head left and right, huffing as he struggle to catch his footing on the uneven cobblestone paths.

When he hear footsteps near the playground he turns his head towards the noise, blinking as he struggles to make out the figure of a person on the ground. She must be homeless, he thinks, as he watches her wrap her tattered scarf around her neck while wailing in a strange, kitten-like voice. She mutters something to herself in another language.

He takes a step closer, calling out to the plump woman as she stretches a leg out in front of her and fans her hand over what looks like a bloody wound. The gash is deep enough for him to stop in his tracks.

“Ma’am are you alright?” He asks.

His phone rings in his coat pocket and he reaches inside, looking down at Namjoon’s number displayed across the screen before locking his phone. Seems like he’s quite in demand this morning. He tucks the device back into his coat and walks over to the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She looks up at him, her mud-caked face and hair crumbling as she whimpers and move her bloody leg away from his sight.

“Do you need help standing?” He asks, closing in on her rocking figure. It’s not safe for a woman – much less a homeless woman – to be alone and injured. The park hardly garners enough visitors for its awkward location. He might be her only help.

“N-no…n-no…no,” the woman holds her leg away, wailing as she rocks from side to side.

Seokjin hovers next to the woman, folding over to gauge the extent of her injuries when his eyes trails over the thin red paint covering from the bottom of her knee to the middle of her calves. She babbles and wails, flailing her arms over the leg until a silver glint flashes over his eyes and air is knocked out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes and groans, he’s facing the cloudless sky, his vision flashing purple and black. He curses and turns to his side only to come face to face with a pair of black shoes.

He doesn’t raise his chin. Rather, he’s not given the choice, not when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed upon his noggin. The sound of bullet entering its chamber sounds from behind and he realizes quickly that he’s been set up.

“Kim Taehyung,” he wheezes, sputtering as he catches his breath. The gun behind him trails up his spine until it’s pressing into the back of his skull. He doesn’t know who that woman his, but he knows for sure the man standing in front of him can’t be anyone else but Taehyung.

In his paralysis he can hardly think of how Taehyung was able to use Hoseok’s number to meet him at a place only he and Hoseok investigated. The last time he spoke to him, Hoseok had only warned that he couldn’t continue the investigation, that Kim Taehyung had formally requested him to quit meddling, and ended the call shortly after. Surely Taehyung couldn’t have done something to the man in Hong Kong? He couldn’t think of a reason why someone who isn’t even related to Jungkook by blood will go through such lengths to protect him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to meddle in my affairs?”

He nods, exhaling. “You d-did.”

The gun from behind slides from his skull to his temple.

“You should have listened the first time.”

[shorkbrian]

Hello I went to IKEA yesterday and got myself a BLÅHAJ (giant plush shark) now I have TWO giant shark plushies on my bed and I’m in heaven. ANyways it got me thinking? A yandere and plushies?? 

Warnings - NSFW, non con, dub con, Tamaki is a voyuer without your consent, Kirishima is sweet but deluded, Bakugou is mean but caring, and Dabi is straight up AwfulTM

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

KIRISHIMA

Would be so soft, notice how you have plushies littering your bed at home so he’ll buy you some. Even if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t have plushies crowding their bed, he’s still gonna buy them for you.

He likes giving them to you, thinks it’s romantic when he presents them with a bundle of flowers. You think it’s anything but,  yet still accept the stuffed animal begrudgingly because it’s so soft and cuddly. 

It becomes a comfort object, something you can’t seem to let go of. If you’re watching tv, the stuffed animal is on the couch too. Making food? The plushie is set next to you on the counter where you can grab it. At night-time it’s clutched in your arms, suffocated against your chest the very same way Kiri clutches you to his.

Getting fucked silly? The plushie is crushed in your arms as you cry, and Kiri thinks it’s so cute and it makes his heart clench. Something about it makes him go wild, maybe it’s how small you seem, how innocent with a stuffed animal wrapped in your arms as if it could protect you from his relentless kisses.

He loves you so much, he’s always buying you plushies. Kirishima catches on the fact that they’re a comfort object for you, something that you use to ground yourself when something stresses you out.

He always brings your biggest plushie to you when he’s gonna fuck you hard, like the kind, considerate man he is. It’s so big that you can wrap both arms around it while you sob, while he ruts into you like a wild animal.

Likes laying you over your plushie and watches you cry into it as he fucks you so good you’re screaming in ecstasy. Kiri especially loves fucking you early in the morning or late at night, turns you on your side and has sleepy sex while you sniffle and hold your stuffed animal.

He accidentally rips one of them one time while he’s fucking you, he got too excited and wanted to see your face as you came, tried to pull the plushie out of your arms and ended up ripping it in half.

You had cried so hard and he felt so bad, bought you ten more plushies and giant candy bar to make up for it. For the next few weeks he was so, so gentle with you, pushing down his primal urges to get feral and use you like a whore whenever he saw you being unwittingly cute and sexy as you went about your day.

Although, to be honest it’s not hard for you to be sexy. You bend over and he wants to rip off your clothes, bury himself into your pussy. You stretch to get a glass off a high shelf and he wants to lift you onto the counter, make you kneel so he can eat out your pussy. You literally walk across the floor and the big man is salivating at the sight of your breasts bouncing slightly underneath your top, wants to pull and suck at them until they’re red and sore. But like a good loevr, he holds himself back and only pulls you to the bedroom and treats you gently. For a few weeks at least, until he can’t take it anymore.

Then it’s back to rabid fuck-sessions whenever you do so much as breathe

If you upset him (please try not to), The plushie will get ripped out of your hands, discarded onto the floor. He won't let you grab it before he’s lifting you up against the wall, tearing off your shorts and sheathing his cock inside of you. 

When that happens, you have nothing left to hold but him. Kirishima doesn’t like getting upset with you, but deep down he really relishes the way you grab and clutch at him like he’s your lifeline. 

BAKUGOU

Doesn’t really think much about it, but maybe he sees a cute ad or something pretty in a store window and it reminds him of you. Probably he saw the plushie bought it for you cause he wants to see you holding it. 

Gives it to you, but doesn’t really think much of it after that. Thinks it’s cute how you had blushed when he pulled the silky soft stuffed animal out of the bag. You had been surprised, because usually Bakugou is buying you lewd outfits or lingerie, not cute plushies. You were honestly kind of grateful that you wouldn’t have to model your gift for the man; he always insisted you do with everything else he bought for you.

It doesn’t bother him that you leave it on the bed. Honestly, he doesn’t even think of it. But when he sees you tucking it underneath the covers like a little kid, he gets lost in thought.

Dude probably hadn’t even thought about kids, but seeing you be so soft and sweet to a inanimate toy had him fantasizing about the future with you. You would be a great mother, and he’d be a good father. 

And that’s how Bakugou ends up with a breeding kink. 

When he crawls over you the first night, groaning about making a kid that’d be so smart and strong and great, you panic. You don’t want a kid with him, he’s volatile and explosive and abusive, it’s a recipe for disaster. 

You beg and cry and plead with him to keep you on the pill, and you do to so sweetly and utterly humiliate yourself while doing so, and Bakugou can’t tell you no. So he promises that it won’t happen just yet.

But if you’re bad? He’s gonna hold you down and fuck into you so fast that you get dizzy, threaten to flush the birth control pills down the toilet. He runs his mouth, goes on and on about how he’ll fuck you until you’re swollen with his kids, how your tits will get so big and round and full of milk and he’ll suck and bite at them everyday.

After that threat, you try your hardest to always be good.

TAMAKI

Obviously is too shy to kidnap you just yet. The ravenette gets you one of those nanny-cam bears, one that has a camera inside without it being obvious.

He stutters as he gives it to you, ears bright red, shuffling his shoes and not able to meet your eyes. Says its because the little animal reminded him of you, that they’re his favorite and immediately bites his tongue after he admits that.

You probably think it’s cute, smile as he pushes it into your hands. You can’t tell that the poor man is almost cumming in his pants when his hands brush against your arm. You know he’s shy, so it’s not surprising that he immediately bolts as soon as he’s given you the stuffed animal.

A camera doesn’t even cross your mind, Tamaki too innocent and you too trusting. The stuffed animal gets placed in your armchair, the one in your bedroom that you sit in to read. Lucky for Tamaki, it faces your bed.

He watches you quite a lot, laying down in his own bed with his laptop on the nightstand. The man likes to imagine the two of you sharing the same bed, but can’t get far without blushing and covering his face with a pillow at the slightest dirty thought.

When you masturbate for the first time, Tamaki cries. He cries because he’d been watching you ever since you got in bed, had watched as you slowly kicked off your shorts and had cum the second you peeled your panties down. He cries because he’s overstimulated, unable to stop jerking his cock as he watches you pleasure yourself, the man almost numb and shaking as he orgasms for the third time in half an hour.

By the time you finish, Tamaki is blubbering, can’t stop watching, can’t stop pumping his overstimulated cock in time to your fingers plunging into your pussy.

He doesn’t turn his TV on anymore.

DABI

Is the type to get some awful, scratchy, over-filled abomination like the stuffed animals you get from the fair. It’s an ugly one, horribly deformed and badly sewn, eyes bulging and one of it’s limbs shorter than the others. 

Probably doesn’t think to give it to you until he’s headed home, knows it’s what couples do and thinks that maybe you’ll stop screaming when he touches you. 

He barely got his dick out one time and you had cried so hard you passed out. Now if he goes anywhere near you you’re immediately alert, wide eyes never leaving him. If he so much as touches you he has to be prepared for you to scream and cry and try to bite him.

He guesses that’s what happens when you kidnap someone.

Getting you a stuffed animal does not make anything better.

But Dabi’s tired of you refusing him, of you crying and being a little bitch. He’s been blueballed for the past two weeks, just because he was trying to be nice and let you adjust.

So he takes the deformed stuffed animal he stole and shoves it in your mouth. 

It muffles your cries while he grinds his dick into your sensitive walls, and really, that’s all he needs. You feel so good, Dabi doesn’t care that behind your makeshift gag you’re cursing his existence.

[escapewithbts]

“I’m Not Sure Anymore...” (Part One) - Hoseok

—————————————————-

You stared at the dark ceiling in your bedroom; the silence in the room was deafening. Another night where sleep was just too hard to come by. Your mind wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t stop the memories from flooding in. They were the last things you could hold on to as 2 months ago your whole world had fallen apart. And just when you thought you were finally getting used to the changes, your brain still wanted to hold on.... as did your heart.

You shut your eyes tightly, a memory you weren’t so fond of coming into view...

Your heart stopped. You caught your breath in your throat. There on the computer screen was the infamous tweet. The reveal to all. One of Dispatch’s elusive claims of k-pop relationships. But this time, staring back at you was a member of the girl group BLACKPINK... and your own boyfriend. They were holding hands and laughing. ‘J-Hope and Jisoo: CONFIRMED’ it read. With shaky hands you scrolled down further to read the replies:

“omg they’re holding hands, it must be true!”

“Ahhh this makes me so happy! J&J are sooo cute together!”

“I really hope this isn’t fake because they make a great couple”

“She is so perfect for him! Both idols in the two most popular kpop bands! They must have so much in common!”

You immediately closed the Twitter window and slammed your laptop shut. You suddenly felt extremely nauseous and jumped up from your chair to run to the bathroom. You kneeled on the floor in front of the toilet, but nothing came out, your stomach just twisted in pain and anxiousness. You sat back against the cold tile wall and hugged your knees to your chest. You didn’t feel like crying exactly, but you felt on the brink of a panic attack.

Suddenly you heard a door slam shut and footsteps coming to the bedroom door.

“Oh my (y/n)-ahhhh, I’m baaack,” Your boyfriend’s sing-song voice rang towards the bathroom you sat in, “Where are you?”

You stood up with shaky legs and left the bathroom, entering the bedroom where Hoseok had just come in.

He smiled wide and stepped towards you.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he squeezed you tightly against him, but you wanted so badly out of his grasp, “I missed you today.”

He released you and looked at your face, his smile disappearing.

“Jagi, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head and looked at the ground.

“You haven’t seen it?” You whispered, not meeting his gaze.

He put his hands on your shoulders and attempted to meet your eyes.

“Seen what, Jagiya? What’s going on?”

You shimmied out of his grasp and stepped back.

“Check Twitter.” Was all you could say.

He looked worried as he hesitantly pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

His eyes got wide as his finger scrolled through all the accounts, the tweets, the replies. Finally he looked back up at you.

“(Y/n)...” he said softly, stepping toward you.

You backed away which caused a pained look on his face.

“Surely you must know this is all lies Jagi...”

You shook your head and looked at the ground.

“But the picture...”

He scoffed.

“It’s photoshopped, (y/n). Come on, you know how intricate these people can get these days with manipulating pictures.”

You shut your eyes tightly, the image coming back in your mind causing your stomach to twist.

“But it looks so real...” you whispered softly.

Hoseok ran a hand through his black hair.

“(Y/n)... please,” he pleaded, “You must know it’s fake. It’s all lies. They just want to make money and make people talk. You know they just do it for the attention. Please believe me, my sweet (y/n). I am only with you...”

You wanted so badly to believe him, but that picture looked so real. Dispatch had been right about couples before. And it made sense, J-Hope being with another idol. It was so much better for his career and his lifestyle. Why hadn’t you realized this before? You weren’t right for him. You were a nobody. Not used to extravagant things, so much money you couldn’t wrap your head around it, people watching your boyfriend’s every move, the rumors, the stalkers, the lack of normalcy. It was so overwhelming.

Suddenly the tears started falling and your breaths became more shallow. Your body was shaking and your heart was going a mile a minute.

Hoseok ran to you, you not resisting this time. He held you to his chest.

“It’s okay, Jagi, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.” he tried calming you down, running his hand through your soft hair.

You suddenly were furious. How could he think that?

“It is a big deal, Hoseok!” You backed out of his grasp, “It’s not okay! I-I’m staring at my boyfriend with another girl and-and millions of people are saying how great you are for each other, showing proof they knew you two were together all along while I just sit back and watch like an idiot!”

You felt like you were being dramatic, but you didn’t care. You were scared.

Hoseok put his face in his hands and shook his head.

“But it’s not real, (y/n). Please believe. I would never do that to you.”

You took deep breaths to try and calm yourself down though they came out uneven and shaky. You finally looked up into J-Hope’s sad and worried eyes as they searched yours for an answer, a reassurance.

You looked to the side, unable to keep his gaze. You sighed.

“Maybe you wouldn’t, Hoseok...” you mumbled quietly, “But I just, I’m not sure anymore.”

He cocked his head, his eyes wide.

“Not sure? Not sure of what, (y/n)?” He tried to reach out to you but put his arms down remembering how forcefully you had pulled out of his grasp.

“I’m not sure...I can do this anymore.”

He froze, taking a step back with a shocked look on his face.

“Wha-what are you saying, (y/n)?” His voice trembled.

“This is too hard... I’m not sure I’m cut out for it,” tears started to fall from your eyes again, “I think... I need some time. I need to take a step back, for at least a little while...”

He looked at you in surprise and sadness.

“What? Like-like a break?”

“Yes,” you responded quietly, “I-I’m sorry, Hoseok.”

“(Y/n), please...” he trailed off. You could see he wanted to pull you to him, comfort you, make you laugh and have everything back to normal again. But he knew it was pointless to try.

You shuffled around the room, grabbing your things that were scattered about and shoving them in your duffle bag you kept at his place.

Hoseok didn’t take his eyes off you.

“You’re-you’re going now?” He squeaked out quietly.

You nodded, wiping you tear stained cheeks and throwing the last bit of your clothes in the bag.

“(Y/n), please,” he repeated, “don’t do this.”

You looked into his eyes and noticed tears welling up in them. In your one year together you had never seen Hoseok cry. He was always so happy and bubbly. This was a new side you knew he didn’t show anyone, and the fact that you were bringing it out of him made you want to drop your bag and run back into his arms to comfort him. But your mind held you back, unable to see anything but that picture from the internet you discovered mere minutes ago.

“When will I hear from you?” He choked out, attempting to hold back his sobs, “When will you be back?”

You reached the bedroom door, duffle bag over your shoulder and looked back at him. He looked small and defeated standing there.

“I don’t know. I-just... I don’t know. Goodbye Hoseok.” And with that you turned out of the room and away from the confused and heartbroken man who had your heart.

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand next to you and dialed one of the members you had become best friends with through J-hope.

“Hello?” A groggy sounding Park Jimin answered after just one ring.

“Hi Jimin...” you said softly, “I’m sorry to call so late.”

You heard him sigh and let out a few grunts as you figured he sat up in his bed.

“You can call me anytime, (y/n), you know that.”

You smiled. You were glad Jimin had decided to remain friends with you despite what happened. Even though he had known Hoseok far longer than you, it made you happy knowing he would still be there for you.

“Can’t sleep again?” He asked.

You shook your head but realized he couldn’t see you, so you simply answered with a no.

Jimin sighed again.

“(Y/n)-ah... why don’t you just talk to him?”

You bit your lip nervously and fiddled with the bedsheet in front of you.

“I just can’t, Minnie...” you mumbled.

“You know, Hobi-hyung is-“

“Ah! No. Please Jimin.” You interrupted him, shutting your eyes tightly.

The two of you had spoken about what happened, and Jimin didn’t blame you for taking some time, but you would never let him mention how Hoseok was coping, afraid it would tear you up even more. You needed a clear mind, not one filled with the image of J-hope being sad, or worse, moving on.

Jimin scoffed.

“You woke me up to talk, remember?” He reminded you.

“Yes, I’m sorry Jimin ssi.”

Maybe it was time to hear how J-hope was after you stepped back from your relationship after all. Maybe it would help you figure out what to do, what you wanted.

You took a deep breath.

“Is he okay, Jimin-ah?” You wondered softly.

You heard Jimin shuffle.

“You really want to know?” He asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

Jimin exhaled and cleared his throat.

“He’s not doing well, (y/n). He’s in his room or studio most of the time when he doesn’t have anything on the schedule. And if he is working, he’s putting in minimal effort, it seems. We haven’t seen him laugh, let alone smile in weeks. He doesn’t make jokes, his dancing lacks passion. He just... isn’t himself. It’s weird, and to be honest, well, we are kind of worried about him. We are out of ideas on how to cheer him up.”

You felt your heart sink to your stomach as tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn’t believe you were the cause of him being like how Jimin described. You never wanted to be the one to take away the well being of everyone’s favorite sunshine.

“Do you at least still care about him (y/n)?” Jimin asked when you hadn’t responded.

You hesitated.

“I-I still love him, Jimin...” you whispered, tears falling from your eyes. And you knew this was true.

“(Y/n) I’ve told you a million times, he was never with her and they hardly even knew each other. I know it’s hard and different than any relationship has ever been, but he adored you so much. Just when we thought Hobi-hyung couldn’t get any brighter, he did when you came into his life. And when you left... just darkness. With the career he has chosen, something like this isn’t guaranteed not to happen again, that’s for sure. But he would never hurt you like that, he loves you too much. With love comes trust, and if you still love him like you say you do, you have to trust him, too.”

By this time you were sobbing, emotions and tiredness taking over. You knew Jimin was right. They scared you, your worries and insecurities, but the way you felt these past couple months without Hoseok scared you more. He was your everything. He boosted you up when you needed it, and made you laugh like no one else could. You missed him immensely.

“I should call him,” you said to Jimin in between sobs.

“No, you should see him in person,” he suggested, “Tomorrow we have some time off. Maybe come by the dorms?”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I will.”

“Good. It will be okay, (y/n)-ah, I promise. This is a good thing,” he tried reassuring you, “in the meantime, I have to go back to sleep. You should try to, too.”

You sighed. Sleep now? Yeah right.

“Ok, thank you Jimin. Good night.”

“Good night, (y/n). See you tomorrow.”

*

Masterlist

[hanniiesuckle17]

Anything But Normal

A/n: this was such cute Idea I hope I did it justice. It’s been a while since I’ve written a comedy piece. There are probably spelling errors I’ll go back and fix them later. also I love Jon Favreau as Happy so I had to put him in. (i swear he is one of my favorite actors) btw this is not edited (i’ll come back and do that eventually)

Requested by: @tokiokiedokie​

Warnings: Cussing,(come on it's me guys), partial nudity.

Member: Han Jisung

Summary: When Y/n’s best friend goes through a drastic change he starts keeping secrets. Secrets that include him being New York’s one and only friendly neighborhood spiderman. Shit hits the fan when his new secret life is exposed and she gets dragged into it.

Genre: Spiderman!au, romance, comedy, friends to lovers!au, little bit of angst

There are only three things that truly matter in life. Good friends, good pizza, and a good story. So far I had two of those at the moment. Sadly I was lacking a good story. Our school newspaper had been quite dry despite my efforts to discover new and intriguing stories. 

“Stop sulking and eat.” My best friend said, shoving a piece of cheese pizza in my face. Jisung laughed when I bit the end before returning to look at my laptop. We were at our usual pizza place seated next to the window with the big bright red neon sign lighting up our faces. The sun set over the New York skyline making the moment almost perfect. If only I was writing an exciting article. Instead, I was putting together a riveting look into the school’s menu changes. 

“You know I invited you because I thought you were going to be good company.”

“Please. You invited me because Felix was busy with a stupid Lego project and no one else will eat pizza with you.”

“Whatever.”

Jisung and I weren’t the most popular people in our senior class. To be frank, Jisung was my only friend. So going out and eating pizza every other day at ten o’clock at night was often the highlight of my week. Having had enough of the lack of attention Jisung slammed my laptop closed and removed it from the already small table. “Hey! I didn’t save!” 

“That’s what Google Docs is for.”

He was right. I needed to stop working. I had been slaving over that stupid and boring article all week. He didn’t have to be such an ass though. “You are such a teenager.” I scoffed, watching him shovel yet another slice of pizza down his throat. “Oh, and you are such an adult!” The mocking tone of his voice threatened a laugh. 

“I swear you are God’s punishment for enjoying sex. Everyone’s libido just disappears when you are around.”

“Hey don’t ruin our date. I was considering sleeping with you tonight.”

He laughed when I threatened to smack him. It had been like this for as long as I could remember. Just me and Jisung. My parents had been friends with his before they passed away in a car accident. Now Jisung lived with his Aunt May and his Uncle Ben a few blocks away from me. 

I remember after the crash I would wake to a tap on my window to see an eight year old Jisung on my fire escape. Not wanting to bother his Aunt with his nightmares, Jisung had run all the way to my apartment and climbed the fire escape to my room on the sixth floor. I would open the window and let him sleep in my bed. My eight year old brain used to think maybe my bed was like force field keeping away the bad dreams about his parents.

“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?” Jisung asked bringing me out of my thoughts. 

“Mr. Finoli asked me to take pictures of the science field trip so I’m going with you guys. Why?” A look of realization crossed Jisung’s face making him freeze. “Did you forget to ask May to sign your permission slip?”

“I forgot to ask May to sign my-...you can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?”

Laughing I pulled a ten out of my wallet and left it on the table. “Come on, you’ve gotta get your slip signed, dummy.” “I can pay, it’s no problem.” He said watching me pack up my stuff. “Nah, you can get the next one.” Bellies full of pizza, we left Tony’s Pizzeria and headed in the direction of Jisung’s apartment, his arm draped over my shoulder and talking my ear off about some random experiment they had done in Physics that day. 

The next day I woke up bright and early to meet the class at the New York Museum of Science. Camera bag on my shoulder and camera around my neck I stood outside the museum with about ten other students and two teachers. My tired eyes brightened when I saw Jisung step out from the subway, May right behind him.

I laughed as he wiped a kiss from his cheek before waving goodbye to her. His dyed blonde hair was messy and blew slightly in the wind. Jisung waved when he saw me and jogged over. His hoodie lazily hung off his shoulder and his shirt and jeans were somewhat wrinkled. “Don’t you look nice?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at his appearance. 

“Shut up.”

He laughed throwing an arm around my shoulder, leading me closer to the group. Soon the tour began and I busied myself with taking photos of the group for the paper and yearbook. Jisung followed the group, only half-listening to the teacher as he looked at other random exhibits. 

At around one in the afternoon, the group moved outside to have lunch on the steps. I sat off to the side with Jisung, his legs spread out across the stairs and his elbow rested on the step above us. It was refreshing to be next to him talking about absolutely nothing. Even if he stole my food. 

Eventually, we were all called back to resume the tour. I angled a shot of two students looking at a bug exhibit, but just as I took the picture Jisung jumped in the frame throwing up a peace sign and crossing his eyes. “Hey! Stop hitting me!” He yelled as I smacked his shoulder over and over again. “Look I’m just innocently observing the exhibit. Leave me alone crazy woman!”

Sighing, I pushed him away and resumed taking photos. As the group was moving onto the next room I noticed Jisung was missing. It wasn’t unlike him to wander off into a room he wasn’t supposed to just to look at probably like some DNA model or some other weird science shit. I could never get over the fact Jisung was super into science when he gave zero fucks about his other classes. 

“Jisung?”

“Ji?”

“Ji, we are moving on,” I said looking for him. My eyes landed on a semi-open door marked ‘Lab’. He wouldn’t. He did. Just as I started to walk towards the door, he exited with a goofy smile on his face. “Y/n! Dude, they have all these cool spiders and test tubes in there it was so cool! One of them bit me!” Like an excited three-year-old, he showed me his wrist where he indeed had a red spider bite. 

“Ooooooh! Take a picture!” 

He shoved my camera into my hands and held up his arm pointing to the spider bite making the dopiest smile. Knowing he wouldn’t shut up until I complied, I took the picture. 

“Let’s catch up with the group,” I said taking his hand and dragging him back to the class. When we reached the group a teacher looked over at us his brows furrowing. “Excuse me, Miss L/n, is your friend okay?” He pointed to Jisung, a concerned expression on his face.

“Jisung? There are certainly things wrong with him but he’s oka-”

My words stopped when I turned to look at my best friend next to me. “Ji- Oh my god! Ji are you okay?” His face had obviously paled and he looked dizzy. A thin layer of sweat lay on his forehead. 

“Hell yeah. I’m doing fine, baby.” His voice sounded drowsy.

“Miss L/n he is not alright. Does he have anyone who can come get him.” The teacher said pulling out his phone. I shook my head. May worked in the day and his Uncle Ben was on a business trip. “No, they are working.” 

He sighed and turned to me. Jisung was clearly getting worse by the second and was wobbling a little. “What about you? Can you take him home?” Jisung laughed and wrapped his arms around me loosely. “Fuck yeah, I’d her take me home.” 

“I have a test in my last period.”

“I’ll write you a pass and send it to your teacher. Take him home please.”

Nodding he typed something on his phone and returned to the group who had started to move once again. “Okay Ji, let’s get you back to May’s.” Slowly we started moving to the exit. Before we made it to the doors, Jisung practically turned green. He pushed away from me and burst towards the nearest restroom. 

“Jisung!” 

Ignoring the looks and yells I followed Jisung into the restroom and looked for the stall he was in. “Hey, lady get out of here!” A man standing at the urinal screamed. 

“Oh please. Get over yourself.”

“Ji?”

Following the coughing and gagging sounds, I pushed the final stall door open. Jisung sat on the floor his mop of blonde hair hanging over the toilet. I crouched next to him and rubbed his back gently. “Oh god, I hate puking.”

“Jisung everyone hates puking.”

“Yeah well.....your face likes puking.”

“Nice comeback.”

Feeling too terrible to respond, he just threw up the contents of his stomach again. When he seemed able to stand the two of us made our way outside and down the subway. Jisung leaned most of his weight on me as I slid my metro pass through the scanner. How I managed to get him through the turnstile and onto the metro I have no clue. Thankfully there was once last seat free for Jisung to sit down in. 

“Y/n, I don’t feel good.” 

“I know,” I said softly as he rested his head against my stomach. The train turned sharply making me hold onto the strap, not wanting to fall into Jisung. Soft whines and groans came from him every now and then. This was the worst I had ever seen Jisung. 

I listened to the stations being called out as I ran my fingers through his hair, hoping that would calm him down a little. We were only four stops away but more people were getting on the train. Jisung looked up at me a sick expression on his face. It changed when he looked at the passengers boarding the car. 

“Here, Ma’am. You can take my seat.”

“Thank you so much, young man.” An older woman said taking his seat as he got up. “Jisung, you feel terrible. Are you okay to stand?” He shrugged latching onto the strap next to mine, his face paling again. “I’ll be fine, it’s only four stops.”

Jisung’s eyes started to droop as the train started up again. His body began to act heavier than it was so he resorted to leaning on me and nestling his head between my neck and shoulder. I did my best to make sure he didn’t fall over.

“You two are very cute together.” The old lady said with a smile.

“Oh- we aren’t--” 

“You better hold onto a good man like that, sweetie. Handsome and kind. Those are hard to come by.”

Before I could respond we turned again, and I had to keep Jisung from falling in this poor nice old lady’s lap. I felt his skin burning against mine. Could this train not go any faster. Soon enough our stop came. I said bye to the old woman and helped Jisung get off the train and up the subway stairs. 

“Come on, Ji. We are almost there and we both know I cannot carry your ass.” 

Eventually, I made it up the stairs of his apartment building to the fourth floor and managed to drag him to his door. “Jisung, where’s your key?” Trying not to hurt his head I propped him up on the door frame. He laughed when I started searching through his pockets.  

“Y/n if you wanted to cop a feel just ask. That tickles.” 

“Jisung where are your fucking keys?” 

“Back pocket.” He said drowsily. I sighed and reached behind him. My hands searched through his jean pockets for the cold metal keys. “Having fun back there, because I’m sure enjoying it.” 

I suppressed the urge to punch him in the stomach out of fear he would vomit all over me. Finally finding his keys, I unlocked the door and threw my stuff inside, before lugging him in as well. Jisung leaned on the couch while I put my stuff on the table.

“Y/n it’s burning up in here.” 

“Jisung, you just have a temperature.”

“It burns like fucking hell! It’s too hot!”

Before I could stop him Jisung was shedding layers like a snake. He tossed his shirt somewhere in the small living room. He was sweating like crazy, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead. “Ji, come on let’s get you in the shower.” I started running a cold shower for him before rushing back to the living room to call May. It would only be a couple hours until she got home, but I should still let her know what’s going on.

While Jisung was in the shower, I grabbed some medicine from the cabinet. I had absolutely no fucking idea how to treat a spider bite. Antibiotics? Hearing the shower turn off I knocked before entering. Jisung had a towel wrapped around his waist and was leaning his head against the wall. “Y/n...”

“I’m right here, Jisung.” Cautiously I led him to his room and watched him collapse onto his double bed. Rummaging through his drawers I found some mostly clean sweatpants. “Ji, do you even do laundry?” 

“Y/n, I feel a little too fucking sick to do chores now.”

“I know. I know.” He slipped on the sweatpants and let me dry his hair. I wrapped his arms, covering the bite so it wouldn’t get more infected then it already probably was. Jisung’s temperature flipped like crazy. One minute he was burning up and the next he was freezing. 

A sigh of relief left my chest when I heard May call out in the apartment. “Y/n thank you so much for taking care of him.” She gave me a short hug before running to go get more meds. She would know better than I would, being an ER nurse. “Ji, do you want me to stay? I can call my parents and tell them I’m staying the night.” He slowly shook his head.

“No, it’s okay.” 

“I can stay really-”

“Y/n, I’ll be fine. You can go home.” 

He gave me a half-assed smile and squeezed my hand. There was no arguing with Jisung sick or not so I gathered my things and left. May promised to keep me updated and I told her I would have my phone next to me.

The walk back to my apartment seemed longer than usual. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jisung. When I got home, my parents greeted me before telling me they would be working tonight. My dad was a cop and my mom worked at a hospital downtown. It was rare they were even home, to begin with. Exhausted from taking care of Jisung, I rolled onto my bed and fell asleep.

This boy really texted me at five the morning telling me to meet him at his locker three hours later. If he wasn’t still sick I would for sure have throttled him. Except for the fact that Jisung didn’t look sick. Not at all. He looked perfectly healthy as he walked down the hall towards me. In fact, he looked...really....good. It pissed me off. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sick?”

“Yeah, I got better.”

Jisung opened his locker like it was any other day and got his books. “What did you want to talk about?” He sighed and looked over at me. There was something different about him. Did his jaw always look like that? No. No jaw looks like that. 

“So this morning I woke up and like I felt completely fine. In fact, I felt the best I have in years. And this weird thing happened to me on the subway-”

Jisung’s words were interrupted by the sound of his locker closing, only the entire row of metal lockers rattled as his shut. “The fuck? Did we have an earthquake or something?” I asked looking around. “What? No. New York isn’t on a fault line.” Shrugging it off I turned back to Jisung.

“You were saying?” He seemed distracted now, looking at his closed locker. “Ummm.... I wanted to thank you for yesterday.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. “Ji, you don’t need to thank me. I’ll always take care of you if you need me.” As I pulled away his hands stayed on my waist, which wasn’t totally out of the norm. Jisung was always a really touchy and flirty person. It drove me crazy sometimes, knowing that it was just his personality and not him acting on something else. 

“So this weird thing happened on my way to school this morning. My hand-” Again Jisung was interrupted. This time by the bell ringing for homeroom. “Hey Jisung, I’ve gotta go, but you can tell me at lunch right?” He nodded, his expression becoming more uneasy. As I turned his grip on my waist stopped me.

“Ji, I know you wanna tell me now but I have to go!” I said with a laugh. A nervous breathy laugh escaped his lips as he tried to pull away from me. “Well, you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off of you.” Arching an eyebrow I chose to ignore his weird behavior and walked off to my homeroom. 

When the lunch bell finally rang I took my food outside to where Ji and I normally ate. However, he was nowhere in sight. As if he could read my thoughts, my phone notified me of a text from Jisung.

Lix asked me to help him with some Chem work. Sry I can’t eat with you :(

I sent him a quick reply saying it was okay. It wasn’t the first time I had eaten alone and it surely wouldn’t be the last. To no surprise, Chaeyoung and one of her friends walked by. “Have you seen that kid? What’s his name? Jihyun?” She said in her shrill voice. It was hard not to hear her conversation even from twenty feet away.

“No, I think his name is Jisung. Han Jisung. He is in my physics class. Kind of a dweeb if you ask me.” 

“Well, that dweeb filled out. He was probably just a late bloomer, but like all of a sudden, he got really hot. Have you seen his arms and his chest? Oh my god! A girl could die.” 

The girls laughed and continued to objectify my best friend. They were right. Jisung had seemed to have had a huge glow up overnight. His lanky form did seem more toned and his arms were much more muscular than I remembered. 

“Can you believe he still hangs out with that new junkie girl? Like, please. He could get any girl he wants now. Why stay friends with that waste of space?” 

“That bitch is so full of herself. Literally, no one even likes her.” Chaeyoung said laughing. Having heard enough, I got up and decided to go to my next class early. It didn’t necessarily bother me what she had said. Chaeyoung always liked to mess with me.

All my classes seemed slower than usual and Jisung was answering my texts. At this point in the day, we would probably be having a meme war or a stupid conversation ignoring our teachers, but my phone was silent. Not a single notification. 

By the end of the day, I was feeling totally depressed. English was my last class and thank god I had it with Jisung. No doubt he would be late though. He rarely ever showed up on time to class. But, as I walked through the classroom door I did a double-take seeing my best friend in his usual seat right beside mine. 

He gave me an innocent smile. This was strange. Jisung was never early. He looked...normal. I mean other than the physical overnight puberty storm. He slouched in his chair his long legs spilling into the aisle, not that he cared, and he twirled a pen between his long slender fingers. 

“Yo, wassup, cutie?” He said as I sat down. “You seem to be the talk of the school.” He shrugged and shuffled through some physics work he had on his desk. “You jealous?” That stupid smirk appeared on his mouth. “No. Just confused.”

“Okay, class. Settle down. We are going to be returning to our analysis of Austen’s novel Sense and Sensibility.” 

I busied myself with taking thorough notes knowing Jisung would just fall asleep again or just play a random game on his phone. The teacher droned on making a seemingly not boring book a complete snooze fest. The lecture continued without end threatening to send me to sleep as well. Out of habit, I looked over at Jisung, except he was not asleep. Jisung was wide awake and he appeared to be listening intently. 

As if he sensed I was looking at him he turned and smiled at me before returning his attention to the front of the classroom. This was too weird. Where was my Jisung? Maybe he was still sick. That could explain the weird behavior, right? 

The harsh sound of the release bell brought me out of my thoughts. Jisung was already packing up his stuff. “Hey, you wanna stop by Tony’s on the way home? You can buy me a slice!” I said latching onto his arm. The girls were right. Jisung had filled out. Feeling myself starting to blush, I let go and looked back up at my best friend. 

“I can’t. I’ve gotta run some errands fro May and then Uncle Ben asked me to pick up dinner and some other stuff.”

“I can come with you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll text you later!” 

Without another word, Jisung raced out of the classroom. I knew Jisung pretty well and it was clear he didn’t want me around today. Alone-again- I rode the subway back to my apartment to be greeted by an empty living room. My mom had left a note on the counter leaving me money for dinner and saying Jisung was welcome to come over. “Yeah, well he’s too busy,” I said to no one in particular. 

It got dark pretty quick. All my homework was finished. I even managed to submit the stupid article on lunch menus. Eventually, I had nothing to do but stare at my ceiling. The news was getting pretty boring. After the whole Avenger’s fiasco, things had quieted down, and no interesting stories were in sight. By 11:30 I had given up hope Jisung was going to text let alone call so I did the next best thing. 

“Hi, May! Is Jisung busy?” 

“Hi, sweetie! Jisung got home about an hour ago. He said he was out with Felix. Should I tell him to call you?”

“No, no. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell him. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Okay, honey. Goodnight!”

Han Jisung you filthy little liar. If he didn’t want to hang out with me he should have just said so. Deciding I had finally had enough of this awful day I curled up under my covers and fell asleep.

Months had now passed and Jisung had started acting normal again. Well as normal as Jisung could be anyway. Our near daily trips to Tony’s had decreased to only twice a week and Jisung always seemed to be busy after school, though he made sure to text me back for fear of facing my wrath. 

“What do you think of this Spiderman guy?” I asked typing away on my laptop. Jisung lounged across my bed, the Saturday afternoon light casting a warm glow over his face.  He looked up from his place beside me. “Uhh...I don’t know. What do you think of him?”

“He seems a little childish and amateur, but he is a great story. Vigilante helping out downtown New York? That’s gold.”

“Childish? What do you mean childish? He’s professional as fuck. I heard he stopped a bank robbery the other day.”

“Yeah, and they found the criminals hanging from a lampost by their underwear.”

Jisung laughed and ran a hand through his blonde hair before looking up at the ceiling. “You’ve been talking about Spiderman a lot lately. What do you have a crush on him?” I scoffed, fingers flying across my keyboard. “Please. I don’t date children. Besides, I just think he is a great story.”

“You wanna order takeout?” Jisung asked reaching over me to get my phone. My dad was on duty and my mom was on call so Jisung had come over to keep me company. I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice how amazing he smelled as he leaned over me. “You know you should really stop eating junk food. You are what you eat.” I said distracting myself from how close he was.

“Well then if we are what we eat, I guess I would be fast, cheap, and easy.” 

Jisung winked at me, making my eyes roll. Jisung had grown at home in his new body and somehow he got even cockier than he was before. He groaned at my lack of response and instead let his head rest in my lap, giving him a good view of my screen. “Play with my hair, bitch.”

“Excuse me, dick. I’m working.” He laughed and unlocked my phone. I often wondered why he liked just sitting with me. I think I remembered him telling me once that he liked the sound of me typing. He said it had sort of a rhythm that only belonged to me. How he could pick up on that I had no clue. Like he had superhearing. 

“I ordered sushi. Don’t worry, I’ll pay.” Jisung said, adjusting his body slightly so he wasn’t at an awkward angle. I smiled continuing to write about our masked arachnid hero. “Please tell me you got boba too.” I sighed suddenly craving the sweet drink.

“Of course, baby. I’ve got you.” 

There was a moment of silence. Any minute now Jisung was going to break it. The boy couldn’t go three minutes without talking. “Do you think Spiderman is hot?” Jisung blurted out. 

“Jisung...do we need to have a talk?”

“What- no! Oh, what- no! I mean like do you think he’s hot?”

“The guy wears a mask; how am I supposed to know?”

He shrugged and played on my phone. “I don’t know. What do you think he looks like?” With Jisung’s mind, he wasn’t going to drop this until he got an answer. Saving my work, I closed my laptop and moved it onto the side table. “He’s probably like thirteen. I’m mean he is skinny enough to be a pre-teen.”

“No, like his face.”

“You are weirdly obsessed with this you know.”

“Answer the question already. I’m getting bored.”

I thought for a minute, my hand unconsciously moving to run through his blonde locks. What would spiderman look like? “He is probably just some random white dude. Dark hair, blue eyes maybe?”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. The topic changed after that. Jisung told me about spending time with his Uncle earlier that day and we talked about his weird physics experiments. Soon enough, the food came and Jisung paid for it like he said he would. We spent the next several hours sitting in my bed eating sushi, drinking boba, and watching a drama Jisung insisted I ‘needed to see or my brain would explode out of my ears from being lame’.

After several episodes, my room was obscenely dark and my parents had yet to come home. My back rested against Jisung’s chest letting me feel the vibration of his laughs. “Hey, it’s late. You should probably head home.” He smiled when I made no attempt at moving or letting him up. “Do you want me to stay?” “Yes  please.”  He chuckled and pulled out his phone, calling his uncle and letting him know. 

Soon I began to grow tired, my head slumping back onto his shoulder. He poked my side, trying to wake me up. “Hey, go change for bed.” Sleepily, I nodded and shuffled out of bed to sift through my closet for a nightshirt. Jisung moved around getting comfortable while I changed. 

As I walked back over to the bed Jisung shut my laptop and placed it on my nightstand. When I climbed back into my bed he pulled me on top of him, wrapping his arms around my waist. It had been quite a while since Jisung had stayed over. It felt so nice just to be next to him, feeling the warmth radiating off his bare chest. The sound of his heartbeat lulled me to sleep. 

Jisung’s ringtone blared in my small room quickly waking me up. “Ji-” I said shoving my head under the covers. “I got it. Go back to sleep.” A quick glance at my clock told me it was two am. Who the hell was calling Jisung at two am? Jisung reached over me and grabbed his phone off the stand. He tried not to move a lot because my head still lay on his arm. “Hello?”

“Happy? What’s wrong?”

“Jisung tell the Disney dwarf to hang up. I wanna go back to sleep.” I whined, drowsily. Snuggling back into his chest, I reluctantly listened to him sleepily talk on the phone, Jisung not being fully awake himself. “Where am I? I’m at Y/n’s.....Yes....Yes, you can add the location to the list.” I felt Jisung run a hand through his fluffy hair and sigh.

“Mr. Stark said what? Yeah, yeah I have it in my bag....What now?....She’s gonna kill me....I can be there in ten.” Jisung hung up and started to get out of bed. “Woah, where the hell are you going? I need my personal space heater.” Jisung let out a tired laugh as he slipped his baggy shirt back on and rummaged through his bag looking for something. 

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”

“Jisung who the fuck is calling you at two am? What is so important that you have to leave?” I asked still not really awake and comprehensive. “Uhhh....my....internship.”

“Your what?”

“My internship.”

“Your what?” 

“My internship.” 

“Yeah-Ji- you keep saying ‘your internship’ like my half-asleep half murderous mind will understand what your saying.”

 “I got an internship with Stark Industries. They have uh... a problem....with some of the...code that I wrote....last week.” 

Jisung started slipping his socks back on as I stared at him in confusion. “When did you get an internship with freaking Tony Stark -You work with Ironman?!” He laughed and started searching for his shoes. 

“Y/n, go back to sleep. I’ll see you on Monday.” Then he left. I was alone once again in my room. A random siren went off in the distance and I just sat in bed. Suddenly, the police scanner on my dresser crackled to life. My dad had given it to me for my birthday a few years ago. 

We have a 647g Disorderly Conduct at 284 Hickom Av.

647g? Why bother calling that in at this time of night? That was just loitering. Sighing, I got up and walked over to turn the radio off. Another voice coming through stopped me. 

Disregard suspect has left the premise with another group of guys. Headed south down Hickom. 

South down Hickom street? What had my dad said earlier this week? Something about several high arms deals going down near there. If I could catch one in the act this would be a great story! Throwing on some pants and slipping on my sneakers, I grabbed my camera and put on my jacket. “Finally a great story!” 

Hickom Avenue was maybe about ten minutes away. The streets were pretty dark at two am, but it didn’t really bother me. My curiosity overpowered any fear I should have. My eyes scanned the area looking for any sign of the guys the scanner mentioned. Just as I was about to cross in front of an alley I saw them. Quickly I doubled back and pressed against the wall. 

“If I’m paying 4k for some lightsaber shit, I’d better get a demonstration, man.”

Carefully I peeked around the corner. Seven men stood in the hallway. Three were next to this heavy-duty van with blacked-out windows. This was definitely an arms deal if I had ever seen one. Which....to be fair...I hadn’t. But it was pretty clear. 

A guy with muscles bigger than my head pulled out a large weapon with green glowing lights. Quickly I pulled out my camera and started snapping pictures. They proceeded to fire this huge light cannon around the alley. Holy shit. This thing was powerful.

“Okay, you got a deal. I’ll take four-”

Let’s dance the night away,

Let’s  dance the night away,

Yeaaaahh

One, Two, Three! Let’s go!

“Fuck,” I whispered ripping my phone out of my pocket and struggling to turn it off. “Turn off, come on.” Finally, I silenced the phone and turned to see if they had heard. Instead my eyes met a broad chest only a couple inches away. 

Okay....think, think, think. Too busy panicking. Can’t think. Uhhhhhh......fuck. I followed my first instinct and threw a punch at the guy’s nose. His head did not recoil like it was supposed to. He just simply cracked his neck and glared down at me.

Okay.....instincts bad.

Before I knew it I was struggling against the man’s grip as he dragged me into the alley. “We’ve got a visitor.” He said throwing me onto the ground in front of all the other men. They sneered and inched closer clearly quite upset I had interrupted their little party. 

“Make that two. Hey, how are you guys doing?” 

All heads turned to the roof of the liquor store we were next to. My eyes widened. There was Spiderman. Complete with the red and blue suit and cocky childish attitude. “Who the fuck are you?” The buff guy, who now had his foot digging into my stomach, said.

“Bro....Come on. I’m Spiderman. You know. I shoot webs and kick ass.” 

“Isn’t he that guy from YouTube that did the flip on that building?”

“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS ONE TIME!”

The man scoffed and pressed further onto my stomach, making me wince slightly. “Scram, Arachne Boy.” The men around me laughed at I assumed the leader’s joke. The hero sighed and shook his head.

“See now I have to beat you up. You can’t just make fun of my name. That shit hurts, bro.”

“What the fu-” Before he could finish his sentence a web shot and grabbed onto his face and flung him into the side of the building. Soon a fight broke out. Trying to remove myself from the situation I crawled away as Spiderman fought all the men. 

“Ah!” 

A strong hand grabbed the back of my neck and hoisted me off the ground. “You aren’t getting away that easy, little girl.” The man sneered. A huge welt was on the side of his face from Spiderman’s attack. My airway’s started to close as he squeezed tighter. My hands tried to pull his fingers away and slapping at any place I could reach. Meanwhile, the last thing I would hear before I died would be Spiderman yelling something about Naruto running a dude into the next Millenium. 

As the edges of my vision started to fade, I heard another voice come closer. “Get your fucking mutant hands off her!” It screamed. I was dropped to the ground. Air filled my lungs as I took huge gasps. Looking up I saw Spiderman taking on the huge monstrosity of a man with nothing but his own two hands. 

“I was told never to play with guns. But I think today might be the exception.”

A web shot out of his fingertips and pulled the weird contraption into his hands. A bright light emitted and fired at the man, blasting him into the building wall. Within seconds Spiderman had wrapped up the villain in a little cocoon of sticky webs, keeping him secure. A quick look around told me he had already done the same to the others. 

The boy in the red suit danced around like a weirdo, while I sat on the ground. “Go Spidey! Go Spidey! Hell yeah! I made all of you my bitches!” I coughed still trying to get air back into my lungs. The white eyes on his mask widened. It must be some pretty advanced tech in that suit.

“Holy shit- Are you okay, Y/n...........I mean...wait-...random citizen I don’t know who means nothing to me personally. Are you okay?”

His voice weirdly got lower halfway through his sentence. Dazed, I looked back up at him. He offered me a hand up and gratefully I took it. “Thanks for helping back there,” I said, voice coming out a bit sore. He shrugged and puffed out his chest. 

“Yeah, I did kick some serious ass didn’t I?”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my camera and started to walk away. “Wait! Where are you going?” He swung from a lamppost and landed in front of me the suit’s eyes widening and shrinking again. His suit must have facial readers or something. 

“I’m going home. I’ve got my story; I’m done.”

“Hey it’s not safe. Let me take you home. What would your friends say if you weren’t at school tomorrow?” 

Spiderman continued to follow me as if he were a lost puppy. I laughed when he almost tripped over a trashcan. “Okay, one- how do you know I’m a student? And two- I don’t really have any friends. People don’t like me at school.” He stopped in his tracks. 

“What do you mean- Are you getting bullied at school?” His words stopped me. He sounded genuinely concerned. By now we were halfway to my apartment. I simply stared at him as the old streetlights flickered and struggled to light up the sidewalks we were on.

“A couple people bother me, but I just ignore them. Look I’m gonna go home. Thanks for back there. You were a real hero.” 

He looked between me and my hand as I stuck it out for him to shake. Slowly he took it, his grip firm, but cautious. “You know, usually heroes get a thank you kiss for rescuing such a gorgeous girl.” I scoffed and pulled my hand away. 

“Sorry, Spidey. I’m not interested in cocky little shits who run around wearing masks.”

“Yeah well, you’d be surprised. What is your type? Bet, I’m still it.”

My eyes lit up thinking about him. “I guess I’m more of the boy next door type. They say you always fall for your best friend right?”

He blinked as if he was processing my words. What I thinking? A horny fourteen-year-old boy wouldn’t understand. “Night, Spidey. Thanks for the save.” Not letting him say another word, I headed back to my apartment. My apartment was still empty when I returned. My parents wouldn’t be back until after I left for school in a few hours. Reluctantly I went back to my bed, missing the space where Jisung lay only a few hours earlier. It was harder to fall asleep without him next to me.

My legs carried me as quickly as they could. I ignored the crazy looks from people on the street as I raced to May’s apartment. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I burst through the building’s main entrance. Knowing the elevator would take too long and it was probably broken again, I took the stairs up to the fourth floor. 

The door was unlocked when I ran into the apartment. “May? May!” I called, looking for her in the living room. Hearing small cries I turned to find her exiting the kitchen. With open arms, I let her hug me and cry into my shoulder. 

We sat in the kitchen in silence. Occasionally one of our cries would slip, but the emptiness would return. He wasn’t answering any of my calls. I was beginning to worry. May said they were together. Where was he? It had been hours since May had called me. The sound of the door opening made us both stand from our seats. 

Jisung walked in with heavy shoulders and blood on his forehead and smeared across his shirt. He had dried tears staining his cheeks. I had seen the footage of the shooting on the news with May, but the sight of Jisung standing before us made my heart break. 

I held myself back as May went to her nephew. They needed each other. I could wait. Whispers between the two were shared, most likely about her husband. She had already gotten a call, but hearing it from Jisung seemed important to her. After a moment she excused herself, saying something about wanting to go to bed. 

The two of us stood in silence. I had no idea how to comfort him. How could you comfort someone who just watched their uncle die? Jisung started to slowly move towards his room. Wordlessly, I followed. 

After I closed his door, I turned to find him staring at the walls small cries coming from his form. There were pictures of him and his uncle all over his room. Jisung sighed when I wrapped my arms around him from behind. He turned around so he could hold me to his chest. Hot tears fell against my neck as he cried. 

It felt like hours before he calmed down. Gently I led him over to the bed and sat him down. All he could do was stare at his hands as I grabbed a clean shirt from his closet and a wet cloth from the bathroom. There was no fight from him as I lifted the bloodied shirt from his body and put it in the hamper. 

Carefully, I lifted his chin and gently started cleaning the blood away from his face. I tried not to wipe away the tears that slowly ran down his cheeks. He looked broken-and tired like he hadn’t slept even before today’s events. My heart shattered when he finally looked me in the eye. 

“I’m not ready for this.” He whispered, more tears falling. 

Wrapping my arms around him, I let the clean shirt fall to the floor. “I know...” I tried to keep tears from falling from my own eyes. I concentrated on running my fingers through his hair and how tightly he held onto my waist. “You’re never going to be ready for it.” He cried even harder, making me want to scream for him. 

Slowly, I laid back onto his bed, holding him on top of my chest. “No one is ever ready for what you are going through,” I whispered. His body shook from crying and he buried his nose into my neck, holding onto me as if I were the only tether keeping him from floating away. “But, you are so strong. We aren’t faced with challenges we can’t overcome.” His breathing started to steady as my hand traced patterns on this bare skin of his back. “Sometimes I wish I was normal,” He whispered.

“Ji, you are anything but normal. And that’s okay. But for now...you can just be here. I’ll be with you. When you’re ready you can do whatever you need to. But...just stay here for now.”

He nodded and held onto me even tighter. I listened to his breath, gently rubbing his back and playing with his hair. When I knew he was asleep, I let myself do the same. Tomorrow would be another day. I would most likely have to leave and let Jisung and May grieve, but for now, I could be with him. Hopefully, that was enough. 

Early the next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. Jisung’s covers were loosely wrapped around me and his window was cracked open, letting a strip of sunlight in. Slowly, I sat up and rubbed my head. It was quite unusual for him to be up this early. Well, it was quite unusual for me to be up this early, but it was like my body had a sensor for when he was gone. I pulled my phone from the table and started to text him.

The sound of the window opening caused my attention to turn. I froze as I saw Jisung climbing through the window. “What the fuck!” He froze when he saw me. My eyes widened, taking the sight in. Jisung was standing before me wearing a familiar red and blue suit, a mask in his hand. 

“Y/n, I can explain...”

Was Jisung Spiderman? Was my best friend Spiderman? Holy shit! “Okay explain!” He simply stared at me, eyes wide. His hand came to scratch the back of his neck. His eyes avoided mine as my arms crossed my chest. 

“Jisung, might I suggest explanation protocol #38 for Miss L/n?”

“Oh my God! Friday, shut up! You aren’t helping.”

I watched as Jisung said to the AI apparently in his suit before he tossed the mask onto his desk. “You have an explanation protocol for me?” The look on his face showed that he knew he was in trouble. 

“See the thing is...I’m not Spiderman-...” He stopped when I glared at him. “Okay, I am Spiderman. This is my internship with Mr.Stark.” Without hesitation, I got up from his bed and started slapping his arm.

“This doesn’t even hurt, does it? You have superstrength. Oh my god, I’m going to fucking murder you.” An aggravated sigh left my chest. “So this whole entire time you have been swinging around the city saving people and doing flips on buildings and I was none the wiser?” I said turning back to him.

“That was one time! But...yes.” He stood awkwardly in his own room. “Look, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” He gulped when my stern gaze turned back on him. “So, anything you ask I’ll answer.” 

“Who else knows?”

“Mr. Stark, Happy- the guy who is my supervisor-, and Felix.”

“FELIX?”

He flinched as my voice raised. Taking a breath, I calmly sat back down on his bed. He watched as I crossed my legs and turned off the sound on my phone. No way was I gonna let my parents interrupt this conversation. “How did you become like...this...” I asked pointing to his clearly toned physique.

“At first I thought it was just like another puberty thing. But, like puberty doesn't make me shoot webs out of my hands. I think it was that spider from the lab.”

“So do-...are all your...bodily fluids...like...webs? Like do you shoot webs out of everywhere or-”

“You wanna find out?” Jisung said with a smirk, coming closer. I did not hesitate to slap him. 

“You couldn’t think of a better name though? Spiderman, really? You couldn’t come up with something more aggressive?”

“Well, I mean...like - spiders are cool, okay!”

I could tell he was uncomfortable. Usually, Jisung always stood up straight and had some sort of a smile or smirk on his face, but he was truly nervous. He watched me expectantly, waiting to answer whatever questions I asked next.

“So when you said you were away on a company retreat for the weekend. That was actually you who was fighting Captain America and all that shit in Prauge?”

“Yes.”

“When you left that night, did you go to the arms deal?”

“Yes.”

“So, it was you who saved me.”

“Your welcome.”

“Don’t push it.”

Nervously, he let out a laugh. No matter how many questions I asked...he was still my best friend. I was proud of him. He was doing so much good. Don’t get me wrong I was still very pissed at him for not telling me. “You owe me pizza at Tony’s for the rest of the fucking year.” A sigh of relief left his chest and he wrapped me in a hug. 

“That’s fine by me. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t ask about the whole crush thing.” I pulled away to see that fucking smirk on his mouth. “I think it’s cute you’re in love with me.” He tugged me closer to his body, gripping my waist.

“Who says I’m in love with you?”

“Me.”

“You’re an asshole- you say a lot of stupid shit.”

“I’m an asshole, not a liar. There’s a difference.”

My breath caught in my throat when I saw his eyes glance down to my lips. I could practically feel my heartbeat pulsing through my entire body. It was true and he knew it. I was in love with him. “Well....what are you going do about it? Prick...” I said in a shaky breath. He let out a soft laugh, his eyes lighting up. 

“Kiss you....bitch.”

My heart went crazy as he pressed his lips to mine. Closing my eyes, I melted into his touch. This was definitely the craziest two days of my entire life. I never would have imagined I would have to comfort my best friend, find out he was a superhero running around New York, and then have him kiss me in his bedroom.

Jisung smiled as I kissed him back, draping my arms around his neck and threading my fingers through his blonde hair. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought kissing Jisung would be like this. Without his mouth leaving mine he pushed me up against the wall of his bedroom. He sighed when my teeth caught his bottom lip.

“Fuck...do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” He asked before returning to my lips. 

“Kissing me?”

“To be honest I’ve been thinking about more than that since I was thirteen.”

Ignoring my scoff, Jisung continued to attack my lips like he had found water for the first time after walking in a desert. His hands slid under my legs, making me shriek when he picked me up. In one swift motion, he turned around and threw me onto his bed, before hovering over me. “I love you,” He whispered, before placing a soft kiss on my lips. Slowly, he moved down to my neck, my hands running through his soft hair. Impatiently, I pulled him back to my lips. 

Our little makeout session was interrupted by the sound of Jisung’s phone ringing. He sighed and dropped his head onto my shoulder. “I have to get that,” He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, walking over to pick up his phone. My eyes couldn’t help but rake over him. Now, I could freely ogle how gorgeous his body was. I bit my lip, looking at the lines of his broad shoulders go down to his slim waist.

“Happy, now is not a good time.”

“Yes....among other things...” A blush flooded his cheeks as he looked back at me still laying on his bed. 

“Can’t Mr. Stark send someone else?”

“I’m not just going to up and leave.”

Getting bored, I got up and wrapped my arms around him. He tried to look over at me, but I just buried my face in his chest. Patiently, I waited for him to finished the call with Happy. Finally, he threw the phone onto his bed and kissed me again. “Do you have to go?” I asked against his lips. He pulled away another smirk filling his face.

“You want to go to Berlin for a week?”

“What?”

“Mr. Stark needs me in Berlin. Something about S.H.I.E.L.D and an Avenger thing. But, there is no way May will let me go. Especially after yesterday.”

“Why am I going?”

“Happy said I could take you with me, you know to convince May to let me go.”

I laughed and kissed him again. “Sure. I’ll go to Berlin with you.” He laughed and spun me around the room. “However, you are gonna be the one to tell my dad that we are going alone with no chaperone to a country where the drinking age is sixteen.” 

“Fuck.”

“Good luck, Ji.”

Requests are open, just send an ask my lovelies!

Masterlist

[glassbxttless]

I couldn’t resist sending in one most based on the ski theme going around lol!

“I almost fell and you’re laughing!”

With any guy you like! Flip, Clyde, Charlie, Dan, Gucci! Hope you’re having a wonderful day 💗

Hi! I know Jack shit about skiing, so I hope my vague knowledge made at least something semi cute. Here’s a few of those photos we love so deeply.

And now onto Clyde being a sweetie.

Clyde Logan x Reader

Word Count: 877

Warnings: fluff, light swearing

���Bear?” You smile as you walk into the kitchen where Clyde was making himself a cup of coffee. You wrap your arms around his waist, the heat of his bare back is warm against your cheek. “Remember when you said we could take a vacation?”

“I do remember.” He says sleepily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip as he pulls from your embrace.

“What about a ski trip?” You ask him happily. “I miss skiing and we could go to Alta. We’ve also never been to Utah together!” You’re way too chirpy for Clyde this morning. “It’ll be fun!”

“Honeybee, there ain’t no skiin’ in West Virginia.” Clyde mumbles as he takes a seat at the table, continuing on with his breakfast plate. You scoot next to him and bat those pretty eyelashes and you hear the toilet flush. “And besides. It ain’t my thing.”

Jimmy pops his head out of the bathroom and you roll your eyes, looking at Clyde who just shrugs. “Bear, please.” You whisper and kiss his shoulder.

“Alright.” He chuckles and shrugs and you squeal, running to grab your debit card and laptop. “Don’t spend a fortune!” Clyde calls after you as Jimmy chuckles.

“Yer not gonna ski.” He shakes his head as he sits down to eat with Clyde. “Ya know it.”

“She wants to.” He shrugs again and glances at him, eating a bit of bacon. “What’re you doin’ here anyway?” He asks as he listens to you tap each key of your debit card number into the screen in front of you as you carry the laptop in one hand back out to the kitchen. Clyde watches as your opposite hand just keeps tapping the numbers.

“Breakfast.” Jimmy says quietly and looks at where you’re standing next to the table, eyes fixated on the screen in front of you.

“And done! We’re going next month!” You grin and sit next to Clyde happily, maybe you stole a piece of bacon from his plate as well.

It was a long month of waiting, in your opinion and the morning you both land in Utah, checking into your Powder Ridge chalet, Clyde drops your bags at the door and sighs when he sees how large it is. “S’just us honeybee. Didn’t need this much space.”

“It’s the one I liked the most! We’ll be here a week.” You grin and shrug, hanging up your coat happily. “And in the morning we can go skiing.” Which Clyde just grudgingly agrees to. Clyde’s never seen this much snow in one area. Never wanted to just dive right into playing in it. But he sees how big you’re smiling and how happy you are and he’s definitely wanting that. He wants to see that smile and how pretty you are when you light up on seeing the white blanket that covers the ground outside.

And you can hardly stand yourself when you and Clyde slip into that king bed for the night. He chuckles, “you need to sleep if you want us to go.”

“It’s so hard. I’m excited to get to do this with you.” You shrug when you curl into his body. He chuckles and turns off the lamp, holding you close for the evening.

And on the slopes, you’re watching Clyde as he just tries his best. He has no idea what he’s doing nor do you know what he’s doing. He’s bundled up in his little ski suit and you’re watching with the biggest grin.

His hair is falling over his shoulders and his nose is turning a bright red, cheeks heating up each time he fell and busted his ass. And you’re there to let him hold your arm and guide him along.

And when he almost falls flat on his face and you start to laugh, you see the pout on his lips. “I about fell and yer just laughin’!”

You offer your arms in a happy embrace, utterly in love with the dork you’ve decided to make your life mate. “Come here. I promised lots of kisses, didn’t I?” You mumble as you press your lips against his cold cheek. He’s pouting and mumbling about how sore he is into your shoulder as you hold him tight to your body.

And maybe when he’s tucked away cozy into the lodge, drinking hot cocoa, and looking out the window to watch you as you ski— he falls even more in love. Every second he’s reminded that you’ve always been such a go-getter, someone who was fun, had hobbies, had everything. And you chose to spend your life with him. And as he’s downing his third mug, he feels your arms snake around his middle and you kiss his cheek. “Bear! Did you see me?”

“Of course I did, honeybee.” He chuckles softly and hugs your arms tight to him. “You were great.”

“Do you wanna get some dinner?” You were beaming. A soft glow of happiness just radiated around you. And Clyde knew that he was utterly entranced by this trip. He didn’t know how he could love you anymore than he did before until he got to Utah.

“I’d love to.” He mumbles as he stands.

[bourbonbees]

Kiss Me (I'm Irish)

Coming in at the eleventh errr twelth hour with a last minute Saint Patrick's Day case fic!

Hope you all enjoyed the holiday and celebrated safely!

Summary: Dean finds a lead on a case in Chicago where people are dying in pranks gone wrong. Sam thinks it's an elaborate ruse to get him to drink green beer and he is not here for it. Good thing Dean gets two votes, his and that of Castiel, the proverbial angel on his shoulder (that he's definitely not attracted to, or maybe he is?) When mysterious Gaelic translations are required, the gang's favorite Irish woman, Eileen joins the chase! Shenanigans ensue. Exit pursued by a leprechaun.

Read on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37803082

or below the cut!

“All I’m sayin’, Sammy, is the dude drowned in a toilet, and no one was seen going in or out of the bathroom on the security footage. You can’t tell me that isn’t a little fishy?” Dean mutters as he packs his toiletry bag back into his duffle.

“Dean, death by swirly isn’t our kind of thing. Maybe the guy tripped and hit his head or something. You can stop pretending this isn’t an elaborate ruse to get me to agree to spend St Patrick’s Day with you, drinking green beer and puking into the Chicago river. It’s not happening Dean.” Sam grumbles pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as he shuts his laptop and stuffs it into his bag.

“Besides, willingly polluting the river with green dye every year to attract tourists, come on man, it’s messed up!” He adds, setting the laptop bag on a chair.

“Two things Sammy,” Dean pauses, zipping his bag for dramatic effect. “One, that dye is actually made from algae and is safe for the fish. Do your research hippie! Two, the medical examiner found no signs of head injury! Guy just drops face first into the oval office and dies. There’s like what a couple of inches of water in there, how?” He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, the rickety springs giving a resounding squeak.

“Actually, you can drown in less than two inches of water,” Cas announces as he appears, standing in the middle of their room, as if it’s a totally normal thing to do. “Also, it only takes about 40 seconds for it to be fatal for an adult human.” He observes proudly.

“Hello Dean.” He preens, taking his place next to Dean and exchanging a shy smile with him.

“Great, you’re here too. Did Dean pray for you to show up just so he could have one extra vote to work this case? Because that’s low.” Sam heaves a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that he would not only be investigating drowning by toilet but possibly preventing a very festively drunk Dean from getting into a weird domestic dispute with Cas. In typical fashion, neither Cas nor Dean dignifies Sam with an answer.

“Cas, ask my know-it-all little brother if it’s normal to find a piece of gold stuffed down a guys throat? One with mysterious Gaelic writing?” Dean poses, holding up his phone to show Sam a picture of weathered gold coin with an inscription embossed on the front.

“Sam, I’m assuming you heard what Dean said and can be spared the monotony of me repeating said information.” Cas sighs, taking the phone from Dean and looking at the image, tilting his head to try to see it better.

“Yes Cas, and you got me, I suppose that is not normal.” Sam concedes, his interest piqued despite his best efforts to avoid letting Dean be right. “But if you get to bring Cas along, I’m calling Eileen. She can help us translate the Gaelic writing.” He amends, figuring if he has to deal with whatever shenanigans lie ahead, he might as well make this the world’s weirdest double date.

“Yes! Pack your bags Cas, we’re going to Chi-town! You’re gonna love it, green river, green beer, parades, lots to see.” Dean’s enthusiasm for coopted holidays is second only to his enthusiasm for indoctrinating Cas to their culture and customs. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet if Sam is honest with himself, but watching your big brother try to flirt with a celestial being the size of the Chrysler Building takes a toll on a man.

“I don’t need to pack a bag, I don’t own anything.” Cas, looks as if he’s actually disappointed that he doesn’t have to haul around his entire life in a duffle which only seems to endear Dean further as he gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Figure of speech pal, but if you want. We could make you a toiletry bag. You know, toothbrush, deodorant, that kinda stuff.” Dean offers, keeping his hand on Cas’ back a moment longer before pulling it away when Sam raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you saying I’m malodorous, perhaps I’ve become what you humans call, nose blind, to my vessel’s bodily secretions. Though I shouldn’t have any really, angels don’t sweat or cultivate oral bacteria.” Cas says worriedly, trying to discreetly sniff his armpit causing Dean to huff out a soft laugh.

“No, you don’t stink. You actually smell kinda nice.” Dean supplies, Sam shaking his head at the entire interaction.

“You both know you’re in love with each other, right?” Sam breaks before taking the opportunity to leg it out of the motel room and call Eileen. He nearly proposes to her on the spot when she quickly agrees to join them, signing excitedly, and sharing that she’s never really celebrated the holiday herself despite being Irish.

***

Cas and Dean are blissfully silent most of the drive, clearly humbled by the revelation that they are about as subtle as a sawed off shot gun when it comes to their true feelings. Sam takes this opportunity to challenge Cas to a round of Words with Friends knowing fully well that Cas keeps his phone at full volume and the notification sounds would drive Dean to the brink of homicidal rage.

“It’s your turn Cas! Don’t you love me anymore?” Sam snorts when he scores 500 points for using the word “vajazzle,” and his opponent freezes, tilting his head to the side as he considers the term.

“There’s no way vajazzle is a real word!” Cas complains, subtly kicking the back of Sam’s seat.

“Easy Cas, I just cleaned the seats. Also, vajazzle is unfortunately a word. It was big in the early 2000s, women would put gems on their, well exactly where you’d expect. I once took home a chick that had playboy bunny, very classy.” Dean shares with an oddly wistful expression.

“You didn’t.” Sam cringes, shaking his head half in disbelief and half in disappointment.

“I did.” Dean grins, Cas looking particularly smitey at the idea of Dean sleeping with a woman with a bejeweled downstairs.

“You’re unbelievable. And so is anyone who willingly glues jewels to their genitals.” Cas bristles, picking up his phone and resuming their game using the pointed word ‘gauche.’

Sam doesn’t bother to stifle his laughter, giving Cas a nod as if to say ‘well played.’

“Would you two care to share with the class what’s so funny?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas in the review mirror and earning an eye roll from the angel of the lord.

“Nope, it’s none of your business 67impala327, that’s what you get! It’s been your turn in our game for three weeks now. Just admit I’m smarter than you!” Sam intervenes, crossing his arms over his chest with a satisfied huff.

“Yeah but I got all good looks and people skills.” Dean shrugs unbothered by it all and not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction.

“Debatable.” Cas supplies, gaining a genuine gasp from Dean. “The people skills I mean, you’re not very effusive.” He amends, Dean’s cheeks turning rapidly pinker by the moment.

“And I’m taking a nap.” Sam chuckles, balling his flannel up and using it a pillow against the window before closing his eyes. He is thankful when he opens his eyes again to see the Chicago skyline coming into focus.

***

“Okay so what are we looking at?” Eileen asks, standing behind Sam’s chair at small breakfast table in their motel room.

“I was sort of hoping you could help with that. I’m not really sure.” Sam shrugs, smiling when Eileen places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Get a room!” Dean calls out, tossing a gummy bear at Sam’s head. Cas quietly chides Dean taking the bag of candy away from him and placing it on side table.

“We do have a room. You’re in it! If you’ve got a problem with PDA, go back to your room and do whatever it is you two do or don’t do.” Sam supplies, tossing the gummy bear back at Dean and hitting him square in the middle of the forehead.

“Nice aim babe.” Eileen compliments, giving Sam a high five.

“Hey, thought you were on my side. You told me that I was your favorite Winchester.” Dean teases, mouthing to her ‘you’re my favorite, don’t tell him,’ behind Sam’s back.

“Everyone knows neither of your are my favorite. Cas is my favorite.” Eileen shrugs, signing ‘you’re the best’ to Cas and making him grin brightly.

“Okay, okay we’re getting off track. Eileen do you recognize this writing?” Sam asks, zooming in on the embossing on the coin.

“It looks familiar, but my Gaelic isn’t great. I think I’ve seen this symbol before. In Lillian’s journal. Hold on.” Eileen nods before digging through her bag and pulling out the journal, a pair of green lace underwear coming with it. “You saw nothing!” She blushes tucking them away, Sam sinking into his chair and forcing himself to look away.

“Looks like somebody’s gonna have the luck of the Irish on their side tonight. Good for you Sammy.” Dean laughs, Cas smacking him gently on the arm and muttering for him to go easy on them.

“Yeah not everyone is in a decades long dry spell because they won’t admit they’re pining for their best friend, jerk.” Sam quips with a satisfied smirk.

“Bitch.” Dean mutters flipping Sam off with narrowed eyes and a shake of his head.

“Perhaps, your luck could change.” Cas says sympathetically, causing Dean to sputter a bit. “I mean, maybe you’ll meet someone. I mean, I don’t sleep, I could leave our room.” He amends looking down at his lap anxiously.

“Cas, don’t. I-uh, we’ll talk later okay?” Dean smiles, looking over at Cas and giving him gentle nudge with his elbow.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Lillian kept a pretty in-depth record of all things Celtic and creepy. She might have something in here.” Eileen interrupts, happy to change the subject. She flips through the weathered journal while Sam looks on fondly, smiling a bit stupidly at the way she has to squint a bit to read the smaller writing. Sam is definitely gone for her and he doesn't even bother to hide it.

“Here! I found it! That symbol represents the leath bhrogan. They’re a class of faerie folk,” Eileen starts again excitedly.

“Ah great, not the friggin fairies again. I swear if I have to get my ass kicked by Tinker Bell again, I’m out.” Dean mutters, shaking his head at the memory of scrubbing fairy guts out of the motel microwave. Dean learned the hard way that day there’re just somethings even bleach can’t help.

“Don’t forget you unintentionally committed a hate crime as well!” Sam laughs, taking a couple beers out of the fridge and handing one to Eileen then Dean and Cas.

“It was one time. To be fair, I didn’t know the guy was just a guy. I didn’t have a problem with him being a little person. Wrong place, wrong time. Besides it’s not like you were any help Mr. No Soul McGee.” Dean defends sipping his beer, Cas imitating him and drinking at the same time.

“Technically it’s Cas’ fault I didn’t have a soul.” Sam points out, tipping his beer at the angel on the sofa.

“You try ripping a man from harrow hell and tell me how that works out for you.” Cas shakes his head.

“Okay if you boys are done, I was speaking!” Eileen sighs, Sam quickly signing ‘sorry’ and nodding supportively for her to go on.

“The leath bhrogan are a very old line of fae, they’re known for their skills as cobblers. They live in tree trunks and small caves. They have mystified Irish hunters for centuries because they are all male, well that’s sexist,” She pauses here, scrunching up her nose at the next line, “and it’s unsure how they reproduce. You know what that’s fine, I don’t to know.” She mutters, flipping the page. “They are tricksters by nature and typically harmless unless someone is in pursuit of their gold,” Eileen stops there, shaking her head in disbelief.

“No, no, I can’t. Please don’t say it.” Sam groans, holding a hand up to sign ‘no.’

“They’re also known as luchorpan. Or leprechaun.” Eileen finishes quickly, closing the journal and taking a long swig of her beer.

“So, this dude died face down in a toilet because he was after some leprechaun’s lucky charms? I mean, we’ve seen weirder.” Dean shrugs, apparently happy to accept the fact that leprechauns do exist without question.

“It had to be leprechauns. Why can’t it ever just be salt and burn? Freaking leprechauns. They’re real and now we gotta hunt one. Happy St Patrick’s Day. I guess.” Sam mutters mirroring Eileen and finishing most of his beer in one go.

***

“We’ve got another vic. Died outside an Irish pub about a mile away from the first vic.” Sam announces over breakfast, scrolling through various local news websites on his phone while pretending not to hear the sounds of Dean open mouth chewing his pancakes. “Are you even tasting those?” He finally breaks, Dean rolling his eyes at his brother while he slathers more syrup onto the remaining pancakes.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day Sammy. Man’s gotta eat.” Dean mumbles around a mouthful, Cas watching him with an impossibly fond expression.

“What?” Eileen asks, trying to catch up on what was happening around her, glancing up from her phone at Sam.

“Dean chews really loud. It’s annoying.” Sam explains, signing along with what he is saying.

“See sometimes there’s perks of not being able to hear. I would have no idea, also, I have it on good authority that you snore. Not that I’d know.” Eileen laughs, poking Sam’s side.

“I do not.” Sam defends, before pointing at his brother. “He snores. Not me.” He adds, picking up his mug of coffee and taking a sip.

“You both snore. I would know, I’m the one that doesn' t sleep at all. Also, you pass an alarming amount of gas in your sleep Samuel. You should probably see a doctor.” Cas supplies, making sure to sign ‘so many farts,’ pointedly at Eileen and then pinching his nose to indicate they smell terrible.

“Yes, unfortunately. I can smell. Good thing I love you anyway.” Eileen chuckles, leaning up to give Sam a chaste peck on the lips, Dean making a soft gagging noise in response. “You have coffee breath.” She teases, wrinkling her nose up.

“So do you.” Sam laughs, poking the tip of Eileen's nose with his index finger then signing 'you're so cute.'

“So, the second vic, you gonna get to the point?” Dean says with a snap of his fingers bring both Sam and Eileen back into the awareness that they are very much not alone in the table.

“What Dean means to say is, can you tell us more Sam, please?” Cas amends, shaking his head at Dean and then pushing the side of bacon that he ordered knowing it was really for Dean, toward him, the plate making a slight squeaking sound. Cas makes a habit of doing this, ordering food under the guise of "fitting in" but really just to see Dean's smile when he offers him his portion.

“Awesome.” Dean grins, happily munching on the bacon. “Yes, please go on Sam.” He tries, continuing to eat the bacon and gesturing for Sam to continue.

“So, get this, the second vic was found on the street outside a pub. Cause of death was anaphylaxis. Turns out Gina had a peanut allergy and someone covered the underside of her car door handles in what looks like chunky peanut butter.” Sam concludes, handing his phone to Eileen so she could read the report.

“Ha! Classic, the old peanut butter under the door handles. Works every time.” Dean laughs, finishing his last piece of bacon.

“Dean, she died.” Cas face palms, taking a halfhearted sip of his coffee to throw off any suspicion the waitress might have that he wasn’t eating or drinking.

“Oh yeah, that.” Dean nods, taking Cas’ coffee and drinking it. “Did you put sugar in this?” He sputters, putting the mug back down.

“Yes, because it was mine.” Cas frowns, sliding the cup back in front of him and taking an actual sip for show.

“So, is this leprechaun trying to kill people on purpose or is he just terrible at pranks?” Eileen asks, handing Sam his phone back.

“Jury is out. But either way the little creep is a killer and he's still out there. Looks like we might have a lead on where to find the guy though.” Sam adds, opening a news alert. “Locals spotted, a wild animal in the park last night. They got a blurry photo but it looks like it walks on two legs and you can kind of see a hat. So either that’s our leprechaun or it’s a rabid raccoon that’s been dumpster diving behind a Party City.” He shrugs showing them all the photo.

***

“So how do we kill this thing anyway?” Dean mutters as he makes his way through a hedge looking for any signs the leprechaun has passed through.

“Four leaf clover, I don’t know.” Sam mutters exasperatedly, kicking at a small hole in the base of a tree and startling a rat out of it. When it crosses his path he definitely does not let out an undignified screech. “Gross.” He recoils, Eileen laughing at his plight as the rat runs past her and off into the tall grass.

“Iron, leprechauns are fae. Iron kills them.” Eileen chuckles, pulling out a small dagger she has concealed in a sheath in her right boot.

“Sweet! I need one of those.” Dean says as he tries grabbing for the dagger, Eileen pulling it away from him quickly.

“No, this one is mine. It was Lillian’s.” She explains, tucking it back into her boot.

“Dude she’s way too cool for you.” Dean laughs, patting Sam on the back.

“She really is.” Cas adds, coming over with a handful of gold coins. “Found the leprechaun’s gold by the way.” He says casually, looking at them more closely. “It is, ironically, under that gay pride flag mural over there, at the end of the rainbow.” He gives a deep chuckle at that.

“Cas! How can you be so incredibly smart and also so stupid at the same time? You took the gold, all the vics had a piece of gold. That thing is going to come for you now!” Dean mutters, taking half the coins from Cas and tucking them in his pocket.

"Why did you do that?" Cas huffs, trying to take the coins back from Dean rather unsuccessfully.

“Well at least now he’s going to have to catch both of us.” Dean smirks, giving Cas a wink that makes him chuckle nervously and for a brief moment turn his insides into goo.

***

“So, all of these people died when they were isolated, we just need to find a way to make sure you two are always in a crowd. At least until we’re ready to trap the little green bastard.” Sam says later that evening as they all sit crammed into a diner booth for dinner.

“You mean something like this?” Eileen asks, showing a flyer on her phone for a St. Patrick’s Day party a nearby bar. “No cover charge if you wear green.” She adds, Sam shaking his head no. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Do it for me, please! It is my day after all.” She shrugs, unashamed to pull both the girlfriend card and the Irish card, pointing to an Irish flag pin on the lapel of her jacket for emphasis.

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my brother to die and I guess you are kind of cute.” Sam caves easily. He knows he's one hundred percent whipped, but at the same time he 100% doesn't care because in Sam's opinion Eileen is well worth it.

“Only kind of? Wow, maybe the luck of the Irish won’t be on your side tonight.” Eileen replies with a small chuckle, gently elbowing Sam in the side.

“Let me see that, oh this is perfect Cas! We can have a green beer, maybe dance a little.” Dean perks up, not waiting for permission to grab Eileen's phone. He shows Cas the flyer and then hands the phone back with a muttered apology to Eileen.

“Dance? Who are you? Isn’t this another of your favorite holidays to be festively slutty?” Sam challenges with a raised brow.

“Maybe I’ve changed.” Dean shrugs.

‘He likes you. You should kiss him tonight.’ Eileen signs to Cas, leaving him staring back at her like a deer in the headlights. Sam laughs quietly, knowing enough sign to get the gist of what was said.

‘Maybe I will.’ Cas signs in reply once he regains his composure, waiting until Dean looks away to spare him a longing glance. ‘I will.’ He adds.

*** “So while you two love birds were getting cleaned up, Cas and I went to the CVS on the corner and picked up some things to help us blend in tonight.” Dean announces as he dumps the bag onto the motel bed, a mass of tangled shamrock necklaces and assorted accessories spilling out onto the comforter.

“Not bad eh?” He says proudly as he puts a hat that looks like a mug of green beer on Cas’ head.

“I look ridiculous.” Cas adds, tugging at the “Irish for a day,” shirt he’s currently wearing.

“That’s the point Cas! Have a little fun. I think you look festive. And handsome!” Eileen says supportively, pulling on a green and black flannel shirt and cuffing the sleeves before grabbing a light up shamrock bracelet. “See now you’re not alone.” She adds as she picks up a pair of gold coin shaped glasses and slips them on.

“You’re not going to make me wear any of this are you?” Sam practically pleads, but loses quickly when Eileen motions for him to bend over and puts a shamrock lei around his neck.

“Don’t complain, you just got lei’d” Eileen says before Sam can get a word in, picking up a headband with two Irish flags on springs on it and placing it in Sam’s hair. “And for you.” She tells Dean, pinning a “kiss me I’m Irish” button onto the pocket of his flannel and pointing it out to Cas.

“I don’t understand. Dean, you’re not Irish. I know, I’ve traced the Winchesters back hundreds of years, you have zero Irish ancestry.” Cas frowns before reading the button again.

“You don’t have to be Irish to wear one of these. It’s just for fun. An excuse to get kissed.” Dean explains, wishing the floor would open up and drag him right back to hell.

“Oh.” Cas follows, taking a moment to process what Dean means. “Would you like me to kiss you Dean?” He offers, stepping closer to his best friend and glancing subtly at his lips.

“I mean, yeah, maybe. For good luck or something since we might get pranked to death by a leprechaun tonight.” Dean finally admits, eyes firmly locked on his boots, his cheeks turning bright red.

“Okay.” Cas smiles, taking the final few steps forward and meeting Dean’s lips in a short but sweet kiss, touching his own lips as he pulls back, as if even he cannot believe what just happened.

“Finally, can we get a move on now?” Sam groans, figuring he’s allowed to be a little bitchy about this since it’s been over a decade in the making. Though he has the sneaking suspicious that Cas and Dean as a couple will be far more unbearable than Cas and Dean as friends with weird sexual tension. He makes a mental note to ask Eileen if it’s too soon for them to move in together.

‘I knew you could do it.’ Eileen signs discreetly to Cas, sending him a supportive thumbs up. Meanwhile, Dean appears to have lost all ability to think, move, or speak, as he is standing stock still and touching his lips.

“Are you okay Dean?” Cas asks worriedly, gently squeezing his arm.

“I think you broke him.” Sam notes, grabbing baby’s keys. “You good to drive man, or are you too love drunk?” He teases as he hands Dean the keys.

“I’m good. I’m great even. Sorry, just that just happened. I know we’ll have to talk later. But maybe tonight stick close to me Cas. And I promise I won’t be trying to pick anyone up. It’s just you.” Dean finally speaks, grabbing his car keys from Sam.

“It’s always been just you for me.” Cas replies wistfully, following Dean out the door, Sam and Eileen close on their heels.

***

“Alright so the plan is we stay for about another hour until bar time then you two head out the back door to the alley. Eileen and I will be hiding just out of sight on each end of the alley and when the leprechaun comes, we’ll trap him. Got it?” Sam yells to Dean over the loud bagpipe filled music in the bar.

“Yeah, sure. Got it.” Dean nods, ordering a shot of whiskey and tossing it back with ease, setting the shot glass onto the bar with a clatter, and then ordering two green beers, one for himself and one for Cas. He orders one for Sam as well before making a quick exit through the dancefloor to get back to the angel.

“He’s drunk.” Eileen signs, watching as Dean tries to do an Irish jig, stealing the green beer Dean ordered for Sam and sipping it contently. “It’s almost insensitive, but to be honest, I have no idea how to step dance either.” She laughs, Sam wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I know I should be mad he’s getting drunk when we have a case to work, but he actually looks happy. Cas too. It’s kind of nice, all of us here together. No one’s dying,” Sam smiles looking around the crowd, eyes going wide when he loses sight of Cas and Dean. “Shit we lost them.” He adds.

“Okay, must be the leprechaun. We have to find them.” Eileen nods, already scanning the room. “There!” She points out, spotting Dean across the room at the more secluded back bar. He’s talking to a shorter gentleman and seems to be making a bet of sorts.

“I bet you twenty bucks you can’t balance two beers on your hands for one minute.” The man challenges, showing Dean the money.

“You’re on.” Dean accepts holding his hands out flat for the man to place the glasses of beer on them. “Can you believe this Cas? Cas?” He furrows his brow, looking around for the angel. “Wait a minute hey.” He scowls when the man starts to walk away.

What Dean didn’t notice, was the man cutting the power cord near his feet while he looked around for Cas. Sam however notices the sparks from the cord and sees Dean moments away from moving and splash beer onto the cords which would surely electrocute him.

“Dean! Don’t move. Leprechaun.” Sam warns, pointing to the small man as he ran away, Eileen tailing him out of the bar. “I’m going to cut the power.” He tells Dean, running toward the exposed circuit box on the wall and hoping to reach it in time.

“Fuck there’s so many switches, they’re not labeled!” He calls out, eventually giving in and flipping them all, plunging the bar into darkness and making all the patrons scream. Dean sighs in relief and dumps the beers before going to Sam.

“Cas is missing, we’ve gotta find him.” Dean shouts over the chaos that’s ensuing, leading Sam away from the center of the crowd before yelling Cas’ name. “Cas! Buddy! Where are you?” He calls out, struggling to see in the dark.

“Cas!” Sam tries, moving off to the side toward what appears to the be a hallway, though it’s impossible to tell in the pitch black. He yells again and then listens, hearing a faint “Sam,” coming from the end of the potential hallway. “Over here!” He calls to Dean.

The pair make their way to the end of the hall and find the men’s room. Pushing the door open to find Cas standing in the middle, trapped in a ring of holy fire.

“He knew I was an angel, he trapped me. Dean, are you okay?” Cas rushes out as soon as Sam and Dean put out the fire with water from the sink.

“I’m okay but we gotta go find Eileen. She followed the leprechaun.” Dean explains, grabbing Cas’ hand without a second thought and leading him through the darkness, Sam running ahead.

They make it out quickly, their panic quickly subsides when they spot Eileen across the street, covered in green glitter.

“Another fact to add to the leprechaun lore, they tend to explode into a cloud of glitter when you stab them.” Eileen says casually, trying to brush some of the glitter off her shoulder.

“You know that shit isn’t coming off for days! Thanks for taking one for the team Eileen.” Dean nods sincerely, smiling shyly when Eileen points to where he and Cas are still holding hands. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal about it.” He laughs.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day?” Sam sighs in relief, pulling Eileen into a firm hug, glitter be damned.

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Flesh & Blood | Part Three

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Chapter Summary: now you know the truth about the mysterious stranger, but there's still more to learn 

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader

Word Count: 2493

Warnings: mentions of blood, death

A/N: as always spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist let me know (please note I cant reply to comments using this blog)

Masterlist | Part Two 

- - - - -

“I will never understand why he spared me, but I feel this is not the last I will see of the count”

You finish reading Sister Y/N’s story and close the journal, moving it back across the table to Zoe without saying a word. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to, this was a lot to take in. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, Zoe allowing you to process what you had read. After a few minutes you finally speak.

“Do you know where he is now?” You ask quietly.

“not exactly no” she admits “the last we saw him he was on the beach last night. We had him, well we thought we had him but he killed a young lady and escaped. We haven’t seen him since.”

“What does he look like?” You twiddle your thumbs nervously, afraid that her answer will confirm your suspicions. 

“Tall, pale skin, black hair. Nothing to suggest he’s anything other than a normal man, but his eyes. There’s something about his eyes, they’re just so…”

“Dark” you finish her sentence and look at her “he was here, this morning he was here in the cafe. He knew my name. I convinced myself he just read it off my name tag but I don't think he did. The way he said it, it was as if he knew me.”

“Have you seen him since?” Her face is serious.

“No…” you shake your head but then remember “wait yes, yes while I was eating my lunch he was there. Outside, he was watching me from under the tree. I saw him for just a moment but then he was gone. I thought I had imagined it”

“Right okay, we need to get you away from here. I thought we’d have longer before he found you-” Zoe says as she starts typing fast on her laptop.

“Why did he find me? What does he want from me?”

“I don't know. But he’s a murderous vampire so chances are he wants your blood.”

“Oh my God I feel sick” you rest your head in your hands, trying to take deep breaths as you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Zoe’s phone rings and she answers.

“Hello? Yes. Where? Okay I’ll be right there” she hangs up the phone and quickly packs her stuff away, standing up. “They’ve found him.”

“Where is he?” You shoot your head up to look at her. 

“In a house not far from here, I’m going there now. A car will be here soon to pick you up and bring you in”

“In where?” You ask as she heads to the door.

“The research facility where I work. You’ll be safe there.”

“No I cant go, what about my job? What about Maggie?” You ask frantically and Zoe walks over to you and takes your hand.

“It’s you he wants. Maggie, and everyone else in this village will be safer if you are not here.”

You look into her eyes, searching for answers but she turns and leaves you standing in the middle of the empty cafe. You bring your hands up to your head, running your fingers through your hair as you try to make sense of all this. 

Five minutes later you see a car pull up outside and a man steps out, walking into the cafe.

“Ms Y/L/N?” 

You nod your head. 

“I work with Dr Van Helsing, she sent me to collect you.” He walks back outside and opens the back door waiting for you. You walk out the cafe and you're about to climb into the car when Maggie comes running down the street.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Where are you going?” She shouts as she gets closer.

“It’s okay Maggie, I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. I promise.” You walk over to her and give her a hug “if you see the man from this morning, I need you to run. Okay? Promise me.” you whisper in her ear before pulling away. She looks at you confused but nods her head. You get in the car and watch her from the window as you drive away, leaving her stood outside the cafe alone. 

“Excuse me, where are we going?” You ask tentatively and the driver looks at you through the rear view mirror. 

“The Jonathan Harker Foundation” 

— — — — 

About an hour later the car pulls up outside a magnificent old stone building surrounded by what looks like the remains of a castle. The driver opens the door and you get out the car, following him through the main entrance of the building. 

The interior of the building doesn’t match the outside, its too modern. The corridors are busy with people in lab coats, some look anxious while others look excited. You’re led through them till you arrive at a set of doors where a smartly dressed woman is waiting for you. 

“Y/N. I’m Dr Bloxham” she holds her had out to shake yours and you notice her other hand is bandaged up “we’re just about to start, come through” 

She pushes the door open and holds it for you. You walk through into a big room set out like a lecture hall, no more than 20 people sat dotted around all dressed in the same medical looking outfits. She gestures for you to take a seat and you do, choosing to sit near the back. She walks to the front of the room and gives a brief introduction before a video starts playing on the screen. Two divers are seen looking at a box amongst what looks like a ship wreck under the sea. The box is opened to reveal a man lying dead. The camera gets closer to his face and your heart skips when you realise that the man in the box is the same man who came to the cafe this morning. As the video continues playing Dr Bloxham resumes talking. 

“As you can see, even after 123 years the body was perfectly preserved…” she pauses as the diver on screen lifts the man’s lips to show his teeth “or so we thought.”

Suddenly the man’s eyes move and he bites down on the diver’s fingers. Gasps and groans of shock murmur through the room as blood is seen spreading in the sea. You clasp your hand up to your mouth suppressing the urge to scream. You don't want to watch but you cant take your eyes off the horror on the screen. 

“The body was not preserved. Dracula was in fact alive, though dormant. Apparently in some kind of restorative coma, in which he would have remained if I hadn’t have been stupid enough to feed him. So in case you're wondering, yeah…” she holds up her bandaged hand “vampires bite.”

Your heart is pounding and your head is spinning. You feel sick. 

You stand up and quietly leave the room through the same doors you entered. You start walking quickly through the corridors, trying to find a way out but as you turn a corner you bump into Zoe.

“Ah Y/N. Just the girl I was looking for.” She notices the look of panic on your pale face “Are you alright, what’s wrong?”

“I, I just. I cant, I cant…” you try to talk through your frantic breaths “I need to go”

She takes your shoulders in her hands and turns you so she’s looking in your face. 

“Listen to me. Y/N. You are safe. We have him, he’s locked up. He cant hurt you” she continues looking at you as you slowly start to breathe normally.  “Come with me” she leads you off in a different direction and you end up outside a large metal door with a big circle handle in the middle, like the ones you would find on a submarine. Above the door are three clocks. One shows the current time and the other two are labelled as sunrise and sunset. 

Zoe opens a small window in the door and takes a quick look inside before gesturing for you to have a look. You peer through the window and there he is, the man you now know to be a centuries old vampire. Count Dracula. 

He is stood in the middle of a large glass box, looking rather confused at the toilet that is in there with him. Around the room multiple armed guards are placed, all closely watching his every move. 

“You see? He is contained, there is nothing to worry about.” Zoe reassures and you let out a small sigh of relief. Suddenly Dracula tuns and looks straight at you, lifting his hand to wave as he smiles charmingly. You take step away from the window and look at Zoe. 

“Does this mean I can go home now? If he’s here then I can go right?”

“Well, we would like you to stay. We think you could really help us. But we can’t force you to do anything you don't want to do”

You look down for a moment thinking then slowly raise your head to look back at her. 

“I want to go home”

Zoe looks slightly disappointed but nods in understanding. 

“Okay, I’ll get the driver to take you back. But if you do want to come back at any time, here’s my number” she hands you a small piece of paper with her number on and you put it in your pocket.

— — — — 

The car pulls up outside your home and you thank the driver before getting out and heading straight to your door. As you take your keys from your pocket and unlock the front door you take a look back at the village. It’s evening now so from the top of the hill all you can see is a sea of lights in the darkness. You head inside and crash down onto the sofa. You're exhausted. Then you remember Maggie and you go to grab your phone but remember you left it in your bag which is still behind the counter in the bakery. You groan and stand up, pulling your coat and shoes back on and leaving the house. 

After the day you’ve had a walk in the fresh evening air actually feels really good. You reach the bakery and pull your key out which thankfully you kept attached to your house keys which you always kept in your coat pocket. You find your bag exactly where you left it and pull out your phone. 51 missed calls and a whole lot more messages, mostly from Maggie. She must be worried sick. You close up the bakery again and begin your walk back home, typing a text message as you walk. 

‘Hi Maggie, I’m so sorry about this afternoon and I’m even more sorry that I made you worry. I’m okay. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow once I’ve had a good sleep. Love you xxx’

As you're about to send the message your phone starts ringing, the caller ID is a number you don't recognise so you decline the call. Almost immediately it rings again, so you decline again. Your phone rings for a third time and you decide to answer just to get them to leave you alone but before you say anything you hear Zoe’s voice on the other end. 

“Y/N! Where are you right now? Are you in your house?” 

“No I’m walking home now, I had to head back to work to get my phone-“

“Get home right now and don't answer the door, do not invite anyone in. Do you understand?” She interrupts, sounding worried.

“Yes… but why? What’s happening?” You ask and you can hear shouting in the background, Zoe doesn’t respond. “Zoe? Whats going on?”

“He’s out. Count Dracula we let him go.”

Your heart drops to your stomach and you begin walking faster. 

“His lawyer showed up and threatened us, we had no choice”

“his lawyer?” You question but she ignores you.

“Just get home now. I’m on my way to you” she hangs up the phone and you stick it back in your pocket, again picking up your speed while also trying to remain as calm as possible. But you cant help but feel on edge, the hairs on the back of your next standing up as every little noise and shadow makes you jump. 

You swear you can hear footsteps behind you but every time you turn around nothing is there. You walk even faster. You hear a noise behind you and glance over your shoulder as you begin running. Then bang. You run into someone and hear a glass smash.

“you should watch where you're going” the bloke slurs. You try to just push past him and carry on running but he holds you in place “where do you think you're going, you owe me a drink” and leans in close. You can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Look I’m sorry about the drink but I really need to go” you break free but he grabs your wrist, pulling you into the dark alley next to the pub “Get off me!” You protest and he pushes you hard against the brick wall, his booze drenched body pinning you in place as the back of your head starts to throb from the impact. 

“You owe me for that drink”

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow I promise-”

“I can think of a way you can pay me back right now” he presses his disgusting mouth against yours and you try your hardest to push him away but he’s at least twice your size. His hands wonder and he starts lifting your top up. 

You lift your knee up to make direct contact with his balls and he stumbles back in pain, clutching himself as he doubles over. You take this opportunity to make a run for it but he grabs your arm just before you’re free. 

“You're gonna regret that, bitch!” He spits, pulling you back to him.  

“Actually…” a familiar voice interrupt “you're the one who’s going to regret your actions” 

In a flash of movement Dracula is stood behind the drunk holding him still as he releases his grip on your arm “then again, you're not to be alive long enough to regret anything” he swishes his hand across the man’s neck and blood behind to pour out. You jump backwards in shock. Dracula releases him and he slumps to the floor, his eyes fixed on you as he bleeds out. Dracula starts to walk towards you and you try to run but you trip and fall to the floor, banging your head once again. You roll onto your side, clutching your head with your hand and groaning in pain. In your blurry vision you see Dracula slowly approach you before crouching down so he’s close to you. 

“Don't worry Y/N, I’ll take care of you” 

Part Four

Taglist: @agent-smulder​ @kandomeresbitch @a-dorky-book-keeper

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

Day 5: Quarantine

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He’d been stuck in quarantine for several days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but being quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toilet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severely upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping to his more commanding, Robin voice.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely. And this . . . He wasn't wrong either. They could just quarantine together. . . 

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him from just a few inches away, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!" He exclaimed, defeated.

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and shave and stuff - or don't shave - and Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss. Kon just grinned and pulled him in close, tweaking Tim's nose before kissing him. Then he shoved Tim towards the bathroom.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that and didn't want to make his boyfriends deal with that. 

When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. 

They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table and all the glasses and mugs and plates had been removed. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response, grinning back at the speedster.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against his front.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times. Tim tilted his face up and obliged, wrapping his arms around Kon's neck.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses, turning him from pouty Bart to smiley Bart.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Bart made Tim help him finish cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting things, meanwhile Kon just sat by and gave unhelpful commentary and got occasionally whacked with cleaning supplies. Once the apartment was properly cleaned, and feeling much better, they decided to properly move Bart and Kon into Tim's room, even though they had stated they'd probably be leaving to get more clothes and such. And probably their dogs. 

Tim sat on his bed and watched them unpack bathroom supplies and clothes and other various personal items. Phone chargers got plugged in his few remaining wall outlets and things got shoved into previously neat areas.

"Were you really gonna stay here all by your lonesome?" Bart asked, flopping down onto the bed next to Tim and idly bumping his thigh with his knee.

"It wouldn't have been forever, Bart. I was probably gonna go to the manor eventually."

"Ew, and be around your brothers?"

"They are my family, Bart."

"I know but still. . . "

Tim chuckled and shook his head fondly, moving to lay partially over Bart and softly kiss him.

"Wait, is Keystone even in quarantine yet?"

"Uhhh." Bart grinned sheepishly.

"Bartholomew!"

Bart just giggled a little. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to come too!"

Tim just shook his head and then dropped it to Bart's chest, laying on him and listening to his breathing.

"Hey, this looks like a cuddle pile in the making."

Both of them groaned when Kon flopped - gently - on top of Tim. 

"Kon you big lug! Get off!" Tim whined, pushing up on his hands and knees, trying to dislodge Kon, who didn't move.

"Why, I thought you liked cuddle piles?" Kon giggled out, nuzzling at Tim's neck and causing him to squeak.

"Not when I'm being squished!"

Kon gave an over dramatic groan, but moved, rolling and pulling them both on top of him. It took a bit of squirming before they were comfortable, one on either side of Kon, heads on his shoulder, hands clasped on top of his stomach. They laid there and chatted idly, with no concern for anything that might interrupt their lives.

"Bart the oven is going off."

And just like that, Bart was gone. A couple seconds passed, then he was back, snuggling right up against Kon again.

"Where were we?"

Both Kon and Tim just started laughing.

Once dinner was ready, they sat on the sofa and binged a couple episodes of Broadchurch before settling into another cuddle pile. Their default form was cuddle pile. Then eventually Bart got bored with sitting still, so they turned on Mario Kart, played a few normal rounds to watch Kon and Bart suffer, then Tim turned on the mod he had made to make the game go super fast. 

He had learned not to watch the screen while this was happening. That's how you got eye damage.

"I'm gonna go do a little patrolling," Kon said, standing after Bart had beat him, again.

"Oh. Okay. Be careful, give a call if you need any help," Tim said, looking up from his laptop.

"Yeah, if I need anything, I'll call Bart."

"Kon."

"Hey, you're grounded, remember?"

Tim sighed, stretching up so Kon could kiss him. Kon chuckled and did so, then bent over the back of the sofa to kiss Bart, before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Then he called a goodbye on the way out the window. Tim and Bart looked at each other.

"So what are we doing then?"

Tim shrugged vaguely and looked back at his laptop.

"Well I'm gonna keep playing my game then."

"Okay."

Bart left him alone for a solid twenty minutes, which was a bit of a record for him, then he was tugging on Tim's laptop, trying to steal it.

"Yes, Bart?"

"I wanna cuddle."

"Cuddle?"

Bart's silence cause Tim to look over, and found he was pouting. Tim chuckled and saved his files, setting the laptop on the floor, then moving so his back was on an armrest, and opened his arms for Bart. Bart practically dove forwards, laying between Tim's legs, head on his chest, arms around his stomach. Tim chuckled and adjusted a bit for his own comfort, then let himself relax with Bart.

Eventually they turned on a movie and just laid together, idly chatting. There would be plenty of time for work later, Tim decided. But for now, he'd spend time with Bart. He may be stuck with these two for months before restrictions laxed, but he would take every moment he could, just to spend time with them while he could.

Kon got back after a few hours, stumbling back through the window, and giving them a grin, but he didn't come over, just walked away into the bathroom, leaving the scent of soot and acid in his wake.

"He's stinky," Bart remarked, still laying on Tim's chest.

"Hmmn, stinky boy."

Bart sniggered. Tim had, at some point, set his laptop on Bart's ass and was still working. Was it the most effective or romantic? No. But Bart didn't mind and it was keeping Tim from getting bored. 

Then his phone started ringing.

"Bart, grab that for me please?"

Bart quickly grabbed the phone from the coffee table before immediately settling back into place.

"Yello?"

"Hey, Timmy."

"Hi Dick, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in and see how things were going with you."

Tim glanced down at Bart.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? Just hanging out and working on cases, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm working on that March case."

Dick hummed from across the line.

"Well, are you sure you don't want to come to the manor?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised you're there. I thought you'd be with Wally?"

There was a pause. 

"I was going to, but he got directly exposed the day before he was supposed to come down, and he didn't want to risk it until he discovered if speedsters could actually catch it."

"Hmmn, I have it on good authority they can't."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"They're there with you, aren't they?"

Tim just grinned, even though Dick couldn't see it. His brother laughed.

"Tim, you scoundrel."

"Listen, I told them no, they wouldn't listen to me, and then when they showed up, it was too late because Bart like, immediately kissed me."

"Hell yeah I did."

Dick just laughed again. Tim could envision him fondly shaking his head.

"So, I'll let you go then, I'm sure you guys have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim laughed out, even as he started playing with Bart's hair.

"Just speaking the truth!"

"Goodbye, Dick."

"Bye, Timmy! Love you, stay safe!"

"You too!"

Tim hung up the phone and let it fall to the ground beside the sofa.

"Oh good, you're off. I didn't want to come do this with your brother still on the phone."

Tim tilted his head back to see a shirtless Kon standing over him, grinning, hair still dripping slightly from his shower. He bent down and deeply kissed Tim. Tim gave a surprised noise and reached a hand up, resting it on Kon's jaw. When he pulled away, leaving Tim breathless, he just grinned mischievously, then moved so he was closer to Bart.

"Bartie."

"Hmmn?" When the ginger picked his head up, Kon kissed him the same.

Bart just grinned at him after, and put his head back on Tim's chest.

"Do you guys want a snack, because I'm starving."

Tim watched Kon walk away, and just had to laugh.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After their snacks, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon decided to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, instead of just letting him walk.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

@core-disaster-week-2020 originally written for @unknownunseenunheard !!

[guineapigsinwinter]

Cat among the canines

Chapter two:

I'm thinking I will double this in length wise before posting it to ao3, go over the next or so,or should I just do what I have and time skip to the cannon start time?

--------

A week after New Year’s day, room 701.

“Ta, ta, tall, I’m the tallest!” Jack’s roommates were all staring at the dancing Labrador, stunned by the level of his excitement at the impromptu measuring results he’d excitedly demanded as soon as he as he saw Collet’s height now nearly matched his.

“Yeah.. he will likely be like this for a few minutes unless something gets his attention” Legoshi quietly said smiling, as he moved to corner of the room to check on the ant farm the others had gotten him for Rexmas, wail gently wagging.

Later that day

It was a small group making a circuit around the snow covered garden, checking which plants appeared to be fine and which had been damaged by the weather over the holidays. Susan, the Highland Cow who was the gardening club’s president was using it as a chance to catch up with Haru, Jack and Miguno.

“And it actually worked! We were able to sneak into Tem’s dorm and watched all three Lord of the Rings films, Bill had never seen them before!” Jack rapidly said, his voice matching his tail wagging.

“Really dude, you inflicted that on him? Star Wars would have been better” Miguno countered, causing a gasp of shock and childish outrage from Jack. “Take that back! Everyone knows Lord of the Rings is better!”.

It had started out when the guys had found Bill had never really read or watched much beyond what his family had approved. He had quickly fallen in love with the various science fiction shows, manga, comics and games Collet, Miguno and Voss had introduced him to. Jack, Legoshi and Durnham preferred fantasy, and the argument and had become a recuring debate in room 701 and the cause of multiple of dog piles.

“Personally, I don’t really like either, historical or modern stuff is better” Haru casually added, causing the two first years to stop and stare at her in horror.

Susan chuckled as the three younger students went into a passionate argument about films, the club president enjoying the energy and childish passion of the younger club members.

Ahh, to be that carefree and not have to worry about final year exams the Highland cow thought, before she gently ended the debate and started explaining everything she knew about the holly bushes they had reached to the young animals.

Meanwhile, in room 701.

Voss sighed as he sat down at his laptop on the table that covered Bill’s bed, the 13 year old relishing in the silence that filled the room. Bill and Collet had dragged Legoshi to their wrestling practice, Miguno and Jack were at gardening club and Durnham at the swim team practice. He loved his dorm mates, he really did, but fennec also loved this rare chance to have peace and quite to himself. Sipping at his mug of milk, he started to work on the next instalment of comic series he was writing for the school paper.

Several hours later, Miguno was the first to get back, Voss’s nose wrinkling when the smell of chlorine filled the room. “Open the window please Miguno, your making the place stink like a pool” he grumbled as he finished up the history report he had moved onto after he finished writing his comic.

“But it’s so good! You should come sometime Voss” Durnham replied, bouncing across the room as his swim bag went sailing into a corner and he opened the window, the crisp winter air flooding into the air.

“Please don’t turn into Jack and Bill, it’s hard enough with them trying to drag me to their respective clubs.” Voss replied, putting away his battered laptop, sensing the incoming storm just from the sheer energy radiated by the coyote.

Durnham’s response was cut off as the room opened and Miguno and Jack came in, the latter wearing a crown of dark plum coloured winter roses.

“Just admit it Miguno, I’m better at Smash then you.” The Labrador said laughing.

“Nuh, I beat you last week remember? You pouted all night afterwards.” The hyena bit back smirking.

“Well I’ll just have to prove it –“ Jack’s response was cut off by the door slamming open, and the last three residents of the dorm coming in. Immediately, Bill excitedly started shouting, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Guys, guys! I learned the best word today, it’s really cool!” the tiger’s ecitetment got stares from the others except for Collot and Legoshi, who just chuckled as they took their coats and shoes off.

Smiling, Jack asked “What is it?”

Taking a breath, Bill then shouted at the top of his voice. “FFFUUUUUCCCKKK!!! FUCK! Fuckity fuck!” giggling at the dumbstruck expression on the Labrador’s face, and the muffled cries of “What are you kid’s doing” from other rooms.

Jack’s horrified expression caused everyone else in the room to laugh as he launched into a rushed dressing down of Bill. “That’s a bad word Bill, you can’t use it! You could get in trouble! Please don’t use it in any essays!”

Bill continued to chant his new favourite word to Jack’s displeasure, which only grew as the other boys started to teasingly shout it out as well.

“C’mon guys! Stop using it, we will get in trouble if you use it! Jack tried to persuade them to stop to no avail. Smirking, Legoshi called out “Hey Jack. Fuck”.

The horror on Jack’s face turned to rage as pounced onto a cackling Bill, knocking him to the ground. “Stop corrupting Legoshi!”.

A month later, at spring Bio week.

This Bio week was weird for Bill. Whereas previously he and the other first year big felines had been showered in affection and attention for “having to put up with those dumb dogs” now he was alone except Tau, the panther he and Legoshi had befriended in the drama club. Anytime they approached any groups, regardless of age or species they would be ignored, and briskly told they were not wanted if they persisted in trying to join in.

It had been several hours now, and Bill was pissed, Tau was trying to calm him down when a shadow loomed over them, they turned. A large tiger who looked similar to Bill, easily at least twice their height with a unpleasant smirk had come up behind them and grabbed Bill.

“C’mon cuz, we got to talk, especially as you got Ma, your own aunt sent to jail you Rex dammed disgrace.” The tiger, Bill’s cousin Sam said, kicking Tau down as he tried to pull Bill out of the teenagers grasp before running off with him.

-----

Legoshi grinned, tail wagging as he entered the drama club room and ran up to Tem who was talking with Elis and Rizz. The bio week session with the guys had been fun, especially as he had actually felt more confident in joining in with the various games with the other canines, and even managed to get the courage to apologise to the other wolf students from hiding from them at the previous events. There was the usual small talk, but Legoshi slowly withdrew from it more and more as his old anxiety started to build up again as more time had passed without any sign of Bill.

“Anyone know where Bill is? He normally doesn’t miss this for anything, and he was fine this morning” he asked, but everyone murmured they hadn’t. Concern growing for his dormmate, the wolf looked around, and spotted Tau uncharacteristically hanging back in the corner, seemingly studying the floor.

Going over to Bill’s friend, he asked him if he knew where he was.

“N,no.. his cousin grabbed him and ran off, I tried to stop him but couldn’t, the teachers said it was just cousins being cousins..” The panther couldn’t lift his head up, the sheer sadness that filled his voice caused Legoshi to go up and hug him.

“We will look for him after this is over, the guys will help, Jack will know what to do, he always figures things out you know.” Legohsi said, trying to convince himself as much as Tau.

----

Gentle guitar music filled the garden, Miguno was practicing next to some rose bushes after having pruned them, enjoying the peace of the garden and focusing on the music. He could get this piece right except for one bit in the middle which no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t quite get it to work.

Jack was beside him wearing his glasses, reading some textbooks for geography. He had just pulled out a notebook to make notes when a horrible stench hit his nose, causing both him Miguno to gag.

Looking up, they Bill belting it into the gardening shed, the door slamming behind him.

Miguno put down his guitar and ran over to the shed, stopping at the door when he heard Bill sobbing inside.

“Bill? What happened dude, are you okay?” The only response he got was continued sobbing, and after a minute he knocked on the door “Er.. I’m coming in Bill, I just want to help.”

The site and smell the Hyena got when he stepped in shocked him. Bill was curled against a large cupboard, his uniform a mess, bruises and small cuts visible, his head and tail soaked whilst the smell urine came off him.

Horrified, Miguno rushed to Bill, the tiger flinching and trying to bring his sobs under control. “S,s,s,sam.. he .. he said I, I smelled too m, much of dog a, and needed to be made a cat again..” Bill whispered, shivering.

Miguno threw himself at Bill and hugged him hard, causing Bill to freeze “He can’t get you, Rex that is so messed up.” He found himself crying, though just as much from rage as shock at what had been done to his dormmate, but not sure what to do.

Bill gradually uncurled and sat up, not leaving Miguno’s hold, still sniffing. “He.. he held my face and tail down in a toilet and flushed, h, his mates poured buckets of water and ice on me. I tried to fight back but Sam’s 15 and all his mates are so they just beat me down instead. Then said they had to get me smelling of cat again a, and pissed…”

“We’ll get them back somehow” Both of them jumped at Jack’s voice, neither having realised he had entered the shed, Miguno’s guitar on his back. Neither remembered having ever heard his normally bright and warm voice so cold or angry, the 13 year old’s body language radiating protective anger.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes, the lab then smiled weakly but warmly, and knelt before Bill, taking his hand in his “C’mon, let’s get you cleared up, I still have some of that fudge you guys got me for Rexmass and you can have some.”

__

Miguno texted the others, who met them at the showers after he and Jack had managed to get Bill washed and had brought the Tiger’s pajamas, the Canines forming a protective huddle around their tiger, Legoshi holding his hand, trying to distract Bill with bug facts.

As they got to their dorm, they found Tau nervously standing there, the young panther running up to them when he saw the group approach. “Bill! Are you okay! I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop him, please tell me your okay, is there anything I can do?” He spoke almost too fast to be heard, and other then Legoshi and Bill who knew him the room 701 members warily looked at Tau.

“You tried to stop him though, and you hung with me before even if it got you treated like fuck as well, thank you man.” Bill said, some of his usual confidence having returned to him and pushed out from the protective ring of canines to embrace Tau.

After they had gotten into the room, Tau still being anxious as he was dragged by the group onto Legoshi’s bunk, all of them other then Jack who pushed the battered second hand tv Collet had brought to the room after Christmas in front of it.

Handing a bar of fudge to Bill, who had been wrapped in blankets and currently had Legosh pressed up against him on either side, Voss on his left shoulder and a confused Tau in his lap, Jack sighed.

“I’m guessing if I put my vote to that stupid old dalek film Collet’s cousin sent him that wil help right?” The rest of 701 blinked, Jack never voted for any film Collet suggested, this was.. new.

Bill looked up from the bar of fudge which he had already half devoured, blushing “R, really?”

Grinning like his normal self, turned the tv on and settled next to Legoshi, leaning on the grey wolf. “Yeah, and Legoshi, you know those stink bugs you told me about a couple of years ago?”

“Halyomorpha halys? Sure what about them?” he replied, his tail becoming a blur in response to being asked the question.

[copias-thrall]

Recognition

Suey makes a surprising discovery.

(Start at the beginning)

*light breath play*

It’s been happening for weeks.

A sudden feeling of eyes on you. Weird, little incidents that you can’t help but connect together in your mind—your own Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

Browsing at the consignment shop, and you look up—having felt the weight of a stare—to see a gaggle of girls whispering behind their hands. When you catch eyes with them, they make a hasty retreat, giggling. You look down at yourself to make sure your boob isn’t hanging out, or that there’s no toilet paper stuck to your shoe—but everything seems in order.

At the MAC store (if you wanna upgrade Mary’s stock that’s nobody’s business but your own), when two baby goths seems to be intently watching what you put in your basket. You smile at them, but they just look down quickly, as if the floor holds the secret to non-cakey face powder.

Enjoying $5 beers and reading a book at your neighborhood bar when a group of emo dudes sends you a drink. And, ok—not to brag—that’s not the odd part. It’s the way they elbow each other until one of them comes over and asks if you’re expecting company. You eye him—and the expectant pack he came from—deadpaning that you don’t do gangbangs. He giggles nervously.

“So no one’s joining you?”

“NoPe.”

You have your speech all prepared when he just sighs and says That’s a sham, before heading back over to his group, which reluctantly leaves. Men, leaving when you say you’re by yourself. 

Weird.

It’s all enough to give a girl a complex. So, you try to convince yourself that people looking away when you look up and clearly talking about you surreptitiously, is all in your head. 

You’re having a pre-holiday lunch at the greasy punk diner with your friend Arry because she's not coming to the tree trimming, when the pieces start to fall into place. The two of you are embroiled in a dish session, when a lone girl approaches you. She’s maybe 19—growing out green hair and sporting a Monroe piercing—and she approaches you shyly.

“Excuse me,” she all but whispers.

“Yes?” you say, not unkindly.

She hesitates a little, her eyes darting to yours and then back to the floor, then asks, “You’re Mary’s girl, right? Mary Goore?”

Arry—who you have not told—raises her eyebrows at you and rests her chin in her hand, curious as to where this is going.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I am.”

The girl sort of rocks back and forth a little, sucking in one side of her cheek.

“I have a-a thing. He just. Always seems so intense? If I gave it to you … ?”

“A thing.”

“It’s-it’s nothing weird. Just a-a drawing.”

Arry is looking at you like, This makes sense to you?!

You smile big and try to send out I’m-not-going-to-eat-you vibes, which is a struggle since your default setting is mostly fuck-off-and-die.

“All right, let’s see then.”

The girl’s face snaps to look up at you, gauging your sincerity, before swinging her messenger bag around. She fumbles around in it, bringing out a sketchbook. You can see she’s shaking as she flips through it. She finally manages to get to the right page, and then she’s turning it out and around for you to see.

It’s a gorgeous caricature of Mary on stage in his corpse paint looking grave and holding his guitar out like a weapon. There’s a speech bubble that says, “u want sum fuk?”.

It’s hilarious.

When you don’t respond immediately—only because you’re so entranced—the girl starts sputtering.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s wonderful,” you say as you look up at her. “This is great—right up his alley.”

She brightens. “Really??”

“Really,” you agree.

“Th-thanks. So you’d … ?”

“Yes, I’d love to give this to him, if that’s what you want.”

She nods vigorously.

Luckily you have your computer and bag with you, so you gingerly place the drawing inside your closed laptop for safekeeping. The girl is looking at you as if you’d hung the moon.

“Do you have an insta?” you ask.

“Oh! Yeah, it’s …” She leans down and writes her handle on a napkin.

You take it, smiling warmly at her, and are surprised when she leans down for a side hug, before quickly scampering off. Arry is giving you A Look.

“What. The Absolute Fuck. Was that about?”

You blush. It’s not that you’ve been hiding Mary … it’s just that it’s so new, even if doing the math in your head tells you otherwise. You give her a little shrug.

Arry glares at you. “Ok, fine. I was giving you a chance. But if you’re not going to come clean …” She pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling through it before sliding it over to you. “Explain .”

Picking up the phone you see a grainy picture of you at Regency sitting on Mary’s lap. Your head snaps up.

“Where did you—”

“Oh, keep scrolling.”

You do, and you find several more from that night, some really unflattering zooms with redeye from other bars, and the selfie Roxie took—in which you and Mary are pale and glowering and Roxie still looks high.

“Where did you get these ?” you hiss, clenching the phone.

When Arry holds out her hand, you reluctantly hand it back over.

“One of my friends sent that last one to me—that’s from Roxie Hearts’ instagram, by the way. She’s a pretty well-known—”

“Yes, I know.” You put your head in your hands.

“She’s since deleted it, by the way. But, Otis sent it to me asking if this wasn’t you. I kind of fell down a rabbit hole of hashtags from there. So. Explain.”

“Um,” you say and you trace patterns with your finger on the table, “you remember Bathroom Guy?”

“This is the guy who fucked you in a bathroom?!”

You grimace at your friend.

“Yeah?”

Your friend slaps the table and shakes her hands at you.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU’RE DATING BATHROOM GUY ?!”

“It’s only been like 6 months or something,” you mutter.

She throws a french fry at you.

“Six months !”

“Dating is like pregnancy ! You can’t announce it too soon! It might not take!”

“That’s only for like, three months, you cow. You’re fucking impossible. Only you would think 6 months is nothing! DETAILS .”

“I just,” you stammer, “I don’t know! He put his number in my phone and I just. Kept calling him up. For sex. I have needs you know!”

“Oh yes. We’re all very clear on what a fucking nympho you are. But how do you go from booty calls to random teens giving you fan art of your boyfriend who’s in a band.”

You put your head in your hands and moan.

“I don’t know! Here I am thinking of him as This Guy who just randomly shows up to fuck, to complain about everything, and to watch my cable when he’s not working—and it turns out that’s dating. Ta-da!”

You give her jazz hands.

She scrunches her face at you.

“Tell me you’re not in one of those situations you get yourself into.”

“What situations?”

“Ok, look. Don’t get offended—”

“Arr—”

“No: listen, hun—sometimes you date guys just because it’s like you don’t know what else to do. Don’t give me that look, you know you do. They're clearly into you, and you just seem indifferent most of the time.”

You shrug. “Well, Mary isn’t like that.”

“Which is why you haven’t fucking told anyone?” She raises her eyebrow.

You start shredding your napkin. “I guess maybe I keep waiting for him to realize I’m not the cool girl he thinks I am? How embarrassing would that be if I told people and then he dumped me? He knows all kinds of … people.”

“Oh, hon,” she says as she puts her hand on yours. “You’re amazing. That’s what he sees.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe,” you say, and you quickly take back your hand.

There’s a beat, and then Arry asks, “Do you have any pictures of him?” 

“Seems like you have plenty,” you huff.

“Yeah, all grainy. C’mon! Don’t hold out on me!”

Begrudgingly, you fish out your phone and pull up the G-rated album—which you created after Krissy almost swiped too far in your camera roll—and hand it over to Arry. She takes it greedily and starts zooming and swiping.

“Huh,” she says, her face twisting in … concentration? “Don’t I know this guy?”

“You literally just said you stalked him on insta.”

“No, from somewhere else.” She waves her hand at you. “Whatever.” Arry keeps scrolling. “Well, he looks … happy.”

You frown. “You don’t like him.”

She hands the phone back to you. “I don’t know him. I just think the makeup is weird.” She leans in. “Does he take it off? Have you seen his real face?!”

You scrunch your face at her. “Of course he takes it off.” You toss your hair haughtily. “You think I’m going to let him eat me out like that? Like I need another UTI in my life.”

Arry bursts out laughing. “You did seem to get a disproportionate amount.”

Shrugging, you say, “Spermicide, who knew?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why.”

You throw a fry back at her. “Bitch.”

She sticks her tongue out at you.

“Anyway . No, he usually doesn’t wear it when we’re just hanging out.”

“So you don’t hang out a lot?”

You squint at her. “Why would you say that?”

“None of those pictures show his face!”

“They don’t?” you ask as you open your phone to scroll through again. She’s right, so you pop back to your camera roll. “Oh. Well,” you look up at her, “those ones are … private.”

“Sexy pictures aren’t supposed to have faces!”

While there are X-rated pictures of the 2 of you sans faces on your roll, the ones that you’re talking about are not those. One is you in bed wearing Mary’s tee with him asleep and drooling on your chest; another is him at your cafe table focused on his guitar; still another is him at your feet, staring up at you. 

So—not X-rated but definitely private.

“Yeah, well—it doesn’t need to be sexy to be private.” You lock your phone and shove it back in your bag.

Arry is staring at you.

“What?”

“You like him.”

“Of course I like him. I’m dating him, aren’t I?”

She gives you a knowing smile, and you roll your eyes in response.

“SoOo … when do I get to meet him?”

You groan again.

You’ve basically just gotten home yourself—and are in the process of shucking off your stockings to soak—when Mary bangs into your place with his usual finesse. You’re surprised because Fridays are his big money-making day at the bar, especially now that it’s the holidays. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you wander out of your bathroom.

Mary makes a face at you as he throws down his stuff. “Well, hello to you too.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean—you’re supposed to be working.”

He takes in your outside clothes. “Oh … were you … going out?”

“Just got in, actually. Saw a friend for lunch.”

Mary continues taking off his shoes. “Ah. Well, I switched.”

“Switched for what? You’re already working tomorrow night.”

“What are you? My day planner now?”

You bristle. “Christ, Mare. Is it a crime to know when you’re going to be unavailable. What? I should just sit here waiting for you whenever just in case ?”

“Fuck—calm down, all right? I asked for the night off, ok?.”

“You’re blowing off work?” you ask as you squint at him. “Why would you do that? I thought you were counting on the tips?”

“See, this is why I told you I switched. I’m not ‘blowing off work’—I asked Mickey last week if there were any days he could spare me, and he called to let me know I could take tonight off if I wanted.”

You shift uneasily.

“But why would you do that?”

“Uh … to spend time with you?”

“But, I’m not … I didn’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to be why you can’t make rent. I could’ve waited til before I left on Monday to see you.”

Mary just sighs and flops down on your couch, pulling the balled-up afghan over his lap.

“Suey, I’m not as broke as all that. It’s tight—sure—but. Life is more than just watching it pass you by while you feed into the capitalist grind, you know? Is it so out there that I want to see my girlfriend without either of us having to fuck off afterwards?”

He looks over at you. You crawl onto the couch after him, squeezing yourself behind him so you can massage his shoulders. Mary melts into your touch.

“Of course I want to see you, but I don’t want to be why you can’t concentrate on your band, especially since you guys have such a full schedule til the end of the year. I know how important that is.”

He tilts his head to kiss your hand.

“Even if that’s why I can’t see you as much as I’d like?”

“Clingy dudes are such a turn off,” you say as in mock affectation. “I like my independence.”

Mary snorts.

You work his neck and shoulders in silence for a while before he catches up one of your hands to kiss the knuckles.

“One day I’ll give you everything.”

Your gut does something complicated, so you pull your hand back to rest on his shoulder.

“That’s a nice sentiment, Mary, but I won’t hold you to it.”

Mary sighs with his whole body.

“I wish you would.”

The two of you stay like that for a while—with you encircling him from behind and his head back leaned back on you.

“So …” you say. “Apparently we’re all over the internet.”

He twists a little to face you.

“What do you mean?”

You scramble off the couch to grab your phone from your bag, and present the pictures now in it to Mary. He scrolls through, his face indecipherable. 

“These are all …?”

“On Instagram, yeah.”

When he gets to Roxie’s selfie, he exhales heavily, resting his forehead on the phone.

“I’ll tell her to delete this.”

“It’s apparently already gone.”

He rolls his head back toward you.

“I’m sorry.”

You squint at him. “Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t think sometimes.”

You smirk at him. “I’m not going to refute that.”

He makes a tetch noise at you.

“I didn’t think what, uh, showing you off would mean. For you.”

You crawl into his lap. “I mean, it’s a little weird. I’m no one.”

Mary chucks you under the hey. “Hey. You’re someone. To me.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “You know what I mean, Mare.”

“Well, I’m sorry you’re all over Instagram, but I’m not sorry people think you’re someone.”

He’s giving you his soft eyes, and you suddenly remember the fan art. You let out an Oh before climbing off his lap. Mary seems a little put off, but you can tell his curiosity is piqued when you extract the sheet of paper stock from your laptop.

“ A fan of yours gave this to me to give to you.”

Mary looks pained.

“It’s amazing,” you say as you hold out the paper. He takes it gingerly, and you make yourself comfortable once more on your couch. He’s staring at the page, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“You should feature it on the band’s insta and @ her.”

He looks at you. “The band has an instagram?”

“You’re fucking useless, you know that? Yes, your band has an insta. It’s awful, by the way—who takes your pictures? A dog with a GoPro?”

“Uh ….”

“Useless. Anyway, I’m telling you—post it and tag her.”

He carefully sets the picture on your coffee table.

“I’d rather tag you,” he says as he noses into your neck. Your tilt your head to give him access, and you feel his lips press into the juncture of your neck—

—and then he blows a raspberry into your skin.

You shriek and try to pull away, but he grips you tightly against him as he continues to misuse your neckline. You’re twisting in his grasp, laughing and trying to push him away. He snuffles into your skin, growling and wetly licking at you. You finally manage to get your hands under his shirt, and you wiggle your fingers into his side, causing him to yelp and jerk away.

“That’s cheating!” he says as he fights to keep your menacing hands away from his body.

“All’s fair in love and war, asshole.”

You lunge for him, and he catches up your wrists in his strong grip. He pulls you into him, practically touching his nose to yours. Hooded eyes dart around your face he says,

“Oh yeah? Which one’s this?”

He’s looking at you intensely, his grip relaxing slightly, and that’s when you lean in and bite down hard on his bottom lip. He makes an aggrieved noise as he flinches away, and you use the opening to push him down and dig your hands into his sides again. He’s flailing and cursing at you, so you climb on top of him and fight to get his arms pinned under your legs.

“Hah! I’m queen of the hill, motherfucker. Victory is mine!”

Mary’s face is flushed under his day makeup, and the laughter tears have worn trails down his temples. He’s making Grumpy Skeleton face at you.

“You play dirty, Suey.”

You lean down, hands trailing teasingly over his sides as he tries and fails to jerk away from your touch.

“I play to win. And I demand my spoils.”

“Oh? And what do you think you’ve won?”

“A favor—a kiss. On the lips.”

He quirks his eyebrow at you. “Just a kiss?” His hips shift and buck under you, his erection obvious against you.

You nod. “Just a kiss.”

“Ok, Queen Bitch. You may steal a kiss from your prisoner.”

Smiling wickedly, you hike up your skirt and knee up his torso. His eyes open wide, but his pupils are fully dilated. You cast about for—ah!—a napkin on the coffee table from … whenever … and wipe some of the makeup off his face. He grumbles at you, but allows it. 

Once you’re satisfied, you toss the napkin in the general area of your trash can, then you knee up further. When you’re kneeling over his mouth, you reach between your legs and shift the crotch of your polka-dot panties out of the way.

“Kiss it.”

His hands reach up to grip at your thighs; he licks his own lips, then presses a chaste kiss to the ones of your cunt before looking up at you for approval. You pet down his head, the fake blood from his hair flaking off onto your hand and the couch.

“Mmm. That's a good start, but you should show me your technique—use a little tongue.”

Mary closes his eyes again, and his tongue flicks out to trace the seam of your folds. He does this a few times, you letting out pleased sighs, before slowly wiggling the tip in between them. At the first exploratory flick on your clit, you moan and grip his stiff hair. He slithers his tongue up and down through your slit slowly, dipping into your hole before licking at your nub.

“It’s ok to get sloppy!” you gasp as you rock against his chin. “I don’t mind a little spit.”

His grip on your thighs tightens as his mouth presses into you, his tongue now lapping in an ever-increasing rhythm as you gasp and work your hips against his rhythm. Mary shifts his long legs so that they’re bent at the knees, and you lean back into them. 

“So good. Fuck … yeah. Put a finger in me!” you moan.

He manages to work a hand under you, his finger slipping in easily because of your wetness, and he presses into the spots you like. You’re trembling with the effort of holding yourself up, and you’re swallowing hard when you remember you have to breathe. Mary redoubles his efforts, his tongue speeding up as he swirls around your clit and his finger beginning to fuck in and out of you.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh god,” you chant as you feel your pussy begin to pulsate and tighten. Mary presses the tip of his into your nub, and you can feel the sweetness of your orgasm pool, ready to break. You tense, back bowed, about to cum—and Mary, eyes now firmly fixed on you, sets his tongue flying on your engorged clit. You let out ridiculous moans—worthy of a bad porn star—as you climax and your pussy pops, your knees pressing hard into either side of his head. Mary doesn’t stop the massage of his tongue until you lean all your weight into the wall of his thighs behind you.

“Is my Queen Bitch pleased with her favor?” he asks wryly as he wipes his face with the collar of his shirt. You purr out an Mmm, content to just lounge against his knees. He—however—sits up, rearranging the two of you so that you’re straddling his lap.

“If I may be so bold?” he says as he gives a few experimental ruts against you.

“Lay on,” you say lazily, and make a “proceed” motion with your hand.

Mary’s eagerness is palpable as he struggles to get his dick out of his jeans without bucking you off him. You smile at him smugly as you refuse to help with his efforts at all. He makes a few annoyed sounds at you, but is ultimately successful with freeing his cock—your clit giving a throb of interest when you get an eyeful at how hard and flushed it is.

“C’mon,” he whines as he rubs it against you. “You gotta help out.”

Sighing as if you’re so put out, you lift up enough for him to rub his cockhead through your slit a few times—a grunt of approval escaping from his lips—before he gets the tip inside you. You slide down him—the both of you moaning as he enters you fully—and then he hooks his hands over your shoulders for the leverage to pound up into you.

You try to ride him, but his thrusts are too insistent for you to keep up, so instead you grind your clit down into the curls of his pubic hair. He’s been rubbing his face back and forth over your collarbone, but suddenly he tilts his head back and slows his fucks.

“Oh fuck, oh shit. Wanna feel your tits.” He tugs at your blouse. “Take this off before I rip it off you.”

You roll your eyes, but begin to fumble with your buttons as he yanks his band tee over his head. He almost does rip off your cami when he sees you have another layer to contend with, but ultimately you shimmy out of it without incident. When your breasts land heavy against your ribs, he’s quick to lean down and suck one into his mouth. He rocks into you now without rhythm as he sucks and licks at your tits, more interested in the weight and fullness of them in his mouth than nipple play. 

While he plays with them, you reach your hand down to play with your clit as you rock your hips. You lose yourself in the feeling of Mary filling and sucking on you as you bring yourself closer to a second orgasm. He doesn’t seem to notice how close you are, so he’s surprised when you suddenly jerk away moaning and start clenching around his dick.

“You sneak!” he gasps out as your climax rhythmically squeezes him. He snarls at you as he once again grips you to him and starts to fuck up into you without mercy. Your tits are now squashed into his chest, and you moan—still a raw nerve from your orgasm—at the feeling of your hard nipples rubbing against him.

Mary’s forehead presses against your breastbone, and he’s making little noises of distress at his need to cum like 5 minutes ago. The angle isn’t quite right for him to get as much thrust as he wants, and he’s trying to make up for it in frequency—but that’s just tiring him out.

You start squeezing your muscles around him—him moaning each time—and you lean down to whisper praise into his ear as you wrap a hand around his throat.

“You’re doing so well. That’s my good boy. You’ve pleased me so much. Such a very good boy for me.”

You squeeze a little harder.

A few more shuddering thrusts, and he finally stiffens, breathing muffled cries of release into your chest as his climax washes over him. He’s panting, and you feel the throb of his cock as he spills into you.

“There you go. So good, Mary. So good.”

You stay like that until he recovers his senses and tilts his head to blink up owlishly at you.

“Fuck,” he says, and you grin, leaning down to peck his lips.

He flops down onto his back, and you gingerly—legs protesting the whole time—climb off him to wobble unsteadily on the floor. He looks over at you.

“No. Rest,” he says reaching an arm out to you. You take it, but use it to pull him up, which just results in him sliding off onto the floor. “Ugh, why,” he whines as you laugh at his tangle of limbs and soft dick flopping about.

“C’mon. Let’s take a shower and wash all the gross off before we fall asleep like old people. I don’t think my couch cushions can be flipped again.”

Mary groans, but starts the process of getting up off the floor.

“I’m really am gonna get you a plastic cover.”

“That’s a terrible idea. We’d slip right off!”

He grins at you. “Only if we were wearing clothes.”

The two of you are waiting for the Chinese food you ordered, bundled up in the afghan against the creeping chill while Mary flips through your channels and you idly go through Mary’s ancient camera. All the images seem to fall under 1 of 3 categories: dead/decaying things; run down buildings; & injuries … but there are a handful of sporadic pictures of just you—mundane things like you touching your nose to remember something, or asleep on the couch, and one of you frowning at the subway wait time. Thinking of your own “matching set”—so to speak—you look up at Mary; his hair is soft and flat, his face scrubbed clean. You lean in to swipe at Mary’s bare cheek, and his eyes sweep over to you.

“What? Did I not get it all?”

“No, you did—it’s just. I like this Mary. Like, Mean Skeleton Mary is hot, but this one is just for me.”

Mary grins wide, and you smile back—but then he laughs into your face, and you flinch away.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he gasps around his giggles.

“Ok, fuck you,” you say as you pull away from him and curl into yourself, crossing your arms.

“No! No no no!” he wheezes as he reaches for you. “C’mere, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you gripe as you squirm ineffectually to get out of his grasp. You fume in his embrace as he continues to chuckle. 

“You’re a dick, Mary Goore.”

“I’m sorry, Suey,” he says as he swipes at his eyes. “It’s just—that’s the single most ‘mushy’ thing you’ve ever said to me that was legit. Is there a heart in there after all?”

Grumbling, you push at him with your feet to keep him away. “Don’t get used to it. It only beats occasionally.”

Still laughing, he swipes his camera from you, turning it to get you in its frame.

“I want to document this moment, so I have it for the record that your heart beat once.”

You make a mean lemon face at and give the middle finger to him as he snaps a few pictures of you.

“The day Suey’s heart grew 3 sizes.” 

“I hope you know we’re in a fight right now.”

“Yeah, I know. Worth it, though.”

Later, when you’re prone and regretting all the noodles you’ve just consumed—and after you rubbed your food baby on Mary and demanded child support ( “How can it be mine? Look how big it is already! No dice, momma.”)—you watch as Mary picks up the fan art off the table to examine again.

“It is good,” he says. You murmur wordlessly in agreement. “But I’m still sorry you’re out there now.”

You wave it off. “It’s fine now that I know. It was just weird at first—like I had to keep constantly checking that my skirt wasn’t tucked into my tights or something. Now, I keep thinking about how I can’t just go out in my pjs anymore. Full makeup and full outfit for me, even if it’s just to the corner store!”

Mary snorts. “Why do you think I just started going everywhere as ‘Mean Skeleton Mary’?”

“I just assumed it was because you’re a pretentious fuckhead.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He jostles you meanly on purpose, and you grunt as your food sloshes uncomfortably in your stomach.

“I will vomit on you.”

He grins. “Neat.”

“Ugh—gross , Mary.”

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 12

Summary: Erik finally gets what he wants...

"You bitches ugly and dusty and none of y'all matter Money all on me, I'm feeling real flattered Walk in this bitch, straight drippin' like I was tryna get to the toilet,

but I couldn't hold bladder First class only when I'm not on the jet All the white folks keep breakin' they neck They tryna see if I'm black and a threat,

but I'm covered in green, they like "Look it's Shrek!" Bankteller sayin' my shit froze (How?)

Pockets thick as hell like Lizzo (Wow) Mukbang the beat like Trish, hoe (Damn) If you piss me off, it's a shit show 'Cause I'mma do some shit that you can't believe

Smack a bitch into Christmas Eve (Uh-huh)…"

cupcakKe—"Grilling Niggas"

Prince Francesco of Monaco stared at Prince Erik of Wakanda by way of Oakland with a glare so hot, the entire room could feel the angry heat wafting off of him. Erik pushed a cool half a million worth of chips into the center of the table and waited for the perturbed man sitting across from him to put up or fold.

Tony had a hand gripped to his face and his other hand around his stomach. Four hours of card playing had come down to this moment. Two final players facing off. Tension was heavy like wet cement bags on Erik's chest even though he felt confident that the other Prince was bluffing.

Erik had been grilling these fools the entire time he was there. He felt a little cocky about it too.

"Sun is about to come up, bruh," Erik teased.

Tony's top lip teased up into a smirk and the other men watching kept quiet. The final pot was ten million dollars in total.

Francesco grumbled and when Erik thought he would fold, the man called him out and pushed even more chips to the center. Erik spread his cards out on the table.

"Fuck," was all Francesco could say as his sorry hand was revealed.

A couple of the spectators clapped and Tony walked over and slapped his hand on Erik's back.

"Be gracious," Tony whispered to him and Erik stood up from his seat to shake out his stiff legs.

"Here ya go, big winner," Delores said handing him a shot of tequila.

Erik downed it before Tony could say anything.

The dealer collected all the chips and a silver-haired Asian woman who sat to the side quietly observing the entire time Erik was there, pulled out a chrome laptop. Tony and Francesco each handed the woman blank black cards and she swiped them on an attachment hooked to the laptop.

"Exchange complete," she said handing the cards back to the men.

Tony's eyes took in the room.

"I thank you for this evening Francesco….gentlemen until next time—"

"Wait…wait…I demand a rematch. Bring this young man to Monaco."

Francesco’s face looked pleasant enough, but his tone was serious.

"That can be arranged, but we need to get going. Night."

Erik watched Tony put on his blazer and button it up. He slid on a pair of shades and Erik followed him out to an awaiting town car.

When the driver pulled away from the museum, Tony let out a relieved sigh.

"Holy shit, Stevens. I thought I was going to shit a brick those last few hands. You played Francesco like a goddamned cello."

"He's a pro—"

"But he met his match. For years I've been wanting to beat that spoiled imp, but he always comes out on top most games. I've been lucky a couple of times, but to see him shut down like that…fucking golden. Good job, kiddo. I owe you."

"A trip to Monaco—"

"To work…and maybe a little bit of play if you do well at the Expo. You ready to work?"

"I think I'm ready. How bad can it be with a bunch of little kids?"

"Oh jeez, they are going to eat you up."

Tony smiled and leaned back in his seat.

"Thanks for coming when I called. You saved me the ass beating of the year."

"Do I get a cut?"

"I'll think about it."

"You trippin', I should get half."

"You played with my money—"

"But I won money with that money."

"I'll think about fair compensation—"

"Betta have a lot of zero's with it."

"You hungry? We can stop at an all-night spot I know."

"Nah, got somewhere to be."

Tony glanced at his platinum watch.

"Really? Where?"

"That's my business," Erik said. He couldn't keep the grin off of his face thinking about Athena.

"Oh…I see. A date."

"Somethin' like that."

They pulled in front of a brand-new skyscraper and the driver opened Tony's door.

"Have fun on your date."

Erik stared up at the building.

"My East Coast digs. Have your presentation and schedule mock-up ready by Thursday."

Erik nodded and Tony walked to his New York penthouse.

The driver dropped Erik off at the hotel and he rode the elevator marveling at the amount of money he was able to play with just on the whim of rich white men, who wouldn't blink if they never saw it again. The re-match Francesco wanted was pure ego.

Erik slipped into his suite, showered, and shaved quickly then checked the time. Six in the morning. He changed into soft white linen slacks and a creamy purple Brunelli Cucinelli cashmere sweater. Slipping on dark tan dock loafers, he felt relaxed enough to appear casual, even with his pocket stuffed with condoms. They had all day to lounge, and he made sure to have enough rubbers to keep Athena in her bed until it grew dark again.

Sauntering over to her room, Erik smelled good, looked, good, and felt good enough to rock Athena's world. The anticipation was bubbling inside of him like tea on tap about to whistle.

Knocking on her door softly, he waited for her to answer, and for a slight moment, he did worry that she had changed her mind when she didn't answer. If she had changed her mind, Athena was the type to text him and let him know early on.

When she opened the door in a silk half robe, all that deep cleavage teasing him, he felt his dick wake up a little bit, and he flashed her all his big white teeth. He tried to step into her room, but she blocked access. He frowned.

"You got somebody else in there?"

The rumble in his voice caught her attention and she bit her lip all sexy and that ticked him off. All that teasing talk and she had some other dude up in her room and didn't text a nigga? Fuck that. Erik skimmed past her. The thick hotel room curtains were drawn closed, so the room was still dark. The tv was on. One queen bed was disheveled and empty, but the other bed—

"Hey, Erik!"

The bubbly face of Maria greeted him. She wore a t-shirt and probably her favorite Winnie-The-Pooh pajama bottoms she wore at their apartment back in Los Angeles under the bed covers. Erik glanced back at Athena. She shrugged and closed the door.

"Maria and I had a little serious girl talk last night, and watched a little tv."

Athena climbed onto the bed she was using and Erik just stood in the room like a big dummy.

"You're up early," Maria said eyeing his clothes, "we have snacks if you want some. I was going to order room service for pancakes. You guys want pancakes?"

"Um...Athena?"

Erik held up his hands.

Maria's cell phone rang. She answered it.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"She's just going to hang out for a bit. She had a bad time with you-know-who again. Not sex, just…awkward closure…I'm letting her hang out for a bit. She'll leave soon enough, just be cool, okay? It was pretty rough for her."

"Let's go to my room then."

"Climb in."

"I want to be alone with you—"

"You will be. Erik, we have all day and night. Be a friend, please? She's vulnerable right now."

"She has Giselle for that—"

"I'm not going to kick her out—"

"I'll do it then—"

Athena grabbed his arm and pulled him onto her bed.

"Kick your shoes off and relax."

Erik used his toes to release his shoes from his feet slowly and he climbed on top of the bed covers. He leaned his back against the headboard. Maria chattered and it only took Erik a few seconds to realize she was talking to Giselle. Erik held his forehead with his hand waiting for Maria to finish.

"How was the thing with Stark?"

"Good. It was a private poker game."

"Really? Why did he need you?"

"I played for him. He bankrolled me with some high rollers and I kicked butt."

"Serious? How much?"

Erik whispered in her ear. Her eyes grew big.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He shook his head.

"Keep that to yourself. I'm tryna get a players fee from him."

His eyes drifted from hers down to the top of her robe. Her heavy breasts strained against the silk. He rested a hand on one breast and squeezed softly. Her eyes darted over to Maria.

"You can wait," Athena said. But she didn't move his hand.

Eventually, Maria got off her cell, but then the next thing Erik knew, she and Athena got caught up in a show about young fashion designers competing for runway shows and the time ticked on for two hours as the two women cackled about clothes and yelled at the t.v.

Athena ordered room service for everyone and they all ate pancakes and omelets with crispy bacon and Erik turned grumpy when the women got caught up in another reality tv show. Athena patted his head and pulled back the covers for him to cuddle under with her. Maria saw the action but said nothing about it as she snacked on more bacon.

Wrapping his arm around Athena's waist, Erik closed his eyes and rested his head on a pillow, allowing his body to savor the warmth of Athena and the sweet cloying smell of her skin.

Even with the sun up outside, the room remained quite dark with the curtains still shut, and he found himself drifting in and out of sleep. The third time he woke up from a short two-minute cat nap, he found himself getting warm and pulled off his socks and then his slacks.

"What are you doing?" Athena said glancing over at Maria who was focused on the tv.

"I'm hot with these clothes on."

He pulled the sweater over his head and Athena's eyes scanned his chest with hunger in her eyes.

"I'm keeping my boxers on."

She rolled her eyes.

"Had I known this was going to turn into a slumber party I woulda worn sweats," he grumbled.

He curled around her body again and let his arm brush against her breasts. He could feel her softness better and his dick chubbed up by being pressed into her backside.

"You making me hard," he whispered in her ear.

"I haven't even done anything," she whispered back.

"You ain't gotta do nothing but back that ass against me. Witcho fine ass."

She giggled and rubbed her hand on his arm.

Erik pressed his lips on the back of her neck and then kissed her earlobes.

"Don't…."

Athena's protests were weak and she pressed her thick cheeks back into him.

Erik slipped a hand inside her robe and it fell open easily as he caressed her breasts under the covers. Athena turned her head back toward him and he snagged a hold of her lips. Soft tongue kissing kept them quiet as the tv rattled on.

"Erik, stop, wait until she leaves…."

He pulled off his boxers and pushed up Athena's robe. All he felt was a short satin nightgown under the robe and no panties. He let his fingers drag lightly along her shaved vulva and she bit her bottom lip to keep quiet.

"She's been here four hours since I came in. I'm here to collect what you promised. If you won't go to my room, and you just letting her linger, I'm getting something right now."

Athena pressed into his erection.

"You feel all that big dick, huh?"

He plucked at her nipples and they hardened fast for him. His eyes were glued to them and when he lifted up one heavy breast, Athena reached back and gripped his dick. He fingered her clit and she shoved her face into her pillow to stifle a moan.

He teased her bud until she was squirming hard against his length. He tried to keep his voice quiet too as her ass cradled his erection and milked pre-cum from him. Both of them found their eyes darting over to look at Maria. Her back was to them because the large screen tv was hanging over the wall of the small living room area.

Erik kissed Athena again, forcing her to turn her head toward him as he tongued her down with slow wet kisses. He felt like his dick got harder trying to sneak pleasure with someone else in the room. Athena's pussy was sopping wet. The thrill of being caught probably turning her on too. An entire half-hour episode of a show played on tv as they reveled in kissing long and deep. Erik stopped kissing her when she opened up her robe and let her breasts fall out of the nightgown. He felt his manhood twitch just from looking at the overabundance displayed before him. Her eyes were glassy and her lips looked swollen from his mouth ravishing hers.

Erik reached for his pants that were folded at the end of the bed and dug in the pockets. Pulling out two condoms he stuck one under the pillow and unwrapped the other.

"We can't," Athena whispered.

Erik pulled the covers over Athena's chest and leaned back nonchalantly.

"Hey turn that up," Erik called to Maria.

"It's already kinda loud," Maria said looking over at him.

"Just a little bit," he said.

The remote was by her side, so Maria turned it up two volume levels.

Erik slid the condom down on his length and squeezed his balls.

Athena was still hesitant, but that didn't stop her from turning to her side and allowing him to line his dick up with her gaping slit. Erik looked at her opening and held in a heavy groan that wanted to fall out of his mouth. He pushed in and Athena slammed a hand over her mouth and shoved her face into her pillow.

"Told ya," he whispered, "I'm bout to get up in them guts."

Erik kept his thrusts slow, hard, and deep.

Her pussy was snug around his thickness and when she looked back at him with her lips parted and her eyes pleading with him to keep going slow, he found his own mouth going lax and hard exhales falling from his lips without any control from him. Soft rocking motions kept them content, and this woman's pussy gave Erik more nasty thoughts of what he would do to her when they were actually alone.

He pulled away from her when Maria jumped off her bed and padded into the bathroom. The bathroom fan was loud and Erik took advantage of the noise and Maria's absence in the room to start pummeling Athena's pussy. He gripped her leg and lifted it up, pushing away the covers.

"She's going to come back out!" Athena cried out.

Athena wiggled and slammed her ass back into him, but the thrill of discovery was tinged in her voice. She was turned on with the idea of being caught.

Erik slammed into her and her eyes shut tight.

"Fuck, Erik!"

They heard the toilet flush and then running water.

It was now or never.

He pulled Athena on top of him. He wanted to see those huge tits bounce. She leaned forward and not only did they bounce, but they smacked against each other loudly.

"Fuuckkk, baby…I'm cumming in your pussy!" Erik shouted.

Thrusting his hips up hard, the heavy spurts from his dick into the condom had his eyes rolling back as Athena muffled her own orgasm.

She scrambled off of him and dived back under the covers as Maria strolled casually back into the room and flopped back on her bed.

Erik felt Athena's body shaking with laughter as she covered her mouth. Erik burst out laughing and pulled the covers over his chest.

"What's so funny?" Maria asked, glancing over her shoulder, completely oblivious.

Erik fell out again as his penis grew flaccid.

"You, you're funny," he quipped.

Maria rolled her eyes and turned the tv channel.

Chapter 13 HERE

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30 @childishgambinaa @mygirlrenee @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 18

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~5400

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: Riley and Hana delve into the events of the preceding night. Drake takes care of some practical measures to allow him to move forward with his life.

Author’s Note: This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Riley felt like her head couldn’t feel worse if it were literally ripped apart. She slowly opened her eyes, trying to get a sense of her bearings. She had to blink a few times to bring everything into focus, her contacts practically glued to her eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw she was in her own apartment. She had no memory of leaving the nightclub.

Switching to Long Island Iced Teas had been a mistake. It always led to bad decisions for her. But it had been so nice to just feel happy and carefree again. The first few drinks of the night had gotten her there, and all she had wanted to do was prolong that feeling. But ever since Cordonia, all this pain and sadness that she’d worked so hard to keep locked away had just kept bubbling to the surface. She just hadn’t wanted to feel that way, and the alcohol had been a quick fix.

Sitting up slowly, gingerly, she glanced around the room. Her jacket was hanging over the chair at her desk, her cellphone and wallet placed on top of her laptop. She was in a pair of gym shorts and an old FDNY t-shirt, her clothes from last night folded up neatly on top of her dresser. Anderson was curled up in his spot on the armchair. It was not what she expected after a night where she got blackout drunk.

Spinning slightly, Riley felt her stomach bottom out when she saw another body in bed with her, but quickly let out a rough sigh when she realized it was Hana, not some random guy. The fact that she hadn’t brought someone home with her only lessened her feelings of shame slightly. Last night was still a series of bad decisions, even if she didn’t throw a bomb into her relationship on top of everything.

She tried to shift gently out of bed, wanting to go take out her contacts, brush her teeth, and find some Advil, but her movements woke up Anderson, who bounded off of the chair and over to her, prancing excitedly around her feet. The jangling of his tags woke Hana, who bolted up and over to Riley before she could even process that Hana had apparently borrowed a sweatshirt and cotton shorts from her.

“Riley, thank goodness you’re alright! How are you feeling?” she rambled, grabbing Riley’s shoulder gently.

“I feel like shit, Hana,” was all Riley could croak out before bolting past Hana into the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time. Hana joined her a few seconds later, holding her hair back and rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. After the retching subsided, Hana spoke.

“Why don’t you brush your teeth and climb back into bed?”

Riley shook her head, “I need to take Anderson out and feed him.”

“Let me do that.”

“Hana, thank you, but don’t you have meetings or something? It’s my own fault I feel like this. Don’t worry about me.”

Hana shook her head slowly, “I already canceled my meetings. Come on, I’ll take care of Anderson, you take care of yourself. Then, we can talk.”

Sighing, Riley hefted herself off the floor as Hana left the bathroom. She could hear talking softly to Anderson as she started brushing her teeth, and then she heard the latch of the door. Alone, she took a shuddering breath as she tried not only to quell the still-present nausea, but also to get a grasp on the fact that Hana had been in her apartment. She didn’t know why it unsettled her so much. It’s not like Hana was rude or tactless - she was never going to comment on its size or condition. But it still felt mad weird.

Riley knew she likely owed Hana big time for getting her home last night. And now, she was here, taking care of her instead of going to the meetings she had set up. And she wanted to talk. Riley had no idea about what, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that whatever it was, it was going to be uncomfortable. Lord only knew what she had done at the end of last night.

After taking out her contacts, washing her face, clipping back her hair, and throwing on a sweater and some jeans, Riley went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She down at her desk, taking little sips, seeing if she would be able to keep anything down, but after a few minutes, she was back crouching in front of her toilet. She heard the apartment door open while she was brushing her teeth. Apparently, Hana was back with Anderson.

When she came out of the bathroom, she couldn’t help but laugh at the sight in front of her. There was Hana, wearing some of Riley’s old workout gear and the high heels she’d worn out last night, dumping about five meals worth of kibble into Anderson’s bowl. Anderson was prancing and wiggling around, clearly excited about the jackpot of food he’d just received.

“Hana, that’s plenty for him,” said Riley as she sank to the floor next to the bathroom, too shaky to keep standing and too nauseous to move too far from the bathroom.

“Oh Riley, let’s get you back in bed,” said Hana, crossing the room, but Riley just shook her head.

“Trust me, I’m good right here.”

“Okay. I swung by that store beneath your building and picked you up some ginger peach juice,” she said, handing her a small juice container from a bag she’d left on the desk, “The ginger should help with the nausea and the sugars should help if you feel weak or unsteady.”

Riley gave her a small smile, accepting the juice. Hana glanced around the room, then sat on the floor opposite Riley, leaning back against the bed and facing her.

“How… how much do you remember about last night?” Hana asked, her voice small and timid.

“Uhh, I remember getting to Kismet; I remember tugging you onto the dance floor; and I remember having a few Long Islands. It’s pretty fuzzy after that.”

“Well, I think we should probably discuss some things from the latter half of the evening then,” she said primly, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Shit,” thought Riley, “what did I do?” She wracked her brain, trying to come up with anything that Hana would want to talk about. But try as she might, after a certain point, she only had very vague images.

“Hana, whatever I did or said or whatever, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t-”

“Riley, I don’t need you to apologize for anything. But we need to talk about what you told me.”

Again, Riley tried frantically to figure out what Hana was referring to, but she kept drawing a blank. After a few long seconds of silence, Hana finally spoke again.

“I need you to know that you aren’t alone. I don’t care if we’re in neighboring rooms at the Beaumont’s or if we’re half a world apart. Whenever you need me, I’m here for you.”

Riley took a sip of her juice, trying to figure out what the hell had happened at the end of the night. “I know, Hana.”

“Riley… the hour we spent on the floor in the hallway while you cried that no one cared about you would tend to indicate otherwise.”

“Wait, we did what?”

“You kept talking about how you were always going to be alone and everyone was always going to leave in the end.”

Riley felt so humiliated. She thought she’d kept those fears pretty buried, but apparently she just unloaded on Hana while drunk out of her mind, “It’s a foster kid thing, Hana. I know you guys care about me. Being alone for the first time in almost a year has just brought up some old feelings.”

“But you aren’t alone, Riley. Not in the ways that matter. Physically living alone doesn’t mean you’re truly alone. Trust me, I know the difference. And even if we aren’t right with you, you have to know that Maxwell and Drake and I will always be there for you. Liam too, even if his royal obligations might limit him somewhat. But you have to know that all you need to do is call us or send us a text, and we’ll be there for you, in whatever way you need. We love you, Riley.”

Riley let out a shuddering breath. “Hana, you have to understand that my life experiences make that hard to believe sometimes. I’ve spent a long time making sure I’m the ‘fun friend’ and not really trusting anyone to actually want to deal with the rest of my shit.”

“I can certainly understand that feeling,” said Hana, tilting her head slightly towards Riley, “but I’m working towards accepting unconditional love and friendship when it’s offered, to not doubt the good relationships in my life. And while I’m not looking to tell you what to do, I think letting all your pain and worry build up until you unleash it all while intoxicated might not be the best coping strategy.”

Riley nodded. Of course, Hana was right about this. She was fucking right about everything. “I just don’t know how to handle a relationship, Hana. I’ve always kept things casual before, and that meant things were fun and easy. But… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m an idiot clinging to the small possibility that he’ll come back, or if I’m a fool for thinking I should just cut my losses when it’s obvious he’d rather be with Liam than with me.”

“You are neither a fool nor an idiot,” said Hana, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

“I just don’t know what to make of everything. And I just don’t know whether it’ll hurt more if I just call it all off now or I wait until this drags on until its inevitable end. I’ve never dealt with something like this before.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not a great wealth of romantic experience.”

Riley chuckled at that. “Maybe not, but I still trust your judgement.”

Hana took a few seconds to collect her thoughts. “Alright, I think making this decision on the basis of fear is not the right approach. It’s not going to bring you any sort of happiness or even a sense of resolution if you just try to avoid pain.”

“I just don’t want to feel like shit, Hana.”

“But you already do, don’t you?”

Riley dropped her head, “I just don’t know if I can handle him telling me that I don’t matter to him, not enough anyway.”

Hana let out a little humming noise, but didn’t say anything. When Riley looked up at her, it was clear she had something on the tip of her tongue.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing. Like I said, I don’t have much romantic experience.”

“I want to hear what you have to say, Hana.”

Hana swallowed pointedly and took a deep breath before starting, “I think you are being too hard on Drake.”

Riley didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. She sat there in stunned silence while Hana continued, “Look, I went and saw him the other day at the palace, and he was an absolute mess. He talked about how guilty he felt, and it was clear that he was devastated that you had to fly back alone. Plus, it’s not as if he stayed behind to just drink whiskey and goof off with Liam. He was trying to aid his friend through an incredibly stressful situation.”

“Hana, I get what you’re saying, but you weren’t here to see how much he was just itching to get back to Cordonia. It just seems like he impulsively followed me here, and now that the honeymoon phase is over, he’s just done with me. Or that he only wants me when it’s convenient for the rest of his life.”

“Riley, he uprooted his entire life for you, so you know that isn’t true.”

“And maybe now he sees that was a giant mistake.”

“Or maybe he’s trying to figure out where he fits into your life here, and it’s been hard for him.”

“Trust me, Hana. He never made any real effort to make a life here. He never tried to make any friends or even joined me when I went out with my friends or-”

“Did he refuse to meet your friends, or did you just vaguely invite him and hope that he’d read your mind?”

Riley mentally reeled at Hana’s statement. She’d never heard Hana interrupt anyone before, and here she was, somehow calling Riley out on things she should have no knowledge of and putting her on the defensive, “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s been a very long time since I saw Drake say no when you asked him for anything.”

“I was trying to give him space.”

“Since when, Riley? Since you two became friends, you’ve been pushing him - to talk, to be social, to try new things. Why did that change when you two became a couple?”

“I don’t know. He’d already moved for me. I didn’t want to add any extra pressure.”

“But it sounds like you just dropped back into your old life. Meanwhile, he was probably floundering. He’s a creature of habit and his closest relationships are with people he’s known since childhood. It can be hard work to find new friends. He also had to look for a job on top of that, which is stressful in its own right.

“And look at the neighborhood where you live - can you imagine Drake ever wanting to live somewhere so crowded and noisy? Or even this apartment, Riley. I dug through your dresser and closet last night, looking for some clothing for us, and you have filled every square centimeter with your belongings. How was Drake supposed to feel at home when you didn’t even have a place for him to put his clothing?”

“What are you saying, that I didn’t want him here or that I didn’t treat him right?” Riley snapped, suddenly feeling very put on the spot.

“No, Riley. That’s not my goal here. I just think that you should not hold Drake to an impossible standard.”

“You think that me wanting him here with me is an impossible standard?” Riley sneered.

Hana just sighed, “Riley, I know you’re hurting, but I just want you to look at this objectively. Drake moved to a foreign country where he had no professional and exactly one personal connection. The life he was living was probably a pretty stressful one in a lot of aspects, and then his best friend in the world was under threat of assassination and his father died. Can you at least see how that might be a tough combination of circumstances for him to navigate?”

Riley knew Hana was right, but that didn’t make it hurt any less to hear out loud. She felt like a shitty girlfriend for not addressing Drake’s adjustment earlier. She’d been so focused on getting back into her New York life, she hadn’t really wanted to dwell on the ways Drake was struggling.

But that was her problem - she never wanted to deal with the unpleasant. Unpleasant meant pain and so her whole adult life, she’d just charged full steam ahead. But that’s apparently how you ended up blackout drunk crying in the hallway outside your apartment.

“I just wanted us to be happy.”

Hana nodded gently, “But pretending you’re happy isn’t the same as actually being happy. Look, Riley - you adapt so well to various situations. But Drake likes his routines a lot more, and he’s just not as flexible. And while I don’t have a lot of experience to draw from, I do know that part of being in a healthy relationship is allowing your strengths to help your partner in areas where he or she struggles.

“In some other languages, like Greek, Italian, or French, there are various words for ‘you’ and ‘your’ - a singular version and a plural version. I think you were so focused on enjoying being back in your life in New York,” she said, gesturing towards Riley, “that you never got a chance to create your life as a couple. One that works for both of you.”

Riley took in her words as she drank a little more of her juice. “Hana, I don’t understand how you can be so sheltered but still fucking know everything.”

Hana blushed and laughed, “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.”

They sat there together on the floor in silence for a few moments. Eventually, Anderson came trotting over, clearly wanting some attention as he climbed onto Hana’s lap. Riley glanced at his bowl and saw that he’d devoured his generous meal. 

“Fingers crossed he doesn’t get sick from that feast,” Riley mused.

“Oh no! Did I feed him too much? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Riley waved her hand and shook her head, “No worries, Hana. You’ve done plenty for me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so, Riley. You’re my best friend, and I can be here for you as long as you need. I am scheduled to my out tomorrow night, but I can certainly change my flight if you’d like me to stick around.”

“No, I’ll be okay. You should go home.”

“Are you sure, Riley?” Hana’s eyes were wide and full of concern.

“I’m sure, Hana. I can always call you if I want to talk, right?”

Hana smiled at her, “Of course you can.”

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

Liam walked into the private dining room to grab a quick breakfast before heading down to make an appearance at the courthouse, but he was not alone. There was Drake, sitting in his usual seat, a mug of coffee and some eggs and bacon in front of him. He was staring at his phone with such intensity, it was almost comical.

“Something interesting there?” Liam asked as he poured himself some coffee from the carafe.

Drake jerked his head up, clearly surprised by Liam’s appearance, but gave him a small smile and said, “Not really, no. Just a text.”

“From Riley, I presume?”

Drake looked at Liam for a few seconds before he answered, “Yeah, but we don’t need to talk about her if you would rather… er, not.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” said Liam, “but unnecessary. Unless it is a… er, private message, in which case I-”

“No!” said Drake, emphatically shaking his head, “She just asked if I’ll be in New York this weekend or if she should pick up some extra shifts.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her yes.”

“Okay… Drake, I’m not sure why this rather mundane sounding interaction has you so distracted.”

“It’s just… she just texted back ‘okay.’”

“And…?”

“And she doesn’t seem very happy about it. So now I wonder if she doesn’t… I just… How would you interpret this shit?” Drake said, rubbing his forehead.

“I am not comfortable answering that, my friend.”

“Right! Sorry, I should have never asked. I just don’t-”

“Drake, it’s not that” Liam said with a laugh, “It’s simply the fact that getting my opinion on anything to do with Riley Liu is a terrible idea. She rejected me and my way of doing things.”

Drake scrunched his eyes closed for a moment and let out a sigh, “I just don’t know what she wants.”

“I would trust your instincts, Drake. They seem to have served you well in the past when it came to her.”

“I know, I know. I already bought the tickets. I’m just doubting myself now.”

Liam let out a little sigh. As much as he liked having Drake around, he knew Drake was making the right choice for him. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I have to finish up at the house today.”

Liam nodded, “Alright, well I’ll see you off after breakfast tomorrow.”

Drake shook his head, “My flight takes off just after 5.”

“Alright, well drinks tonight then?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

“Just swing by my office when you get back.”

“Actually, can we do my quarters? I was planning on packing them up tonight.”

Liam paused for a moment at that statement, a statement that made Drake’s leaving feel that much more real and permanent. “Of course, Drake. But don’t feel that you need to empty them completely if you run out of time. I’ll keep them for you at least through the wedding.”

Drake took a long sip of his coffee as he nodded, but when he put down his mug, he looked determined. “Look, maybe this isn’t my place to say, but I have to ask - are you sure you want to marry Madeleine?”

At Drake’s question, Liam let out a long sigh. No, he wasn’t sure at all. He’d gotten engaged to Madeleine as a last resort, and now it just kind of seemed inevitable. He had no reason not to marry her at this point.

Drake latched onto his sigh and long pause, clearly taking them as an opening, and continued to speak, “I mean, I don’t even see what she brings to the table if you’re gonna do the whole political marriage thing. Kiara is a better diplomat. Hana’s kinder and much more pleasant to be around. Hell, even Olivia at least actually likes you as a person. I’m just saying that it doesn’t even seem like she’s the best option from that standpoint.

“Father thought she brought the most to the table.”

“Oh,” Drake dropped his gaze to his plate at that, clearly not expecting him to bring up his late father, “So, are you marrying her to… uh, honor his memory?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I should just fulfill one of his last wishes, and other times I just feel guilty because I don’t want to be anything like him. Do you ever… do you sometimes take a particular action or path just because you feel it’s what Jackson would have wanted.”

Drake nodded, “Yeah, but I think my situation is a little less…”

“Complicated?”

“I was going to say fucked up, but complicated works too.”

Liam laughed, “I suppose you’re right. Well, thank you, Drake, but I need to be going to the courthouse.”

“Ahh, shit. I didn’t mean to overstep, Liam.”

“You didn’t,” said Liam, shaking his head, “I am glad you were able to be candid with me. I’ll see you tonight, okay? We can try and put a dent in that whiskey stash of yours that you’re going to have to leave behind.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tonight, Liam.”

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

“Drake, you in here?”

Savannah’s voice rang out through the hallway. Drake left his old bedroom, boxes strewn across the floor and bed. Between yesterday and this morning, he’d made good progress. He’d cleaned out the kitchen, the living room, the den, and his bedroom. Bastien had promised to take care of his dad’s office and his parent’s bedroom, so that only left the bathroom and Savannah’s bedroom for her to handle.

“Hey, Savannah,” he said when he got to the living room, hugging her in greeting, “Thanks for coming out.”

“Yeah, no problem. Wow, you should have let me know you were going through the place. I could have helped you out,” she said as she took in the numerous boxes piled against the walls.

Drake shrugged, “I figured you were busy with Bartie. Where is he, by the way?”

“Bertrand has been wanting to spend some time with him one-on-one, so when you asked me if I could come out here the other night, I figured today would be a great opportunity.”

Drake nodded, “Well, give him a hug from Uncle Drake, okay?”

“Of course. So, why’d you need me out here. Are you looking to sell the house?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why are you packing everything up?”

“Here,” he said, grabbing a packet of papers off the coffee table and handing it to her, “this is for you. And Bartie”

Savannah started glancing through the documents, her eyes growing wider by the second. “Drake, is this…”

“Yeah, it’s the deed to this house. It’s all in your name.”

“What the hell are you doing, Drake?”

“The house is yours.”

“But… why?”

“Because you need it more than I do.”

“Are you drunk or something? I have a home, you are the-”

“No, Savannah. You don’t have a home. Your name is not listed anywhere on the Beaumont’s property, and you don’t pay rent. You are a house guest.” Savannah opened her mouth to protest, but Drake kept going, “Now, I hope that everything works out the way to want it to with Bertrand, but in case something were to happen, you now have a place that’s just yours. Someplace you can bring Bartie.”

“Nothing is going to happen, Drake.”

“I hope you’re right. In that case, this house can just serve as an insurance policy. But if things don’t go according to plan, I want you to have someplace you can go. I don’t want to you feeling like you have to run away again.”

Savannah stared at him for a few moments, her brow furrowed, “You won’t bribe me into staying here. Did it ever occur to you that I could have moved in here when I was pregnant, but I chose not to? Did it ever occur to you that I want more than this?” she asked, gesturing around the room.

“Then sell it and move where you want to go. Just tell me where that is.”

“If this house comes with strings, then I don’t want it. You don’t get to put conditions on gifts, Drake.”

“And you don’t get to do whatever the hell you want without consequence. Do you know how bad it hurt me when you were just gone one day? How long I looked for you, how many assholes I called, hoping you were in touch with any of them?”

“I was scared! I was pregnant, and I didn’t know what to do, and I was so ashamed. How could I face you? How could I tell you I’d gotten knocked up by one of those nobles you hated oh so much?”

Drake swallowed, trying to break up the rough lump in his throat, “I’m sorry if I ever made you think that there was anything you could do that would make me care about you less, but you need to stop acting like you were the only victim there. You denied Bertrand a lot of important firsts. You denied Bartie the chance to know his father from the start. You put Maxwell in an awkward situation where he had to lie to a lot of people to cover for you. And you-” Drake cut himself off. He took a few deep breaths, trying to stop himself from crying, “and you left me all alone. After Mom left, I just.... You were my only real family left. And you were just able to take off.”

“Drake, I-”

“You hurt me, Savannah. And I know you were upset and afraid, but I was hurting, too. Because I always thought you would be the one woman who wouldn’t leave. But then you did. And now you’re back, and that’s great, but I just worry that something will happen. That you’ll run off again. All I wanted to do is give you a safe place to go. I just didn’t want to fail you again” he said, his voice cracking as a few tears trickled down his face.

“Drake, you never failed me. I just… I couldn’t face being here.”

“But you felt like you couldn’t come to me. You didn’t trust me, and that means I didn’t do my job.”

“Oh Drake, it’s never been your job to protect me from the world.”

“You’re my baby sister! Of course I’m supposed to protect you!”

“I’m a grown woman, Drake. I have been for a while. I made a choice, and maybe it was the wrong one, but I can’t undo it. But you need to know that my leaving was not about you. I missed you like crazy.”

Drake took a shaky breath and tried to collect himself, “I love you, Savannah. I really do. But if I’m signing up to have you just drop out of my life without any notice again, I don’t know if I can do it. I want us to be close again. I want to watch Bartie grow up. But I don’t know if I can handle losing you guys again. So, I think we should both promise that we’ll at least let the other know where we are, okay? No more falling off the face of the earth.”

Savannah nodded, “I can do that.” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

After they pulled apart, Drake pulled out his phone, “On that note, I am flying back to the States tomorrow morning. I’m gonna text you my flight info, alright?”

“Okay, Drake,” she said with an eye roll, “Your full itinerary is absolutely needed.”

“I just don’t want either of us to be lazy about this, okay? I’m serious, Sav. I can’t handle losing you like that again. I want to make this right.”

Savannah nodded, “I hear you, Drake. I do. I am sorry that I caused you so much pain. I hope you know that.”

Drake nodded tightly, “Thanks, Savannah.”

“No, thank you. You didn’t need to give me your half of the house.”

He just shrugged, “I kind of did. It’s time for me to move on with my life, you know? I can’t just keep bumming around with Liam indefinitely.”

Savannah gave him a couple of small nods. He knew she really didn’t get his desire to leave the king’s inner circle, but it was the truth. Even if Riley told him to go fuck off, it was time for him to do something different than crash at the palace and travel around with Liam. Liam had enough resiliency and support that he didn’t need Drake around anymore. And Drake trying to make a life for himself was about eight years overdue at this point.

“So, yeah,” he continued, “I didn’t touch your shit, obviously, but I took what I wanted. The rest of the boxes you can donate or go through or whatever you want. And Bastien’s gonna come here once the trials are over and take care of Mom and Dad’s stuff.

“Okay.”

“So here’s my copy of the keys. The house is now officially yours, Savannah Walker.”

She glanced around the room, “What a strange day,” she said with a laugh, “I’ve gotta let Bertrand know.”

She pulled out her phone to call Bertrand, so Drake took that as his cue to leave. He was just about to the front door when Savannah called out to him.

“Drake, these are your travel plans?”

“Yeah, they are.”

She walked over to him, a big smile shining on her face. “I’m proud of you. Tell her ‘hi’ for me.” 

“Will do. Now, take care of yourself and that little boy,” he said as he wrapped up in a gentle hug.

“I will, Drake. Travel safe.”

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

Drake shifted in his seat. This flight had been worse than the one to Cordonia, because there he was exhausted enough that he just had passed out cold. Here, he was up for the entire thing, enduring every crying baby, every jolt of turbulence, and every time the woman in front of him reclined her seat straight into his knees. 

But thankfully, they were now in the final descent. Drake didn’t know what he would find at baggage claim. If she would be there or not. He’d sent the text last minute before hopping on the flight, so he didn’t know if she’d even seen it. The more he thought about it, the more his decision seemed like a terrible mistake.

He felt a jolt as the plane touched down on the runway, drawing him out of his own mind, it was too late for regrets now. As the plane taxied to its gate, one of the flight attendants came over the PA system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the local time is 11:32 am and it is as sunny 67 degrees out. On behalf of the flight crew, let me thank you for flying with us today and welcome you to Austin, Texas.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​ @mfackenthal​  @lilyofchoices​  @thequeenofcronuts​  @jamesashtonisbae​

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019​   @sirbeepsalot​  @texaskitten30​   @princessleac1​  @ladyangel70​  @dcbbw​  @yaushie​ @octobereighth​

Drake x MC only:  @jovialyouthmusic​  @iplaydrake​  @gibbles82​  @drakewalkerisreal​  @riley--walker​  @notoriouscs​  @butindeed​  @addictedtodrakefanfic​  

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon  @thesumofmychoices​  @cosigottahavefaith​   @thequeenchoices​  @katedrakeohd​  @feartheendlesssummer​  @ao719​  @ooo-barff-ooo​   @sunnyxdazed​

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 75

The title’s a little on the nose.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Squee’s World Shatters

           Rain plummets from the sky, soaking the Nameless City. The large droplets ping against the walls of a van, creating a rather nice ambience for those living inside.

           Aron is in his usual spot in the front seat, curled up as he types up an article on his laptop. Behind him, Serena is stretched out on the soft floor, sucking blood out of a bag with a silly straw. Psycho Doughboy is lounging in his hammock, hat pulled down over his eyes. Mr. Fuck, Sickness, and Reverend Meat are spread out on the seats. Everyone is just relaxing, enjoying the lazy day.

           There’s suddenly a knock on the side door and they all sit up.

           “Uh, were you expecting anyone?” Eff asks. Serena wordlessly shakes her head.

           Reverend Meat stands up and slides open the door. “Squee!”

           “What?” D-boy questions as everyone gets up.

           Squee is standing outside, absolutely soaked as he hangs his head.

           “Did you walk here?” Reverend Meat asks, ushering him inside. “Do we have a towel?”

           “Yeah,” Sickness replies as she opens one of the storage units in the seats and tosses him a red towel.

           “Here,” he says, giving it to Squee who drapes it over his head. “Did something happen?”

           Squee opens his mouth but whatever he was going to say gets caught in his throat. Instead he asks, “can I stay here for a while?”

           “Uh yeah, sure,” Reverend Meat replies, “make yourself comfortable.”

           Squee walks by and sits on the seat, curling up in the towel. The Night Terrors, Serena, and Aron all stand together and watch him, curious and worried.

           After a few awkward, quiet moments, the rain finally ends and they go outside, leaving Squee on the seat.

           “So, I don’t really understand human emotions, but there’s definitely something wrong, right?” D-boy asks.

           “Of course, did you see his face?” Reverend Meat questions, “his eyes are red, his nose is puffy. He’s been crying, a lot.”

           “So what do we do? Ask him what’s wrong?” Sickness asks.

           “I don’t think he’ll talk about it,” he replies.

           “We should go to Nny,” Eff suggests, “he might know.”            “But why would Squee come to us and not Nny in the first place?” D-boy asks.

           “We’ll only figure that out if we go to Nny,” Reverend Meat replies and looks at Serena and Aron. “You guys can watch him, right?”            “Eeehhh,” they groan with uncertainty.

           “Great, thanks, guys,” Eff says before the Night Terrors wave and run off. They hop across a couple buildings before Reverend Meat inexplicably stops.

           “Meat?” Sickness questions, “what’s wrong?”

           “Something’s…changed,” he muses as he looks around. “You guys go to Nny. I’m gonna look for something.”            “Uh, okay,” Eff shrugs and they split apart.

           Reverend Meat makes his way across the city before stopping next to a collapsed building. It used to be the South Mall, but it was recently destroyed. Clean-up crews are just now starting to remove the rubble.

           Reverend Meat lands on the ground across the street and stands over the rain-soaked gutter, looking down at something familiar.

           Meanwhile, Devi glances impatiently out Johnny’s window before checking her phone for the umpteenth time. “He’s not answering my texts.”

           “I don’t get it,” Tenna says, “where is he? Didn’t he say he’d meet us at home?”

           “Do you think something happened?” Devi asks.

           “He seemed pretty wiped out before we went on that quest,” Nny muses, “making that forest must’ve taken a lot of energy. He’s probably just resting somewhere.”            Cammie whacks him with her cane and he cries out in pain.

           “You shouldn’t have left him by himself,” she scolds.

           “He can take care of himself,” Nny snaps, rubbing his head. “He’ll come home when he’s ready.”

           There’s a knock at the door and everyone perks up. Devi quickly answers it and withers with disappointment. “Oh, it’s you guys.”

           “Hi, Devi,” Sickness waves as she, Eff, and D-boy walk in.

           “Ugh, what do you guys want?” Nny asks in annoyance before blinking with realization. “Wait, what do you want? Where’s Squee?”

           “Well, that’s why we’re here,” Eff replies, “did something…happen?”            “What do you mean?” he questions, getting up from the couch.

           “He showed up at our place a while ago after walking in the rain,” D-boy explains, “something is obviously wrong but we don’t know what.”            “He’s at your place?” Devi questions with surprise and she and Johnny look at each other. “Why would he go there?”            “I-I don’t know,” he replies with confusion, scratching his head.

           “And he’s not answering my texts,” she adds, “something must’ve happened between that quest and now.”

           “Something did happen.” Everyone turns around to Reverend Meat walking through the door, something small, brown, and wet hanging from his hand.

           “What?” Eff asks as he walks by and drops the item on the coffee table. Everyone gasps when they see it’s Shmee.

           “Shmee?” Tenna questions, “why isn’t he with Squee?”            “That’s not Shmee,” Eff says darkly.

           “Huh?” she gasps.

           “What do you mean? Then who is it?” Johnny asks.

           “No one now,” D-boy replies, “Shmee’s gone. Now, it’s just a normal teddy bear.”

           “What?” Devi exclaims, “how did that happen?”

           “I don’t know,” Reverend Meat replies, “the Daydream must’ve extracted him.”

           “Jeez, it’s no wonder Squee’s so upset,” Sickness remarks.

           “Yes,” he agrees, “but we got a bigger problem. With Shmee gone, Squee has no protection from the Nightmare or any other evil creatures. And we all know how much of a magnet he is for trouble.”

           “Oh, shit, that’s right,” Eff says, “we better get back.”

           The Night Terrors turn to leave but Devi holds them back. “Wait!” she exclaims, “we should come too. We have to bring him home.”            “No,” Johnny grunts.

           “No?” she scoffs.

           “No,” he insists, “if he wanted to come home, he would’ve already. Who knows what he’s going through right now. He must want to be alone. We have to respect his wishes.”            Devi starts to argue but stops when Johnny sits down and glares miserably at the floor. She and Tenna look away sadly while Cammie comfortingly rub his back.  

           Before the Night Terrors can leave, Devi points at them menacingly. “You better protect him.”

           “That’s literally what we were made for,” Reverend Meat points out before leaving.

           The Night Terrors hurry back to their van and quickly let themselves inside. Aron and Serena are sitting in the front seats while Squee is in the back. He’s wearing baggy clothes that look to big on him with a blanket draped over his shoulders and a water bottle in his hands. He watches everyone with tired eyes as Aron and Serena get up to greet the Night Terrors.

           “How was everything?” Reverend Meat asks quietly.

           “Okay, I guess,” Aron replies, “I gave him some of my clothes to wear so he’d be in something dry.”

           “And I made him drink some water,” Serena adds.

           “Now, when you say ‘made him’…” Eff questions with concern.

           “I gave him the bottle and told him to drink,” she replies incredulously.

           “Okay, just checking.”

           “You’re already taking better care of him than us,” Sickness comments.

           “Sure, but did you find out what’s wrong?” Aron asks.

           “Yeah. It’s…bad,” Reverend Meat replies before looking at Squee. “Squee, if you need anything, you just let us know, okay?”            He just nods quietly.

           “We should get him some food,” Reverend Meat states, “maybe take-out?”

           “How about Taco Hell?” D-boy suggests.

           “Really? You wanna get Taco Hell when we don’t have our own toilet?” Serena scoffs.

           “It’s his favourite,” he shrugs.

           “We should probably go with something lighter though,” Sickness argues, “soup from the deli?”            “He also needs a pillow,” Eff adds.

           Squee watches them discuss quietly amongst themselves. He should feel happy that they’re worried about him and he should thank them for helping him. But right now, he’s too exhausted to feel or do much of anything. So he just keeps sitting there, blinking his heavy eyes, and swirling the water in his bottle.

           After finally deciding on a simple dinner of Bloaty’s pizza, Squee spends the night. The van’s seats are soft and comfortable, but his blanket is thin and the pillow is flat. It makes him miss his bed with its big pillows and quilt. But he doesn’t wanna be home right now.

           Despite everything, however, he does fall asleep from pure exhaustion. And while Aron sleeps in the front seat and Serena goes out to do vampire stuff, the Night Terrors sleep in shifts. They take turns throughout the night, keeping an eye on Squee and making sure nothing happens.

           That morning at Skool, Zim, Dib, Tak, and Pepito stare worriedly at Squee’s empty desk while attendance is called. Knowing their friend like they do, they know that an absence can only mean bad news.

           “He’s not answering our calls or texts,” Dib muses as everyone goes to their first class. “Do you think he’s been kidnapped again?”

           “When I talked to Colton, he said they had to go on some weird quest yesterday,” Pepito explains, “and Squee was pretty wiped out from it. Maybe he’s just resting and taking the day off?”

           “Perhaps,” Zim grunts, “but it is not like him to not inform us.”

           “Well, after Skool, we can stop at his place and figure out what’s wrong,” Tak declares.

           “Hey, you don’t make the plans! I do,” Zim snaps, “after Skool, we’ll go to his place and figure out what’s wrong.”

           Tak growls at him as they enter the classroom.

           After Skool, they take the Epic and drive straight to Squee’s house. When they knock on the door, it takes a couple minutes but Cammie finally answers, cracking it open just a bit.

           “Oh, you’re Squee’s friends,” she says.

           “Uh, yeah,” Pepito nods, “is-is he here?”

           “Um no,” she replies, glancing into the house with uncertainty.            

           “What? Then where is he?” Zim asks.  

           “If he hasn’t told you, then it’s not my place to say,” Cammie says, “he must just want to be alone right now. We’re all just gonna have to respect his wishes and be patient.”

           “Has something happened?” Dib asks.

           “Again, I can’t say,” she replies and closes the door. “I’m sorry, kids.”            They stare at the door for a second before turning and walking back to the car in silence.

           “I guess she has a point,” Gaz says, “if he wanted us to know where he is, he’d tell us.”

           “That’s not good enough,” Zim huffs, smacking the steering yoke. “If he will not come to us, we’ll go to him, like true friends.”

           “That’s not really respectful of his wishes,” Dib points out.

           “Well, none of you respected my wishes when you chased me to Irk,” he argues.

           “Dammit, he’s got a point,” Pepito grunts.

           “I will send him one last text,” Zim declares as he grabs his phone. “And if he does not reply, we will hunt him down.”

           “I admit, I like this plan,” Tak says.

           In the Night Terrors’ van, Squee hears his phone buzz from his bag, which is sitting on the floor. He knows he should check his messages and let everyone know he’s okay at least. But he just cannot be bothered.

           What he has been doing all day is napping on and off. He’s feeling less and less rested each time he wakes up, but at least if he’s unconscious he doesn’t have to feel anything.

           As for the other van-mates, Serena has also been sleeping the day away and Aron’s been gone all day. The Night Terrors have just been hanging around, keeping an eye on Squee and trying to make sure he eats and drinks whenever he’s awake. They still may not understand much about humans, but they know at least that’s important.

           They’ve been on edge since finding out about Shmee, but it’s been quiet all day. No sudden monster attacks and nothing from the Nightmare either. However, they’re not gonna drop their guard for even a second. If something does happen, they’ll be ready for it.

           In the early evening, Squee is fast asleep in the same spot he’s been in since he first arrived. The Night Terrors are hanging around quietly, letting the time trickle by. But the silence is interrupted by a sudden moan from Squee. They look at him with surprise and see him trembling beneath his blanket, his face twisted with fear.

           “A nightmare?” Sickness questions.

           “I’m surprised this is his first one here,” D-boy remarks as he leans back.

           “Should we wake him?” Eff asks.

           “Mmm, I don’t know,” Reverend Meat replies, “maybe just keep an eye on him for now and we’ll wake him if it seems to get worse.”

           They watch as Squee curls into a tighter ball, panting and whimpering.

           “It looks like he’s trying to hide from something,” Eff comments.

           They all lean in closer, almost intrigued, when he starts sweating and breathing harder. And then they immediately jump back.

           “Wha-what-what’s that…” Sickness asks in shock.

           No one can answer as they watch, agape, a black cloud form over Squee’s head. It gets bigger and bigger until a large claw extends out of it and slams into the floor.

           Meanwhile, Zim, Tak, Dib, Gaz, and Pepito are driving through the city in Epic.

           “So how are we gonna stalk-I mean find Squee?” Gaz asks.

           “Simple,” Zim replies, “there is a small tracking device hidden in Squee’s bag, which we know he’s never without. I already know where he is.”

           “Goddammit, do you have tracking devices on all of us?” Pepito growls.

           As they near Squee’s location, they recognize the Night Terrors’ van parked by the curb.

           “The Night Terrors?” Dib questions, “why is he with them?”

           As they start to pull up, Eff suddenly runs out in front of them and crashes into the hood. Zim immediately stops the car and they all jump out as Eff picks himself up.

           “Oh, it’s you guys,” he says, “what are you doing here? This is really not a good time.”

           “We’re trying to find Squee,” Zim replies.

           “Ah, right. Well, maybe come back in like…ten minutes?” he suggests.

           “Why?” Dib asks, “what’s going o-?”

           He’s cut off by D-boy screaming as he’s flung over the van and slams onto the roof of the Epic.

           “What on Irk was that?” Tak exclaims as a large, black claw slaps down on the roof of the van.

           “Like I said,” Eff growls, glaring at it. “Really not a good time.”

           “What…on Irk…is that…?” Tak asks again, this time in more shock as they all watch a large four-legged creature climb onto the van. It’s all black, almost like it’s made of pure darkness, except for its sharp fangs which are glistening white. It has no eyes, but they can feel it glaring at them as it snarls.

           “That-,” Reverend Meat says as he and Sickness race around the side of the van. “-is a manifestation of Squee’s nightmares. All of his fears and anxieties rolled into one near indestructible physical amalgamation.”            “How poetic,” Sickness comments drily.

           “I miscalculated,” he sighs, “I should’ve known this would happen. I was so focused on watching out for the monsters on the outside, that I forgot Shmee also protected Squee from the monsters in his own head.”

           “Yeah, this is your fault,” D-boy groans painfully as he rolls off the Epic.

           “Wait? Did something happen to Shmee?” Pepito asks.

           “There’s no time to explain!” Eff snaps, “you wanna help? Get in there and wake Squee up. We’ll keep this thing distracted.”

           “Fine,” Zim grunts, “but not because you told us to. We’ll do it because we wanna see Squee.”            “Fine, whatever,” he groans, rolling his eyes.

           The Battalion start to race around to the other side of the van, where the main entrance is, but are cut off by the creature slamming its claw down in front of them. They all yelp as they jump backwards and look up at its eyeless glare.

           “It doesn’t want us getting to Squee,” Pepito says.

           The creature snarls at them when a knife flies at it, pinging harmlessly against its head but grabbing its attention. It turns and hisses at Eff as Reverend Meat leaps up and uppercuts its jaw, knocking it off the van and onto its back.

           “Go, go, go!” Zim orders and the kids race around to the van’s door. The monster sees them going and roars angrily before reaching for them, but Sickness jumps in and smashes its arm into the ground.

           The Battalion successfully tumble into the van, slamming the door shut behind them. They look over to see Squee, curled up on the seat, whimpering, sweating, and panting.

           “This is just like when Devi kept sleepwalking cause she was dreaming of that monster chasing her,” Pepito points out, “all we gotta do is wake Squee up and his monster will disappear.”

           They all flinch when they hear Sickness cry out in pain outside.

           “K, well, we better do it fast,” Dib adds and they hurry over to Squee’s side. “Squee,” he says gently, “Squee, you gotta wake up.”

           “That’s not gonna wake him,” Gaz snaps. She shoves Dib out of the way, grabs Squee’s shoulders, and shouts into his face, “Squee! Wake up!”

           No response.

           “You’re going about this all wrong,” Pepito states, “obviously this is a princess situation and he’ll only awake to a kiss from his prince charming- me.”

           He kneels down and presses his lips to Squee’s. The others watch for a couple seconds before Pepito lifts his head, to find Squee still asleep.

           “Okay, that didn’t work,” he remarks, wiping his mouth while the others groan. “Also, he is real sweaty.”

           They all jump as they feel something slam against the side of the van and hear the Doughboys cry out.

           “I don’t think the fight is going well,” Dib comments.

           “How is he sleeping so hard?” Gaz snaps, “he was never a heavy sleeper.”

           Pepito looks at Zim and Tak. “Don’t you two have any ideas?”

           “Don’t look at us,” Tak shrugs, “Irkens don’t require sleep.”

           “Yeah, I’ve only started doing it out of recreation,” Zim adds.

           “Lotta help you two are,” Pepito grumbles.

           “Wait! I got it!” Dib exclaims and reaches into his pocket. “The one thing that can wake any sleeping teenager!”          

          He removes his phone and taps the screen a couple times before holding it up to Squee’s ear.

           “What are you-?” Zim starts to question when an alarm starts ringing.

           “Oohhhhh,” they all exclaim in realization.

           Immediately, Squee’s eyes snap opening and he gasps for breathe.

           “Squee!” Pepito shouts happily as he sits up, gasping and coughing.

           “Guys?” he questions, wiping his mouth. “What-what happened?”

           “You created some kind of nightmare creature in your sleep,” Dib replies, “the Night Terrors were just fighting it but everything should be fine now that you’re awake.”

           He opens the door just as Reverend Meat is thrown into the ground. The monster hisses and smacks away the Doughboys before trapping Sickness beneath its large claw.

           “Uh it’s still here,” Zim states.

           “We can all see that,” Pepito replies scornfully.

           “I don’t understand!” Dib exclaims, “Squee’s awake! Why is it still here? When Devi woke up, her monster disappeared.”

           “Squee’s power of imagination is ten times more powerful than Devi’s,” Reverend Meat points out as he stands up. “It’s gonna take more than just Squee waking up this time.”

           “Then what-?” Dib starts to question but stops when Squee slips past him. They all watch as he steps outside and in front of the monster. It sees him and immediately loses interest in the Night Terrors. Snarling, it leans down to Squee, its fangs mere inches from his faces. He just stares at it with tired eyes.

           “That’s enough,” he says and rests his hand against the monster’s fangs. It instantly disappears.

           The Battalion and the Night Terrors stare at him in shock.

           “Huh. Well, that was easy,” Zim comments.

           “Oh, yeah, so easy,” Sickness says sarcastically as she picks herself up off the ground.

           Squee suddenly falls to his knees and everyone gasps and rushes to his side. “Squee!”

           “Squee? You alright?” Pepito asks. He doesn’t reply; just hangs his head, breathing heavily.

           “I…” he croaks, his voice just a whisper. “I wanna go home.”            A little while later, Johnny is lying on his couch with Nugget curled up on his chest. He strokes her fur as he stares at the ceiling.

           Cammie rolls up next to him and shakes her head. “Quit your moping. Like you said, Squee will come home when he’s ready.”            Nny glares at her. “Just because I understand Squee’s actions doesn’t mean I can so easily handle them.”            She sighs, “I suppose not. I admit, I’m worried about him too.”

           They both shoot up as the door opens and Squee walks in, the Night Terrors behind him.

           “Squee!” Nny exclaims as he stands up. “You’re back. Are you-?”

           Squee looks up at him with exhausted, heavy eyes and Nny doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he simply pulls Squee into a tight hug. Squee presses his face into Nny’s chest and grips his shirt.

           Johnny doesn’t say anything as he rubs Squee’s head. There’s nothing he can say. All he can do right now is hold him.