#Someone was talking about the one dudes big wet brown eyes like it was a good thing

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Was trying to pinpoint why the art in the Nimona movie rubs me the wrong way, and aside from it being a little too over exaggerated, I think the eyes just remind me of Precious Moments figurines :/

#Nimona #Someone was talking about the one dudes big wet brown eyes like it was a good thing #And I just... #Nope #Not for me

[keikuri]

Am i a special needs kid? yeah, you could say that.

i was diagnosed with ADHD and Dyslexia at 5, been through six different schools in six years, and have absolutely destroyed every field trip. and not in a good way. for example, my fourth grade field trip to Saratoga. why you would put an impulsive kid with adhd anywhere near a loaded canon is beyond me, but i guess the teachers didn't see anything wrong with it until they heard a cannon go off in the distance. and asking said kid with dyslexia to pull a labeled lever. i would have laughed at them for being soaking wet if i didn't get detention after that. So you can see why i wasn't to excited for this trip.

the school that my mom put me in this time was called Yancy Academy,a school for troubled and disabled kids. my only friend there was a kid with a muscle disorder in his legs named Grover. he was a short guy with a pimply face, and he was the only guy in the sixth grade who had a beard. either he had weird genetics or got held back six years. We were going to the Metropolitan, to learn about Greek and roman stuff. the teacher who was leading this was Mr. Brunner and Mrs. Dodds. Mr. Brunner was this guy in a wheelchair and he was my absolute favorite teacher of all time. he never thought i was stupid or dumb and never thought i was at fault for anything that happened at school. Mrs. dodds was probably the daughter of satan. or at least inhuman. she hated me for no reason, and loved this girl named nancy bobofit, a freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac asshole who's favorite pastime was bullying the younger kids and stealing things from old women. We got to the Metro and he stopped at the front, and we talked about the story of the statues at the door. they were of Pygmalion and Galatea, an asexual dude who falls in love with his own statue, so Aphrodite makes it real for him. my hopes for this field trip were already high, and nothing had gone wrong.

we stopped by more statues until we got to a big painting. well less like painting and more like wall sculpture. i actually recognized this one. it was of kronos being chopped into a thousand pieces and thrown into tartarus. i felt somewhat angry at this depiction of the gods. "now can anyone tell me what this is a picture of," Mr. Brunner asked. he scanned the room and his eyes fell on me. "Percy!" i froze, because i'd been zoning out unintentionally. "uh, yes?" he pointed to the painting. "Oh! that's zeus killing his own dad." "and why did he do this?"

"kronos ate his kids... because he was scared of what would happen if they became kings and queens? so then zeus escaped and killed his dad."

"why would we need this in real life? it's not like anyone's gonna ask us, why did zeus cut off his dad's penis," "to paraphrase Mrs. Bobofit's question, why would we need to know this in real life?" i went silent. i didn't know the answer to that. Bobofit in snickered in the background. "well, percy, it's unfortunate that you don't know this answer, but a very insightful interruption."

we looked through more statues and paintings, and Mrs. Dodds looked like she wanted to destroy each and every one. Lunch rolled around, and i sat with grover away from everyone else, almost as if staying away from these special needs kids would make people think it'm not part of that group. i looked over at grover's curly, dark hair and noticed a blob of light purple and brown. he was looking intently at his apple, trying not to look over at someone. "Nancy threw a piece of PBJ in your hair?" i asked surprised. "she threw a peanut butter sandwich at you. i stopped it. with my head." i picked out the piece of jelly and chucked it back at Nancy's general direction. i patted Grover's back. "Grover, you're a good friend." i said. Grover turned to me. "i'm your only friend." and went right back to eating his bright red apple. Nancy walked over, obviously trying to start a fight. i tried not to get angry, but it was hard to control your temper when someone was insulting you for having ADHD. "- and i bet your mother doesn't even like you, " that did it. i got up prepared to punch her square in the nose.as i did, i felt something rise in me, like the force of a hundred hurricanes contained within. i punched her, hard enough to make her nose bleed. then she got picked up by the fountain. i mean literally picked up; the water formed around her, wrapping around her body as if she were a doll. the water wrapped around her face, clearly drowning her. the feeling died as i panicked. as much as i hated Nancy, i didn't want her to die. The fountain dropped her onto pure concrete. everyone was staring at me, then her, then me. Mr. Brunner was even more shocked than us all. Mrs. dodds smiled. that was all i needed to know that i was perpetually fucked. she came towards me, all sweet.

"come with me, darlin." she said. Grover tried to go with me, but Mrs. Dodds said that he wasn't in any trouble, and forced him to stay. he pleaded with Mr. brunner silently, but i was already in the building.

we were alone. in a room. with creepy Greek statues. "I've heard a lot about you, sweetheart." i gulped. this was not going well. "that's very dedicated for a substitute, but i didn't do anything," i said nervously. Mrs.dodds seemed to ignore that. "you've been through six different schools in six years, and each and every time, something odd has happened. with hm... water?" she guessed. i almost stopped breathing, because she was absolutely right. discounting the saratoga trip, the rest of the incidents had all involved some kind of water going haywire around me. the water fountains nearly murdering someone at Greensville, people thinking i was dying in the pool at Vermillion Academy, all of it. "what do you want from me?" i asked, even more scared now. "return what you have stolen, sea boy." she stated. "...what?" i blinked because as much as i hated everyone that wasn't my mom or Grover, i'm not like Nancy bobofit. I'm no thief. "i will give you two minutes to go through your bag and give me the master bolt," she said, growing impatient. "and if you don't, you will be sent to Hades, who will have you judged harshly." i panicked. it hadn't occurred to me then that she had just said the name of the Greek god of death, but when faced with a possible lunatic who was capable of killing you, that hardly matters.

just to appease her, i gave her my backpack for her to look through, and maybe buy me some time. she must've been working out because she tore right through that thing. it was in shreds and she looked up at me. she growled. and then she lunged. Mrs. dodds wasn't Mrs. Dodds anymore. she was a leathery bat... thing. it's really hard to describe her. she looked a bit like mothman but with bat wings and less horns, and she had goat-like legs and a nasty smile. i jumped back, instinctively rolled under her, and grabbed a Greek bust, ready to swing it at her. she predictably attacked, and i swung the sculpture at her, breaking it in two and startling her. i dropped the thing and bolted for the door, but it was locked. i ran towards the other side and back again, attempting to tire her out before realizing that a pen was thrown at me. "What ho, percy!" He yelled, just like he did in class when he got out a fake sword and hosted foam sword gladiator fights in class. just as a test, i uncapped the pen. with a loud Shink sound, it turned into a sword. a three foot long glowing magic sword, with Greek letters inscribed in the hilt. i almost screamed, but Mothman-Dodds lunged again. i swung the sword and impaled it into her left temple. she screamed and dissolved into the dust of various dark colors.

#percy jackson #percy jackson au #undersea scars au

[unknownjpegs]

five out of ten

“You got a thing for cars, don’t you, Xavier?”

“Oh boy, fucking do I.”

Because they’re shoved into one again, and it was his idea. Small, tight spaces with Benji—yeah, he’d put a stamp that says HEAVEN on it if he could. Red and bright and still wet from the ink. He’d put a thumb in it and smear. Feels like that’s what Benji is doing to his heart at the moment, the way his hands are digging into his lower back. Grinding them toward each other. He’s digging into that muscle and making a mess of Xavier.

And Xavier is making a mess of Benji’s neck—panting with exertion from how hard he’s been kissing, leaving his marks, leaving the evidence of him. Dragging his nose over his jawline and mouthing up to catch his lips again. He tastes Benji’s tongue as it slides over his own; and wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling his body flash hot and greedy at the sensation. If he’ll ever stop crushing himself forward to deepen that kiss.

When they part, he’s mesmerized staring at that shiny, wet mouth. He wants to cup Benji’s jaw, push his cheeks, make those lips part for him. Thinks about spitting into his mouth and shivers—a blush crawls over his skin, because that feels dirty even for him. Instead he flattens hands to the car window above Benji (is delighted that its foggy from them) and smiles.

“Dude, is that a Ruger 9mm I’m feeling or are you just happy to see me?”

Benji snorts.

“Prefer a Beretta.”

“Oh, man, don’t talk gun to me right now.”

They kiss again, because of course they do. Little slower than the frantic, hungry filled gesture from before. Xavier, slowly rolling his tongue, enjoying feel of his chest pressing down to Benji’s. They’d done themselves both a favor—stripped off tactical vests, shoved them into the front seat. Xavier had laughed, let’s not get them mixed up when we put them back on, and now they were kissing. Could feel the expanding of their ribs together as they did. His hand flattens on that broad soldier’s chest, runs down, over his side, down to his hip. He grips hard.

“M’gonna take care of it,” he mumbles to Benji’s mouth. Draws back to give himself room. Pins one knee to the side of Benji’s hip, the other down to the floor of the car. He’s awkwardly bent over, but not uncomfortable. Mostly, distracted as he watches the roll of Benji’s body in reaction to his hand trailing down.

“You droolin’ for it that bad, mate?” Benji jokes through a hoarse voice. It feels loud inside the tight space of the car. Xavier grins, crooked and toothy. Gives a big show of his tongue sliding over his front teeth.

“I’d love it in my mouth,” he drawls out, in that terrible Boston accent. Xavier hooks fingers into Benji’s belt, jerks at it. Toys with that buckle until it clicks open with a satisfying sound. He watches Benji’s torso, the peek of dark brown skin from the way the shirt has just barely hitched up from the way they’ve been grinding together. “You know how much I fucking love it in my mouth, Benji.”

He listens to that soft groan leave the medic and it’s music to his ears. Makes him grin, wild and uninhibited as he yanks the belt open more. Deft fingers find the button of the tactical pants, nearly tearing them free and the zipper is just as loud.

“But I wanna,” he jerks at the pants—watches Benji rise his hips to make it easier and momentarily loses his thought process as the shirt slips up higher. Xavier stares at that dark hair trailing up up his stomach. Wants to put his fucking nose there, wants to lavish his tongue over every inch, but huffs out a breath instead. “Yeah, I wanna jerk you off.”

“Givin’ me a hand,” Benji’s laugh is harsh. “Get it?”

“Lame,” Xavier replies as he snags a finger into briefs and jerks them down. “Sooo fucking lame,” he breathes out in a tight, heavy voice as Benji’s cock is revealed. Saliva pools in his mouth, his eyes going fuzzy as he stares at the little drip of precum. Thinks, yeah, I got you there, huh?

“That’s what every guy wants t’hear when someones lookin’ at their cock.”

“Oh, whoops. Meant to say hello, sexy medic dick, I am—”

“Xavier, I’ll get fuckin’ soft—”

“Nah, you won’t,” Xavier says in a confident, cheerful voice as he brings his hand up underneath his own chin. When he spits into his palm, he’s staring at Benji. Their eyes linger together—and he starts slipping into that space inside his skull that is so full of those brown eyes. Sometimes, he feels himself drifting, no matter where he is, into those eyes—distracts him until he’s laughing with a string of spit still on his lip.

He’s still staring into Benji’s eyes when that slick hand wraps around him, but they flick down almost immediately to watch the way his giant palm fits. Pale and large, a thumb swiping over the tip to smear that bead of white. He groans at the sight and laughs with his forehead against Benji’s. He drags his hand, starts a tugging rhythm that isn’t hurried. When Benji groans, low in his throat, hands coming to rest on Xavier’s hips he feels unwound and insane.

“Fucking pretty,” he says, a grin in his voice. “Real fucking pretty—you know that?”

“Hah,” Benji’s laugh is less that and more moan.

“And thick.” Xavier’s wrist flicks, his hand tightening. He can feel the warmth of Benji, can feel the throb in him. His fingers drag on that vein, adjust and languidly tug. He’s enjoying this, he realizes. Having the upper hand. Heh. Hand. “So fucking thick. Think it’ll fit?”

He raises his eyes to catch Benji’s until he realizes that the medic is staring just as hard at Xavier’s hand moving. Looks entranced. Looks like there’s a little shine in his eyes that makes Xavier’s unwound, unmoored, untethered insane wanting feeling fucking pound behind his eyes. Makes him grip harder, move faster, makes his breathing hitch as he continues. Because he likes that shine—like seeing Benji look so fucking into it.

“You’d have to fucking shove, Benji,” Xavier laughs, breathless, staring at his hand and Benji’s cock. Staring at the rippling wave of Benji’s muscular abdomen. “Get all of you in me—” His hips give a giant buck into Xavier’s tight fist, like he’s imagining that and it only makes Xavier even more focused. Eyes unable to peel away from his hand. He can tell Benji’s close. He can see it, in the way his body is starting to bounce up off the car seat. Hear it, in that panting that Benji’s doing.

“Talk to me,” Xavier mumbles, sweeping his lips close to Benji’s ear. Sacrifices looking at his hand, at the way he’s tugging Benji to relief. “Don’t be quiet—fucking tell me.” Because he loves listening to this man talk, loves hearing his accent, loves hearing it twist. Loves—loves—loves knowing he’s wanted.

“Bit of a top—hah—moment for you, yeah?” Benji moans out, a laugh in his voice that’s almost drowned out by—not a whine like Xavier does, but so beautifully close it makes his chest swell to hear it. “Tellin’ me what to do.” His teeth sink into Benji’s ear lobe and those words get higher pitched still. “Fuck—yeah, I’d shove, Xavier. You right on the fucking—bed. Ass up, like you know you want.”

“You know me,” Xavier breathes out, adjusting them again so he’s hunched more, the back of his head hitting the roof of the car. Makes him laugh, his hand never losing it’s rhythmic motion. You know me, he thinks again. His eyes stray to watch Benji watching himself, flick over his face. Jaw slack, brows pinched, eyes narrowing in pleasure. “Or, I’d ride you, just like this.” And for some reason, that statement is what makes Benji cum.

The thick white spills over Xavier’s fist, hits the dark brown skin of Benji’s abdomen in little loose ropes.

“Fuckin—fuck,” is what Benji grunts, hands gripping into the fabric of Xavier’s shirt. He can feel them shaking a little and those aftershocks make Benji’s hips tremble and jerk up and down as Xavier’s hand continues. Doesn’t lose his rhythm, just slows down. Still holds him as he softens. Thumb drawing a circle around his tip and making Benji’s head fall back and his chest heave as he grunts again. It’s a beautiful sound that makes Xavier’s chest ache.

They’re both breathing hard and the windows of the car are pure white now. Xavier’s free hand slips up to one, feels that condensation. He smiles down at Benji, as if he was the one who just had a release. His hand hasn’t left that softening cock, feeling warm and possessive. Benji’s, meanwhile, dance up Xavier’s chest, hook around his neck.

“Damn, I am so good at that,” Xavier says, with a toothy smile.

“Five out of ten.”

Xavier slides his cum slick fingers into his mouth, leaning down as his tongue slips between them. He’s wetly obscene about it with hooded, dark eyes.

“Amended fuckin’ ten out of ten then, you hound.”

#writing #hj #2023 #xw #bp #core au #bp x xw #the most iconic one

[passivenovember]

For the ever kind and talented wordsmith @chrisbitchtree who requested Billy and Steve living their best “I can be my most comfortable, gross self around you,” For Harringrove For Ukraine.

I hope you enjoy!

--

Steve’s got money because he can eat name brand peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon. 

And the thing’s gotta be forged silver because the handle doesn’t turn his sweaty, post-sex skin green when he takes a big scoop from the jar and waves it over, like “Want some?”

Steve talks with his mouth full. 

Billy wrinkles his nose. Thinks poor table/post-midnight-fuck session manners while eating peanut butter from the jar over the kitchen sink should’ve been beaten out of him. 

At finishing school. 

With Harrington’s pretty little panties down around his ankles as the teacher painted his ass cheeks red with a ruler--

Billy might be trying to connect dots that aren’t there. Steve licks the spoon clean and dives in for another, poking Billy’s lips until they smudge brown. 

“Quit it,” Billy says, kinda. Laughing, maybe. 

There’s no bite. No sting when Harrington chases him around the kitchen island with his silver spoon full of Peter Pan Peanut Butter and picks Billy up around the waist. Deposits him, like he weighs nothing, onto the counter. 

Steve bullies his way in between Billy’s thighs and says, thoughtful, “Ever had someone eat crunchy peanut butter off your dick before?”

Billy’s never even thought about it, but he says, “Duh.” Just to stick a dam in whatever water this Rich Boy’s mind is treading.

Steve feeds Billy a scoop of peanut butter. “Would you let me--”

“No.” Billy laughs thickly. “Seek help.”

“Why not?” 

Steve’s eyes are lovely. Warm. Not like peanut butter itself but like chocolate cups, maybe. Smooth and sweet when they crack open on nights like this one, when they’re alone. Loose lipped, bare legged, and free. 

“I’ve seen the way you eat come, Harrington, you never finish it all.” 

“I'd finish it. I’d lick it all off for however long it takes.”

And he looks so earnest. 

Horny and bright and eager, so.

“Hours?”  Billy teases, imagining how forgotten peanut butter could lead to a nasty UTI.

“Days, baby,” Steve insists. And he’s kinda feverish. Wild. “I’d be so good for you, let me--”

Billy pushes Steve to the ground and, when his dick goes into the jar, pushing brown nut butter onto the marble, Billy makes Harrington lick that up, too.

--

Steve’s a bad influence. 

Maybe it’s because he’s had an army of women in pressed black uniforms to clean up after him for his entire life, but the dude lives like a sewer rat who somehow found itself bedded in a castle. 

Billy steels his jaw and tries to uphold is standards. His morals, as if Ma and Pop Harrington would give two shits on the rare occasions when they're asleep down the hall from their son getting pegged on sheets that were due for a wash last Christmas. 

It doesn’t take much to get him down on Steve’s level. 

His standards collapse through a hole in Steve’s tight, pretty blue briefs when Monday rolls around and Billy realizes, finally coming up for air from an entire weekend of bed, blowjobs, beer, and bologna sandwiches with spicy brown mustard, that they forgot to do laundry. 

Typical.

And Steve is drooling a plate-sized wet spot onto the pillow under his left cheek as Billy teeters around the room fresh from the shower, his bare hip still sticky with dried come. Billy paws through a stack of dirty laundry swallowing the panic rising like bile in the back of his fucked-raw throat. 

“You don’t have any clean underwear.” Billy spits, from the third pile of laundry next to the hamper. “We forgot to wash up.”

Steve doesn’t wake. Doesn’t even stir. Billy slaps the plump, pink curve of his ass cresting over the lip of the sheets and Steve moans softly, blinking himself awake.

“Huh? What time is it?” Steve grumbles before rolling onto his back, and like. 

He’s hard. 

Tenting the blanket.

Making Billy’s mouth water. “I said, you’re fresh out of briefs, Harrington,” Billy says again.

“Sorry.”

It’s not good enough. Steve’s mouthwatering, mind-numbing cock and balls aside, “What am I supposed to wear to work?” Billy demands.

Steve tenses and then settles against the pillow. Deflates. “Go commando. Don’t you normally, like. Raw dog it? Dick against zipper for easy access, or something?”

“It’s not for easy access.”

“Alright.” Steve yawns, more awake now. 

“I just don’t need the leering eyes of old ladies checking for panty lines through my jeans–”

“Then why do you want–”

“Yours are tight enough that they don’t show.”

“Wear a dirty pair,” Steve mutters. Plain and simple. 

“What?”

“A dirty pair. Do the sniff test. If they’re too rank don’t wear them.”

“You want me to sniff your underwear?” Billy grits, as if the mere thought of it doesn’t have him hard enough to slice through concrete.

“You eat my ass, it’s pretty much the same thing, Mr. high horse.” Steve supplies, already sticking one foot up the crack of Father Sleep as his voice trails off. 

A second later he’s snoring, deep and mellow, and the clock says 8:36 in cherry green numbers. 

Billy takes a deep breath and tugs all ten fingers through his freshly washed hair. Decides, catching sight at a pile of laundry covered in suspicious, filmy white residue, to weigh his options.

On the one hand, it’s kind of depraved to wear someone’s dirty boxer briefs to a ten-hour shift at the car shop, but. 

On the other–

Walking around with Steve’s cute little panties on all day, come brushing against his dick while he works on Mr. Rameirez’s Toyota…Billy’s cock throbs and his balls draw in close to his body and like. He really doesn’t have a choice. It’s three against one.

Fuck. 

–

Steve is a lot dirtier than Billy ever thought he’d be and like–

Absolute filthy, A list, market-level smutty sex talk aside, on days when he doesn’t have to go play tape jokey for eight hours at the Family Video, Steve parades around in thick, holey gray socks and a worn, stretched out Santa Cruz Mathletes ringer tee Billy left after staying over that first time. He wears his slutty little lounge uniform and nothing else.

Always.

With his plump little ass and the soft head of his dick peeking out of the hem of the thing, always, and Billy flip flops between choking on saliva and staving off heat stroke from the intensity of his annoyance. 

Every time he Billy stays over, he’s gotta way the options.

On the one hand, he can suck Steve off for hours when the dude’s practically on sale like that, one leg kicked over the arm of the leather couch so his hole winks at Billy like a cheerleader who’s trying to score on prom night. Some of the best sex Billy’s ever had has been because Steve’s easy, lazy, and can’t load a washing machine to save a burning building.

But on the other, girthier fist of the two, Steve is gross. 

Dirty.

Absolutely filthy when he’s comfortable. Bleching, farting, passing a bowl of cheese puffs and asking, with orange dust clinging to each fingertip, Want a handjob?

The answer is always yes. And it shouldn’t be so hot. 

But it is. And Billy’s easy, maybe. Furious, too, that the caveman he spends 6 nights a week with, camping out at the Harrington’s until they’ve got enough money to move in together, can wave his trust fund asshole in the air and it’s got Billy tucking a napkin in the front of his t-shirt.

It’s poetic.

So Steve’s gross and Billy isn’t all that surprised when he catches wind of the come-soiled panties in the living room after work that day, spread open on his back with that fucking nightgown of a ringer tee covering his dick because Billy was sporting a half chub all day at the shop, sneaking away to tug one out when he could, so.

Steve shucks Billy’s work overalls with fervor, peppering absolute filth into the air, and Billy wants to eat him alive. Tries to, but Steve’s running his hands over Billy’s ass, gripping at it, spreading it, and then freezing. Detaching Billy’s teeth from his neck with a whiny little, “Fuck, wait, baby, I–”

But Billy can’t think straight because he’s got three fingers in Steve’s ass. 

“Sugar,” Billy manages, smartly. “Feel so good. Been thinkin’ about you all day.” Billy twists his fingers, digits fucking in and out, knuckles working to spread and scissor inside until Steve forgets why he was asking for the breaks. 

Billy can see it, can taste the loss on his tongue when Steve whimpers, hips grinding down in search of friction, and. 

“All day? You were thinkin’ about me all day?” 

Damn.

Billy nods. Tries to keep his tongue in his mouth. “Always.”

Steve clenches around Billy’s fingers. “Would it have anything to do with you weaning my come rag briefs?” He wonders, lips bit raw and eyes sparkly. Curious. 

Amused.

It makes Billy wanna pin him down, so. He does. Puts one arm across Steve’s chest and presses another finger inside. Billy relishes the soft, sweet hitch in Steve’s throat, says, “Yeah. You grossed out?”

Steve grins in slow motion, eyes on Billy’s mouth, “A little.” Steve teases. “It’s kinda hot. I bet when Mr. Rameirez picked up his fucking dad-mobile and got an eyeful of your panties covered in my come peeking around your coveralls—”

“Pretty sure it’s my come.”

“They’re my briefs,” Steve says easily, “I’ve been using them to clean up for, like, months.”

And. 

This feels like a conversation Billy shouldn’t have while he’s four fingers deep in Steve’s asshole, but Harrington clenches down on him again and Billy groans, surging to mouth possessively at Steve’s neck. “You’re so fucking gross, who has a designated come rag?”

“Just eco-conscious, I guess,” Steve chuckles and then, on a low, hard moan when Billy yanks the shirt up under his armpits to get at those tits, Jesus Christ, “Can we leave ‘em on, baby?”

Billy blinks at him, dazed. “Huh? The shirt?”

“No, dickhead, the briefs.”

“Panties.” Billy insists. Fucks his fingers in and out, hard and fast, while Steve’s face screws up like he just tasted something sour.

“I hate when you call them that,” Steve pants. “You know it makes me slutty. Makes me feel–”

Billy grins. “You’re leaking a puddle on the floor, sugar.”

Steve’s eyes snap forward, heated with a glare that’s got Billy’s cock searching for a hole in the briefs big enough to get through. 

Billy taps their noses together, like, “Call them what they are and I’ll consider it.” 

“You’re such an asshole.”

“C’mon, baby. Say it.” He fucks Steve a little more with his fingers. Waits. “Want my cock?”

Steve pants. Whimpers and then nods. 

“I wanna hear you say it,” Billy says, rubbing against the spot inside Steve that’s like a magic mirror. A red button Billy can press to get Harrington turning to putty in his hands. 

Steve’s eyes are fucked out when he opens them. He focuses on Billy, teeth tugging on his bottom lip before he sighs. Says, “Please leave the panties on.” 

Billy pulls his fingers out. Tugs his dick through the hole in the briefs and then gives himself a few slow, hard pumps before slotting into place. 

Pressing in. 

Steve arches against the floor, ribs crackling like fire as he pants up toward the mantle. It takes five minutes and then Steve’s coming. Shooting up to his chest to paint the ringer tee that will probably never get washed. 

Billy doesn’t mind.

--

My commissions are still open! 

#harringrove #lemony #sorry for the delay bab #I hope you liked it <3 #harringroveforukraine

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 19

(masterpost)

CW: references to noncon, Col fearing he'll be sexually abused, flashbacks, brief victim blaming, pet whump, dehumanisation

-

Linden’s phone buzzed again, and he knew exactly who it’d be before he even looked.

Sure enough, messages from his brother were crowding his phone screen. Vikram texted in small, frantic messages, that Linden found oddly funny.

lol fine knowing you you’ll never suggest a day

are you free tomorrow? I’ll come over for lunch or something

you know you miss me!!

Linden rolled his eyes, but truth be told, he did miss him. A new message appeared before he had the chance to start typing.

fine FINE I just want to see jaffa. you can die idc

That made him huff out a laugh, but he’d never give Vik the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he typed back:

Tomorrow is fine, don’t worry about bringing food. What are you doing now? Can you ring me? I have something to tell you before you visit.

Vik replied almost immediately.

yeah gimme 2 secs, who have you killed lol!

He checked around for Colton, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably still working his way through the little chores and tasks Linden had given him, which meant he was either changing the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom (great for dexterity) or watering the balcony plants (providing plenty of fresh air and sunlight). Either way, he still positioned himself in the corner of the lounge, the furthest from his Pet’s ears.

He answered on the second ring. “Vik?”

“Hey, big man. You alright?”

“Yeah… yeah… I, um, I need to tell you something before you come over.”

“You sound tense, mate. What is it? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine it’s just- I have a Pet. Uh. Yeah.”

Vik didn’t miss a beat. “Are you serious? You, a Pet owner? Please.”

“I know, but there was this, this ad, in the paper, the council were talking about this random stray and they said if no one claimed him they were gonna put him down. They would have murdered him, Vik! And I don’t know. I just thought, fuck, no one else is gonna do anything are they. So I rang them up and they gave him to me for free.”

“Wow,” Vik said, a placeholder while he digested all of that. “So, how is he?”

“He’s alright, yeah. Only recently learned that he could speak. He’s still really really jumpy.”

“He’s scared of you, then,” Vik translated.

“Yeah. I don’t know how much of him you’ll see tomorrow. I’ll tell him it’s alright if he just stays in his room.”

“I can’t picture you as a Pet owner, even though you’re not a proper one.”

“Not a proper one as in I’m a good person with a soul?” Linden quipped. Vik snorted.

“Basically. Ew, it’s weird! He does whatever you say! But you’re just- you’re Linden. You’re my stupid baby brother. He should be telling you what to do.”

Linden smiled. Vik always put him at ease. Difficult topics seemed to flow off him like water off a duck. “Yeah, yeah it is kind of weird, I’m still getting used to it. But you see why I wanted to let you know beforehand.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he laughed. “Or else I might have thought he was burgling your house and I’d have asked to join in.”

“Oh, shut up. See you for lunch.”

“See you, Pet man!”

Linden felt the weight lift from his shoulders, but not entirely. Now he had to tell Col.

. . .

He had finished over ten minutes ago. Shiny drops of water still lingered on some of the wider leaves, not quite ready to drop into the moist soil below. But the balcony was too warm and sunny to resist, so Col was still kneeling there when he heard Master’s voice behind him.

He flinched hard at the sound, getting up quickly and ungraciously, tripping over his own feet as if he hadn’t just been caught lazing around.

Through the doorway, a perfect rectangle of light caught Master’s face, cutting down through one eye and turning his left cheek a tawny brown. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and leant forward slightly.

“Don’t worry about getting up, you’re fine, love. No, I don’t know if you heard, but I was just speaking to my brother Vikram over the phone. He’s going to visit tomorrow.”

Master was having a guest. Col nodded, but his mind went white. He suddenly felt like he wasn’t in control anymore. He was underwater, and Master’s voice barely faded through from above the surface.

“You can stay in your room, okay? You don’t have to come down and see him, if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure. I just wanted to let you know beforehand.”

The words flowed past his head, and whatever barriers had been pulled down over his mind kept them from making a dent. “Thank you, sir,” his body replied.

“Okay?” Master half-smiled. “Okay. Good stuff, Col. It’s a nice day- stay out on the balcony more, I know you like it there. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nodded, but it must have been delayed, because he blinked and Master had left the room, as if he had never been there. Had Col dreamt it?

Turning around, the flowers were wet, so he had completed that task. He knew he had been ordered to stay, so he did, trying to keep the creeping dread from flooding him entirely.

But-

The next day-

It all came crashing down. His eyes snapped open and he was in his room, waiting, and then there was the click of the front door and Master was speaking, speaking with another voice- there was a man in the house-

Master only ever had guests when his Pet had been bad, and he was going to be taught a lesson, and that’s why he was told to wait in his room, that’s why he was prepped, maybe it was a small mercy. But he had been in such a state of denial, barely able to process the news, that he hadn’t done anything to make it hurt less.

All he knew was that he was on the floor in the corner, the furthest one from the bed, and his arms were wrapped around him as if that’d do anything to stop the onslaught. He knew they would just force his limbs apart and restrain them like that until they were done, and it didn’t matter whether he cried and begged. Sometimes they even enjoyed it more when he did. Once he had been lifted up by his throat and told to beg for his life, and it made everyone laugh, because look at it, it wants this, it’s begging for it.

The door handle turned and Col could see Master’s face. His eyes scanned the room briefly before they landed on Col, tucked away in the corner of the room. “Col? What is it?”

. . .

Hey, Col. Vik is here, just so you know, but again, no pressure to come downstairs. He knew what he would say, the tone he’d say it in, so he could hopefully make Col feel secure. But it all fell apart when he laid eyes on the Pet, curled up and trembling on the far side of the room.

“Col?” he said. “What is it?”

“You promised,” Col sobbed, utterly betrayed. Linden’s heart broke. “You promised you wouldn’t- wouldn’t- wouldn’t do that…”

“I won’t,” he said, understanding immediately and wanting more than anything to go over to Col and pull him into a hug. But he couldn’t. He knew that.

“You said you wouldn’t let anyone else,” he whispered, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes.

Then- the moment of vulnerability passed. Not that Col looked any less vulnerable. He was still hunched, small and weak, programmed to do whatever it took to make Linden happy. But he caught his tongue, and the mask slipped back on.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You can do- do what you want to me. Of course. I’m not, I don’t mean to question you, Master, I’m sorry, I know my place, I’m good, I promise I’m good.”

“You are, you’re really good.” He put a hand over his heart and kept it there. “I’m not going to come in, Vik isn’t going to come in. Neither of us are going to hurt you. I promised, and I’m sticking to it.”

Col was still sobbing, but it was more uneven breaths than actual tears. He couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to with the way his lungs were pulling the rug from underneath him.

“For now, I think you might feel safer if I just left you alone, so I’ll go back downstairs, okay? And I won’t disturb you again. You just make sure you feel better, that’s all that matters. Don’t worry, Col. You’re safe.”

-

Vikram didn’t say anything as Linden returned, but he did raise his eyebrows. Linden just nodded, keeping quiet until he was sat back down and, hopefully, out of earshot.

“Poor thing,” said Linden. “He thinks, well- he just sees everything as a threat. I don’t know if he’s ever had a positive experience with another person before. At least not in his memory. Did you…”

He trailed off and Vik simply nodded. All humour was gone from his face; he knew when to leave it out, and when it would help. “Yeah, I heard a bit of it. Heard him crying.”

“I don’t want you to take it personally-“ Linden started, but Vik had already swatted at him.

“Oh, stop it. As if I would. But I am- I am happy I’m here, even though I’m sorry it’s scared him. You need someone too, Linden. Like, shit, this is a full time job.”

“You sound weird, being nice to me” he smiled weakly. Vik grinned back at him, in complete earnest.

“Well then, we can talk about something else, if you want. Something I can confidently mock you for. Where’s Jaffa, too?” he twisted around in his chair, searching for her. His floofed-up hair, hairsprayed to excess, bobbed around on the top of his head as he went. “Where’s my little main attraction?”

Soon Vik had Jaffa on his lap where he was brushing her absent-mindedly, listening to Linden talk about the latest book he had read.

“You are a fuckin’ hermit, dude.”

“And?” Linden pulled his best bored-looking face.

“Well… actually, yeah, stay indoors. Forcing you to come drinking with me would be at the rest of the pub’s expense.”

“You’re a bastard,” Linden laughed. “It’s you they should be worrying about, with that boulder of hair on your head. Look at the state of it, it crunches when you touch it.”

“The ladies love it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause they know if they get locked out they can use it to smash a window.”

. . .

Above them, Col listened. He couldn’t make out the words, but both men seemed happy and upbeat, excited about the night ahead of them, excited about the pliant little bitch waiting upstairs.

Before that, though-

Colton had been openly defiant. He had begged for it to stop before it had even started. He hadn’t taken an ounce of pain, nothing had earned him the right to plead for mercy. He had not only been insubordinate, but he had done it while Master had a guest. That kind of embarrassment would not go unpunished. Master would not have his authority undermined by some common stray.

Col desperately needed to apologise. He knew he shouldn’t just wait for his punishment like usual this time. This time he needed to right the balance. He would prove that he knew his place, and show Master’s guest that his rule here was absolute. So with shaking hands, he slowly creaked open the door, and went downstairs.

The laughter died as he came into view, and even the feeling of their eyes settling over his body made his skin prickle. For a split second, his feet locked in place, but as usual his fear pushed them onwards. He kept his head down, his arms behind his back, his shoulders hunched. As soon as he reached Master’s feet, he knelt. Forehead to the floor. Hands to his sides, ready to be stomped on or grabbed. He was a slave. He was always open for his Master’s use. He did not answer back and he did not question.

“Col, are you, are you sure you want to be here?” Master asked from above. He was very sure. But yes, of course, it was no use Col thinking these kinds of affirmations in his head. He had to make them clear.

“I’m here to apologise, sir, for daring to answer back and embarrassing you. Your Pet knows that he is owned completely and it was c-completely wrong to question you. I had no right to ask for mercy, I don’t deserve any. I’m a mindless Pet with no free will and I exist to serve you. P-Please, accept th-this apology. It won’t- won’t happen again.”

He stammered, towards the end. He could only hope Master wouldn’t get angry about it.

. . .

Ironically, it was now that Linden was embarrassed. He glanced over at Vik, and as the two brothers made eye contact, it was as if they had exchanged a whole conversation.

You see, see what I mean? See how he is?

Yeah, dude. It’s fucked up.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be. You’re doing your best to help him. I’m not embarrassed if you’re not.

He gently reached down to Col and rested a palm on top of his head. He jerked in surprise, a weak gasp escaping his lips, but he otherwise stayed perfectly still.

“Okay, love. Thank you. I’m not angry, okay? My brother is here and he always puts me in a good mood.”

He shot another glance at Vik, mouthing this is how I make him understand. Vik nodded. He was looking at Col curiously. Linden wondered if this was how he had pictured him.

“You didn’t embarrass me. You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you. Vik doesn’t want to hurt you either. Why don’t you go and sit on the balcony, and I’ll sit with you later, and pet your head? You’re not in trouble.”

As he retracted his hand Col’s head tilted upwards, chasing the warmth of the touch. He kept his eyes low, but whispered, “Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you for having mercy. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Okay, you’re okay. Let me help you up.”

It was technically an order, and Col obeyed silently, offering no resistance as Linden slipped a hand over his elbow and pulled him to his feet. He smiled at Col, but his face was blank and resigned. Beyond fear. He had done what he could, and his fate was in Linden’s hands once more. It hurt to know that. Linden could decide to leash Col at any moment, torture him with knives and burning oil and belts, and Col wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Linden steered him to the base of the stairs, and then gently encouraged him upwards, until he had drifted out of sight entirely.

The house was silent. He turned back to Vik, but neither had to say anything. Linden already knew that he understood.

-

first half of the taglist!

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

#linden and colton #pet whump #noncon tw

[warmau]

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au jaehyun exactly on time for the valentine boy! ........well....... find others here: johnny | haechan | taeil | taeyong | mark | jaemin | yangyang | yuta | sicheng | chenle | kun | yukhei | doyoung

how you end up here, you don’t know, but you blame johnny suh because when things get weird it’s usually his fault anyway

johnny’s smile is a thousand and one watts - he reaches out to pass you the beat up guitar case and again, you don’t even take it by choice, it’s nudged into your hands before you can really even say a word

“im not joining your band.”

“it’s not mine - it’s ours.”

jungwoo twirls a drum stick between his fingers and grins from his spot on the garage couch

“no johnny - we all know it’s yours.”

your lips thin and the only reason you don’t fling the case to the floor is because you actually like the guitar that’s inside. 

granted you haven’t seen it since middle school and it probably still has that horrible sticker on the back of it that you remember picking at until all the little pieces you got off were uncomfortably stuck under your nails.

“guys - it’s summer. we have nothing better to do.”

“says you, i got an engineering internship at samsung.” 

jungwoo chirps again and you try not to roll your eyes

we all know about the damn samsung internship dude.

“yeah - and i have to work at the family bookstore.”

mark lee walks in, holding as many redbulls as he can fit between his elbows, they spill out and onto the space beside jungwoo

you listen to mark open one and johnny groan

“ok you all have something to do, but we-” he motions behind him at you “don’t have anything to save us from the boredom that is about to take up two months of our youthful lives!”

“hey-”

you cut in and all three sets of eyes focus on you

“i have something i want to do this summer.”

johnny’s long figure straightens in anticipation while jungwoo cocks an eyebrow and mark gives you an encouraging smile

“im not going to tell you what it is, but it’s definitely not starting a band with you guys.”

you lean the guitar case against a nearby wall and add a half-hearted shrug

“sorry.”

the walk from johnny’s house to yours isn’t long, it takes about fifteen minutes if you’re really going slow. 

plus you’ve done it so many times, you basically set your body to autopilot.

you think about it - the thing you want to do this summer before you go away for university and home becomes a new place and a memory at the same time.

you’re not known for being sentimental, johnny has even gone so far as to label you as a bit ‘apathetic’ . but still you know this is your last chance to really enjoy the place you grew up in.

you turn the corner at the street that leads down to where you live and in the hot evening air you hear something

it’s the sound of a bike, the pedaling is light but the frame must be old because it creaks a little when it slows down slightly to maneuver to the left and pass you.

you look up and see a boy

brown hair still wet from the pool or a shower maybe, dimples at the corners of his smile, the two sizes too big white shirt fluttering behind him in the breeze

for what seems like longer than a second - you lock eyes - his match the color of autumn leaves and teddy bear fur 

and for some weird reason can’t stop thinking about them even well after you get back home

is he new in town? i’ve never seen him before?

finally managing to shake off the curiosity, you fish the shoebox you’ve been keeping under your bed out and open it.

inside there’s only three things so far: 

a copy of your graduation photo, a copy of johnny’s graduation photo, and the prom invite ticket that has jungwoo’s chicken scrawl on the back (he was technically your date, because johnny got proportioned by half the seniors and mark was too nervous to ask if you’d take him)

this is what you were talking about. this is what you want to spend summer doing.

you want to spend it remembering, gathering fragments of your life so far in your hometown with your bestfriends, so that when you move on you have a tangible piece of the memories

the reason you were keeping it a secret though was because.....even you had to admit.......this was a little much 

and you had built yourself a little bit of a hard shell so imagining telling the people you knew that this was your summer plan 

well, you could already hear johnny’s voice saying something like ‘hey, this isn’t a hallmark movie you sap and facetime exists. do you think im not gonna call you at 3 am from across the country like i do now anyway?’ 

you close the box and tap your fingers on the top.

tomorrow, i’ll start visiting all the important places.

your phone pings and it sound echoes through the otherwise empty library. 

a harsh shushing sound comes from the front desk and you quickly answer it, sliding down against one of the bookcases

you’d come here to see if you could find that old series you loved as a kid, the magic treehouse, it’s the books you and johnny fought over when you first met each other years ago

you abandon that though because poor mark sounds like he’s having a panic attack over the phone

“hey, you need to get over here - johnny is holding auditions for a guitarist since you said you didn’t want to do the band”

“ok, so what? it’s just auditions?”

mark’s pleading gets louder, “it’s auditions with JOHNNY - he thinks this is eurovision or something i don’t know please i can’t reign him in and jungwoo’s at his internship - i am dying here!”

you sigh, making it long so mark knows how annoyed you are

“put him on.”

mark’s voice drowns and johnny takes the phone from him

“what did i say with conspiring with them? we are shunning them for quitting on the band! what do you mean you had no other options? what do you mean my egomania is coming out? - anyway hey whats up?”

“stop torturing mark and all the poor kids that showed up to audition.”

“first of all, im not torturing anyone. that would be illegal and distasteful, im just giving my constructive criticism. second of all, if you want to give orders like that then let’s make this a fare trade off. come over and help me judge - i mean hold the auditions and then i will cease my so called ‘torturing’ ala my ‘criticizing’.”

you huff - fine, it’s one day out of the whole summer.

“ok. but you better have snacks.”

“do you think i wouldn’t provide refreshments? what kind of monster do you think i am?”

there’s more people than you expect showing up to audition for this band. half of them are just there to sweet talk johnny or mark,  but the others are all just. bad. 

you never knew how bad someone butcher playing an instrument, let alone a guitar, but you’ve had that eye opening experience today

“how many people left?”

you mutter, face first into your palms and looking up with happiness when mark says only one!

“hey, im jung jaehyun.”

you turn and see the boy from the bike, the one with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen, standing in the entry to johnny’s garage

he’s carrying his own guitar case - black leather and well worn but loved

“well jaehyun dude, i hope you can at least play the damn thing because i feel like no one in this town can!”

johnny groans and you straighten up a little as jaehyun comes closer

he sets himself up and you feel something inside your stomach turn when he bends down and you see a bit of the tanned skin of his back

“im not amazing, but i can play some of the classics.”

“wonderwall?” mark asks and johnny snips at him as you try to think of something to say, but suddenly....your brain is fuzzy

“play anything!” 

so jaehyun does, he plays, and he even sings and the fuzziness in your brain turns to white noise and the little drop in your stomach is a whole bundle of butterflies

you barely realize the johnny is already befriending jaehyun and mark is staring at him with those big, impressed eyes

when you get up and jaehyun smiles at you

“so what do you play?”

johnny throws an arm around your shoulder older brother style and rolls his eyes before you get a word in

“you’re actually taking their spot because they’re too busy to be in the band.”

something seems to cast a sad shadow over jaehyun’s features - “oh, you’re not going to play with us?”

words float through your head, none of which you can grasp onto, so you just shake it instead and let johnny ramble on about your so called betrayal

you look at your phone and of course it’s nearing ten and there’s no way you can go to any of the other places on your list so you motion to mark that you’re going to head home

“oh - i have to go too.”

jaehyun slings his guitar case over his shoulder, “but ill come by tomorrow for practice?”

johnny shoots him a big grin and then haggles all the social media jaehyun has out of him

you don’t know why you just don’t start walking - but somehow you end up leaving with jaehyun, making that left turn where you first passed each other

“do you live on this street?”

you jump a little as you nod, “yeah - i think i actually saw you yesterday. you were on your bike so you probably didn’t notice me.”

there’s a polite distance between you two, but jaehyun is smiling when he answers

“oh no, i definitely noticed you.”

you end up thinking about those words the same way you couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes 

except this time, instead of it lasting a day, the thought lasts nearly two and a half weeks

it seems jaehyun is doing a good job fitting in with your friends, considering you don’t get anymore calls from mark 

and you actually start to make progress on your summer project

you manage to get some ticket stubs from old movies, an old science project you did that’s still hanging on the walls of the highschool (open for summer classes), and pressed flowers from ontop of a hill where you almost break your elbow back when you were a freshman

you’re plunging yourself into your past, but weirdly enough every now and then you’ll remember that 

oh no, i definitely noticed you

the six little words make you feel giddier than whatever memento you’re seeking out to tuck into your shoebox

you try to tell yourself it’s just because jaehyun is new - he’s new and the memory of him isn’t old enough to try and find anything to represent him by 

and he kind of represents everything you’re nervous about - new places, new people, new friendships ...... the prospect of a new love

love? 

you look up at the sky as you swing back and forth on the playground you’ve come to collect something from for your memory box 

that’s ridiculous. i’ve had one conversation with him!

you swing your legs back and forth, slowing down and you think twice about jumping off when suddenly you feels someone gently push your back

the swing goes a little higher and you turn your head in surprise to see

“j-jaehyun?”

he smiles and his dimples greet you before he does

“i saw you on my way back from johnny’s.”

he gives you another soft push and you hear that fuzzy noise that always turns the gears in your brain when you try to say something around him

“is - is johnny being nice?”

is all you can muster and jaehyun laughs, the sound melodic but low, just the way the baritone of his voice is when he sang

“very nice, but he is a lot to handle sometimes.”

you kick your legs down and dig your heels into the grass a little, jaehyun grabs the two chains of the swings to help you stop it

when you turn you notice his bike is laying a couple of feet away and so is his guitar

“what about the band stuff?”

“johnny is trying to write songs and stuff, but actually mark is the one that i think has the talent for it.”

you can’t help but feel the corner of your mouth lift up a little, he already knows the two of them pretty well.

“what about you - do you write songs or music?”

jaehyun lifts his bike back up and you take the guitar case to help him

before you know it - you and him are walking side by side again 

“a little, but it’s more about playing the guitar for me. that’s the part that makes me happy.”

you play with your fingers behind your back, old nervous habits rising to the surface

“by the way - why did you not want to be part of the band? johnny said you were busy with something but you didn’t say what.”

you stop 

i should lie, make something up.

jaehyun stops too and the sounds of the bike wheels and footsteps float off into the air

but for some reason, i don’t want to lie. not to him.

“im......leaving after the summer, going to school in another place. so im spending my summer kind of.....im kind of cataloging this place. this town. i’m doing the whole put your memories in a shoebox thing which is so-”

“awesome! i think it’s awesome that you want a part of your home with you, sometimes people are way too excited to get away from their roots.”

you look at jaehyun, who returns the look with a comforting warmth you’ve never experienced before.

it’s a different comfort than the one you get from your friends or your family, it makes your heart beat flutter - slow for a second, then so fast you think your body can’t keep up

he starts walking again and you do too

the silence isn’t weird. it’s a conversation in it’s own way between your two bodies.

when you get to your house - you look at jaehyun again and you have two thoughts

one is that you should kiss him. because he looks so.....kissable.

the second, the one you ultimately choose, is to widen your eyes and go:

“promise you won’t tell the others about it though, they would not let me live it down.”

jaehyun laughs and hooks his pinkie with yours - his skin soft under the setting sun - “i promise.”

and after being caught up in thinking about jaehyun’s eyes, or the way he speaks, you find yourself in the same repeating cycle again

this time. it’s your regret. 

you should have chose option one, because it’s looking like another opportunity to kiss jung jaehyun is not coming any time soon.

and like the two times before, you throw yourself into your summer project to try and not think about it 

(although you do, multiple times throughout the day, at one point blushing at the image of what could have happened if you DID kiss him and then getting snapped at by the angry man at the local deli)

another couple of weeks pass and you swing by johnny’s because it’s a location on your summer memory list and also....

you are curious about how the band is going ...

and you kind of a little want to see jaehyun again......

you arrive and hear jungwoo’s voice to your surprise, followed by the sound of drums and johnny’s sharp “stop, stop, STOP!”

“jungwoo, what is going on - did working at samsung make you into a robot who can only produce code and not drum to save his life?”

“what do you know about drumming johnny? or coding? or anything in general?”

“hey watch the attitude, you’re embarrassing me in front of jaehyun.”

jungwoo snorts and you try to hide your own laugh but everyone turns to you just in time for you to hiccup it back

“ah - the traitor is here!” 

johnny sings and jaehyun gives him a soft elbow to the ribs

“what’s up?” 

mark smiles from his place at the keyboard and you cross your arms

“nothing, hows it going - book any shows? write an album yet?”

“actually, we did book a gig for your information”

johnny waltz his way from the microphone and to a stack of flyers from his couch

he hands you one and this time you do burst out into laughter

the flyer, pink and way over the top, is an invitation to johnny’s end of the summer party

well it’s actually his going away party his parents have planned for him, since he’s also leaving for school

“johnny - you didn’t book a gig. you’re playing your own party.”

“the parents are shelling out twenty dollars to each of us so money makes it a gig.”

you look at jaehyun who secretly rolls his eyes

“sure, sure. can i keep one of these?” 

you fold the flyer and slip it into your pocket, this will make a good addition to the shoebox

“oh are you going to put it in-”

jaehyun starts and you rush over, hand flying over his mouth as the three other people in the garage stare

“going to put it in......the trash. yes. going to throw it right out because really johnny did you use paint-”

johnny flips you off in the kindest, best friend way possible

you let go of jaehyun and throw him a look that he mouths an apology too

somehow, instead of leaving, you end up staying and listening to them practice

you consider it a break from your project and the day is filled with what you’d expect from all of them, laughter and jokes and banter that is only ok between the closest of people

when they finally finish practice and jungwoo and mark accept a gracious ride home from mr. suh 

you say you’ll be off too and jaehyun trots up right behind you, “ill walk with you.”

this time, you hear less of the fuzz in your head and can actually keep up a decent conversation without staring at jaehyun’s lips

you feel closer because of the time you spent today and you almost walk past your house until jaehyun points to the porch

“oh by the way. can i see what you have in the shoebox?”

you look over your shoulder at him, “like right now?”

he gives a casual shrug

“is that ok?”

and now jung jaehyun is standing in your room. well he’s standing in it and then he’s sitting on your bed and rummaging through some of the most personal memories you have.

his long fingers pulling out ticket stubs or notes you passed in class

he chuckles at the graduation photo of johnny and dangles yours over your head when he refuses to give it back 

you tackle him for it and he falls down against your sheets and you make the worst (or arguably best) mistake of your life

when you straddle his hips and rich out to grab it

only to look down and see him splayed open like the pages of a beautiful book

and you remember your regret

it makes your head spin, but you watch in slow motion as the photo falls from between his fingers and you lean down to catch it, but jaehyun presses up and catches your mouth with his.

it’s sloppy, awkward - but only for the first few seconds - until you can both adjust yourselves from your position and do it right and then it is 

astonishing

because it feels like you’re kissing someone you’ve been kissing for years. decades. millennia's. eons. 

it feels like you and jaehyun have been doing this since the big bang.

since humans first came to exist. 

since, gosh you don’t know, since pangea freaking broke apart.

you make out for so long that you lose track of time and it gets late to the point where the darkness of the summer almost makes you ask him to stay over

but jaehyun is just so mannerly that he slips out the back door of your house with a final kiss and a promise to call

which he follows up on earlier than you expect, showing up on your doorstep to take you out for breakfast

only to end up with you two back in your room an hour later, kissing again, and again, and with more hands and less of his shirt or yours.

the only thing that unglues you from him is his phone ringing for what must be the tenth time

“it’s johnny”

you breath against jaehyun’s neck finally

“how do you know?”

“only he calls ten times in a row.”

and like your summer project, you don’t tell your friends about what’s going on between you two

jaehyun says it’s kind of hard to hide the obvious evidence on his body - but you tell him to say it was your other neighbor, or someone from another town

jaehyun agrees just because you pull the doe eye trick on him and he really is learning he can’t say no to that or to you in most situations

but everytime before and after band practice - he’s with you

sometimes he joins you on your little visits to the places still on your lists

when you tell him the sentimental value behind them, you get a little fidgety because being vulnerable is hard 

but jaehyun listens and he says that each memory of yours he gets to watch you relive, helps him learn something about you

you don’t say it out loud - but hearing that makes you want to cry and kiss him and cry again 

an other times, you two don’t do anything heartwarming or special, you just roll around with him, tangled up in one until he has to go

with each day, summer comes closer to 

and end but you fall deeper into each other at a pace that might be alarming if it was any other two humans but the both you

and before you know it - it’s the day of johnny’s end of summer slash going away party 

jaehyun is supposed to be there from like nine in the morning but he stops at your place before he bikes over

kissing your forehead he drops something in your palm

you open it to see his guitar pick 

“won’t you need this for when you play?”

“i’m using my backup. i just thought you might want to put that one in your shoebox........since it could remind you of me......”

he flushes and you bite back your lip, part of you is happy because he’s just so cute it isn’t fair but the other is coming to the daunting idea that 

soon enough - im leaving too, will jaehyun just be another memory to me?

instead of dwelling on it, you peck him again and ask, 

“ill see you at the party?”

the party is most definitely a johnny suh party

the food is amazing, everyone on the planet is invited, and johnny is wearing something so bright it beats out the sun

when you arrive, his mother spends half an hour asking you to take care of him when he finally leaves and you don’t remind her that you’re going to two different places

you don’t see jaehyun or mark or jungwoo around - you assume they’re practicing somewhere for the performance while johnny is juggling both front lead singer and host

the party is fun - it really is - but the words “going away” somehow still make you a little sick

you’re about to escape to somewhere a little quieter, when you hear someone tap the mic on the makeshift stage in johnny’s backyard

you see him - and the rest of the band - gather on as johnny introduces them and shouts excitedly that this song they’re going to perform, written by keyboardist mark, is all about new beginnings!

jaehyun finds you in the crowd, a secret little smile on his lips before the music starts and to your surprise - and probably everyone elses - they actually do pretty good

the lyrics are so very mark, but johnny brings a flare to the way he sings it

jungwoo seems to have remembered how much he adores drumming again and the way jaehyun looks playing guitar is so enticing that you can’t help but feel a little pride in the fact that you’ve been tasting all of that for most of the summer

the sick feeling in your stomach turns into excitement which turns into just pure enjoyment as you watch your friends and your boyfriend up there having fun

when it’s over and they hop down to mingle back into the rest of the party, you really can’t help yourself and throw your arms around jaehyun

you kiss him - which earns a gasp from mark, a half smirk from jungwoo, and a loud clearing of his throat from johnny

you and jaehyun admit what’s been going on and when johnny just whistles you ask him if he’s not mad

“even if i was mad, you would still keep liking each other right - so what’s the point?” 

you hug johnny, and mark, and jungwoo, and like nothing has changed you all fall back into the swing of it

the comfort of being around each other

when you five are the last people in johnny’s messy background you finally decide to tell them all about your summer project

“i knew you’d all say it was lame so i-”

“hey hey hey - it isn’t lame. it’s not what i expect but i get why you’d want to do it.”

johnny pats your shoulder and you feel jaehyun’s hand on the small of your back

it’s the kind of moment you want to never end. 

really, you just want this summer to never end.

but when it does - when the day comes for the temperature to drop and for you to be on your way to a new place

you feel the sadness come in a big wave

johnny, mark, jungwoo, and jaehyun all come to say goodbye and you hold the shoebox in your hands - now heavy and filled to the brim with all your memories

before you say it though, each of them adds something

jungwoo drops his samsung internship ID into it

mark places the paper he wrote the draft of the lyrics to the song they performed at the party into it

and johnny chucks a burned CD version of it into the mix

finally, turning to jaehyun, you take in a deep breath

“i know the distance will be big so if you want to break up and-”

he kisses you before you can finish your sentence and slips a small box that you don’t open until you’re already in your new dorm

inside is a small bracelet, engraved on the inside are the words

“i definitely noticed you. it was love at first sight”

years later - jaehyun says those words again

as he’s reading his vows 

and you’re feeling the fuzziness, the butterflies, the comforting warmth, everything like a tsunami of all the things that are you and jaehyun

and when johnny shows up to present the rings to you two

they’re in that old shoebox 

two little bands at the bottom of all those memories

at the reception, you lean over and whisper to your now husband

“where did you find that old thing by the way?”

jaehyun nuzzles his lips against the cusp of your ear as you watch jungwoo and mark make fools of themselves on the dance floor 

“under the bed, where you put everything you care about.”

#WELL ! #i really took way too long to write this but just........alot of feelings at once #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun au #nct au #nct 127 au #jaehyun #nct #nostolgic au #jaehyun imagines #nct imagines

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Thirteen

Fitting that this is chapter thirteen. It was destined to be unlucky. And it was also the hardest one to write by far. Thanks for being so patient with me. One last cliffhanger, yes? For old time’s sake.

@lumosinlove your characters continue to live in my head rent-free, so thank you!

@donttouchmycarrots is my dude, my pal, my babe, and the best proofreader ever

Special thanks to @wonder-womans-ex for providing what just might be my favorite line in this chapter

Clandestine Masterlist

CW: violence, gun violence, nightmares, anxiety, mentions of food, injuries

.

Logan woke up to Finn crying.

He was admittedly good at being quiet about it – he muffled any noise into his pillow, body turned towards the wall and curled up tight. It was the shaking that gave him away. Logan wasn’t sure what was going on at first, but his heart just about shattered when he realized. He rolled over to face Finn, pulling him gently into his arms and holding him close. His heart lurched as the redhead shuddered and buried his face in Logan’s chest, arms wrapping around him tightly as he sniffled. Logan screwed his eyes shut and breathed, nice and slow in an attempt to get Finn to match him. He wasn’t sure what was upsetting his partner, but he wanted nothing more than to fix it, to help however he could. Finn leaned further into him and stayed there for what felt like an eternity before he calmed down, breaths slowing and tears drying.

Logan could feel every swell of muscle, every gentle dip between his ribs, the eyelashes that were still wet and clumped together, the way his skin felt all clammy. He wished he could pull him even closer, hold him even tighter, even though there was physically no distance between them. Maybe Finn could find comfort in the confines of his arms, the way Logan had found safety in Finn’s.

“Want to talk about it?” he finally whispered, making Finn tense up again. He peered over Logan’s shoulder to look at their sleeping partner, then looked back down at Logan.

Sometimes Finn just took his breath away. Sure, his eyes were glassy and his nose was red from crying but he was still so beautiful, with muted light filtering through the curtains turning messy auburn hair into shiny copper, seeming to glitter in the sunlight. Big, brown doe eyes looking so incredibly soft as he stared down at Logan. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to being looked at like that. Like he was something to be cherished, something to be adored.

Logan felt his breath hitch.

“Hallway?” Finn asked, glancing back at Leo. “Don’t want to wake him up.”

Logan smiled. He loved learning how all three of them showed love and how it varied depending on which partner they were interacting with. Finn was more teasing with Logan, always throwing jabs and chasing them with happy grins and lots of kisses. With Leo he – well, he still teased mercilessly, but it was softer around the edges. The kind of affection that made him get all squinty-eyed because he was smiling so much and too-tight hugs because he couldn’t possibly hold back. Leo didn’t act that different when it came down to it, but he picked up quickly on what the two of them liked – intertwining his fingers with Finn’s as often as he could, running his hand through Logan’s hair time and time again. The constant motion of his hands was directed at the two of them instead of the lock in his pocket more often than not, a new soothing habit forming quickly. It was adorable. Logan wasn’t really sure how he was different, but he knew he was softer with the two of them more than he’d been with anyone else. He could feel himself turning into a sappy romantic and he wanted to hate it, but he really couldn’t.

Finn scrambled up reluctantly and Logan followed him across the room, nervous and itching to pull Finn back into his arms. He reached for Finn as soon as the door closed completely. “Bad dream?” His stomach dropped when Finn just nodded, biting down on his lip hard as his eyes welled up with tears again.

“I don’t want to go back there.” Finn admitted, voice a soft whisper in the silence of the hallway. Logan sighed and pressed closer, standing on his tiptoes just a little to loop his arms around Finn’s neck. Logan didn’t want to go back, either, but it was different for Finn. He’d been there for longer, after all, and Logan still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened during that time. Finn refused to talk about it, and Logan was too afraid to ask, as selfish as that made him feel. To top it all off, Logan had no idea how to help. Usually bad dreams were only loosely based on reality – but Logan had a feeling these were a little too real. They’d lived it, after all. To wake up from a nightmare and realize it was basically reality…

How could you comfort someone who’s bad dreams were all true?

“I know,” he said simply, lacking the words for anything else and running his fingers through Finn’s messy bedhead soothingly.

“We won’t be there for too long.” Finn said after a while. He seemed to be trying to comfort Logan with the words, even though he was the one who had been crying about it earlier. Logan ached for the redhead. He had such a big heart, always putting others before himself even if he was in a bad place himself. Logan needed to pay more attention, to pinpoint that evasion tactic and not let him get away with it. Everyone needed solace, even the ones who primarily did the comforting.

Finn’s eyes had closed sometime earlier, his head tilted to lean into Logan’s hand, his breath tickling the inside of Logan’s wrist. Logan wiped away a stray tear tenderly and sighed. Finn didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Logan wasn’t going to force him to talk, but he was worried about what would happen if he didn’t talk about it with someone. Sometimes it was nice to talk to someone with an outside perspective – someone who wasn’t in the thick of it like Logan was. So Logan reluctantly let it go for now and tried the next best thing: cheering Finn up.

“And it’ll be nice to bash some heads in while we’re there.”

That earned a laugh from Finn, and Logan felt such stark relief at the sight – it left him a little breathless. It was sad that a genuine laugh from either of his partners was so rare now. Logan felt like he needed to cherish them when they happened.

How depressing was that?

“Bashing some heads in is now on the list, I guess.” Finn murmured, placing a lingering kiss to Logan’s temple, who hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

Finn was in the process of kissing Logan when he said that, which just turned into a laugh against Logan’s lips. “No, but you do.” Logan could hear the smile in his voice. “And that’s way hotter than it probably should be.”

Logan looked up at him nervously to make sure he wasn’t kidding, then relaxed at the honesty in those mischievous eyes. Even upset and stressed, Finn somehow knew what to say to soothe worries Logan hadn’t even told him about. Being in a job like his… well it was ugly. It was brutal and violent and messy and not many people would want to be involved with someone like that – someone with bloodstained hands, too many paranoid tics, and a heavy, guilty conscience.

Finn and Leo didn’t seem to mind all that much, thankfully.

The realization made Logan grin sharply and nip at Finn’s lower lip before delving into another deep, intoxicating kiss. It was too easy, getting lost when he kissed Finn. So much of their surroundings faded away until all he was aware of was the feel of slightly chapped lips against his and hands holding his hips in order to pull him closer. Finn seemed to have that effect on Logan – he always had, ever since that New Years party. He was the kind of person everyone naturally gravitated towards, pulled in without a second thought. It was part of what made him so damn good at his job.

Finn breathed in sharply before kissing him again, heady and sure of himself and making Logan weak in the knees. All five senses were overwhelmed with Finn, Finn, Finn. It thrummed along with his pulse in a steady, loud rhythm. And yet his mind still drifted back to the bedroom with Leo, the thought of joining him back in bed tugging at him just as Finn broke the kiss and pulled him back towards the door, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Sometimes I’m convinced you’re a mind reader.” Logan smiled and willingly let himself get drawn back into the quiet, sleepy warmth of the bedroom. Finn just shrugged.

“Maybe I am.”

Leo was still sound asleep, sprawled out on his back with one leg sticking out from underneath the covers and hanging off the side of the bed at what looked like a very uncomfortable angle. Logan smiled at Finn’s affectionate snort, then followed him back to bed and crawled in the middle again. He curled up on his side, facing the blond as Finn pressed against his back and tangled their legs together. Leo’s hand moved up the bed, searching for Logan’s until he found it and then seemed to drift off to sleep again with a content sigh.

It scared Logan a little, how important the two of them had become in such a short amount of time. They were slowly invading more and more space in his head until his only thoughts seemed to be about them, all the time. Maybe it should be a little worrying, but Logan couldn’t find it in himself to be too concerned – not when the thoughts made his chest feel light as air and his stomach full of butterflies.

***

It was getting close to go-time, and everyone was on edge. The energy was palpable, like an electric current flowing through the group. Shoulders were tense, words were short and clipped, a sense of focus and determination in the air.

Leo had never been part of something like this. The only missions he’d been on were with Logan and Finn and that was it. Having a big group like this, all feeling the same things and wanting the same goal, it was intoxicating. It sucked you in and made you want to be a part of it, too.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck here, on the sidelines, left to wait aimlessly until everyone returned. That meant letting them go and resigning himself to a night of restlessness and worry.

Leo hated it.

He didn’t cling to his partners like he so desperately wanted to. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go again. He didn’t ask for empty promises of being careful, nor did he beg them to be safe. He couldn’t hold them to words they might not be able to keep. But he allowed himself to stare, just a bit. He let his eyes linger over Logan’s steady hands as he loaded his gun and methodically checked it three times, just like always. He watched Finn pull a clean shirt over his head and fiddle with the sleeves, seemingly lost in thought. Leo memorized what he could, just in case. The exact shade of Logan’s eyes, the freckle pattern across Finn’s cheeks and nose. He hated that his brain automatically jumped to worse-case scenario like that, but – well, considering the circumstances and what they’d already been through at the hands of the Snakes… could you blame him?

There was also this feeling in the pit of Leo’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if this was just the anxiety talking, but everything in that moment felt so decided, so final.

It felt like goodbye.

As if Finn knew exactly what was going on in his head, he drew Leo in for a hug and kissed his cheek, lingering for a second before leaning back to meet his eyes. They shared one of those looks – one that expressed a multitude of emotions without saying a single word. When Finn kissed him, it was deep and achingly slow. He was taking his time, wanting to make the moment last as long as he could. Leo knew the feeling. He fisted his hand in Finn’s shirt and pulled him impossibly closer, tilting his head for a better angle and softly running his tongue across the seam of his lips. A gentle rush, a quiet thrill, but still with a noticeable, tangible melancholy.

Leo could still count the number of kisses they’d shared on two hands. That wasn’t nearly enough for him. He wanted as many different types of kisses as he could think of – happy, teasing, soft, hard, tender, and everything in between. He wanted to lose count by the end of the week. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about his partners.

He just hoped they’d get that chance.

Logan pressed up against the two of them, slotting seamlessly into place. Transitioning from kissing Finn to kissing Logan was as easy as breathing – a simple turn of his head and a slight bend to accommodate for the height difference. It was the kind of kiss you were meant to remember. A whirlwind of sweet and passionate, deep and gentle, loving and regretful.

More than anything it just hurt.

Leo’s gut churned as he pulled back and looked at the two of them, lost for words. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this, after all? He didn’t think there was anything he could say to make this easier, or reassure them. Words didn’t seem like enough anymore – they just felt insincere and meaningless. Leo didn’t think he’d ever faced that problem before. Words usually came fairly easily to him, especially if something was important to him. But now they were failing him and it left him feeling even more lost, adrift in a raging sea that he had no idea how to navigate.

“Let’s do this,” Finn said finally, part resigned and part determined, before heading towards the bedroom door.

The rest seemed to happen all at once in a blinding flurry of activity. Goodbyes with the team were quick and rushed and then they were all loading up into cars, green and brown eyes meeting his every once in a while before the doors closed and the engines growled to life.

Leo watched the caravan of cars head down the driveway, then rushed across the wrap-around porch to keep them in his sights for as long as he could until they disappeared behind an outcropping of trees. He kept his eyes trained on the spot and clung to the wooden railing with a white-knuckled grip.

And that was where he would stay. If that was the last place he saw them, it would be the first place he would see them again. He didn’t care if he stood there all night until it bled into morning; he wasn’t moving an inch.

***

Sirius sat in the backseat next to Remus for the drive, which was silent and tense with rising adrenaline and battle plans running through everyone’s heads – especially Remus’. He could practically see his mind working. He’d been planning nonstop for the past two days to make sure that all the loose ends were tied up and that they were doing this the right way. Any illegal processes now could compromise the court trials that would come after putting the Snakes behind bars. Between that and coordinating between the other agencies that were helping them take down the Snakes, it was looking like a Herculean task. They could’ve pulled out the big guns and requested help from the FBI, but no one really wanted to do that. This was personal, after all – for pretty much everyone on the team. The feds could take over later, after everyone was apprehended.

Remus chewed at his lower lip, eyes trained on nothing in particular. The back of his head was highlighted in the headlights of the car behind them, illuminating in a startling contrast to the rest of the dark interior of the van. Sirius stared and stared until he just couldn’t help it. He reached over to turn Remus’ head towards him, then ran his thumb lightly over that abused lower lip until Remus let it go. Color seeped back into it, turning the pink a darker, cherry red. Again, Sirius stared. That mouth quirked into a teasing smile.

“You’re going to chew a hole in your lip if you keep that up.” He said and looked up into honey-colored eyes, slowly pulling his hand back. Remus just huffed under his breath – a short, nervous shadow of his normal laugh.

“Yeah. I could really go for some chapstick right now.”

Sirius smiled, pulling Remus towards him and kissing him gently, reverently. It still kind of blew his mind, how much things had changed in the past few months. Remus used to hate him. Well, maybe hate was a strong word, but they definitely weren’t friends. And now here they were, making out in the back of a van. Even though their mission was coming to an end and Sirius really wouldn’t have a reason to stay in Gryffindor any more, he could no longer fathom leaving. Remus played a huge part in that, of course, but Sirius also had friends now – real friends who didn’t try to use him constantly or only contacted him when they needed something. He had a home, as ridiculously cliché as that sounded. Nothing about Slytherin felt like this, and it made Sirius wonder if he’d ever actually had a place to call home before he found himself in Remus’ tiny apartment with the dying houseplant and the lumpy couch and an entire cabinet devoted solely to mugs.

The kiss turned softer until Sirius pulled back and just looked at him, an overwhelming rush of emotion in his chest. Remus wasn’t his home – one person couldn’t be all of that, Sirius knew that much – but he sure was a big part of it.

Remus licked his lips thoughtfully, tasting Sirius’ chapstick. “What flavor is that?”

“Pina colada.”

“Nice.”

That made Sirius smile again. “It’s going to be fine, Re.” Sirius reassured and tucked Remus against his side. It was an awkward squeeze in the back of a van, but neither of them cared.

“Yeah,” Remus sighed, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “We’ll be ok.”

They both flew out of their seats a little when the van hit a pothole, smushing them closer together. Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and lingering, before speaking up again. “Do you want to talk through the plan once more?”

Sirius always found that talking through things helped calm him down. Saying the facts out loud tended to get rid of the unnecessary fears going on inside his head, plus it made him feel more prepared. And he knew Remus was the same way, from all the times he’d helped the analyst plan missions.

This earned him a soft, thankful smile and then Remus was off, talking a mile a minute about strategies and backup plans and anything else he could think of. Sirius let his voice wash over him and tried to ignore the dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

***

Leo didn’t know how long he stood there, gaze never once wavering from the treeline, when Hope joined him. She held out a mug for him, full of what looked like hot chocolate and a thick layer of whipped cream. Leo smiled faintly in thanks and took it before returning to his vigil. It was so quiet outside. No crickets like back home, no wind whistling through the trees, nothing. It set Leo on edge.

“So,” Hope mercifully interrupted the silence, “I heard you like to cook.”

Leo looked over at her, more than a little confused at the non sequitur. “Yeah. I do.”

She traced along the grain of the wooden railing, avoiding the chipping paint. “Those boys might be hungry when they get back, and that’s a whole lot of cooking to do by myself. Care to lend a hand?”

Leo snorted at the accidental pun and looked down at the hand trapped in a sling. He knew what she was doing, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. He could definitely use the distraction.

“That sounds perfect.” He said and followed her inside, only casting one glance over his shoulder at where the driveway disappeared and the woods began before he joined Hope in the warm glow of the kitchen. Lyall and Jules were there too; they had the refrigerator door thrown open and seemed to just be staring at the contents. They looked so alike, standing side by side like that. The same slightly-bowed legs and identical shades of brown hair. Lyall gave his son a mischievous look, reached for the can of whipped cream, and squirted some directly into his mouth while Jules watched on with his jaw nearly on the floor.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to do that!” he gasped and snatched the can from his dad. A few seconds later there was whipped cream in his mouth. And on his chin, cheeks, a little on his nose…

Hope sighed good-naturedly. “You’re teaching our son bad habits and making a mess.”

Lyall just bent over laughing, a snort escaping every once in a while.

Leo smiled as Jules tried to get all the whipped cream that missed his intended target with his tongue, eyes crossing in the process. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and leaned back against the kitchen counter as Lyall kept pointing to places on his face that Jules had missed. Hope shared a look with Leo and rolled her eyes in a “what can you do?” kind of gesture. It was all so lighthearted and affectionate and exactly what Leo needed in that moment.

He wondered if Hope somehow just knew these things – it was definitely possible. Mother’s intuition and all.

“So what are we making?” She asked, tying her hair up while Lyall threw an apron over his neck. Jules was still working on the whipped cream.

Leo shrugged his good shoulder. “What do you have in the pantry?”

“So much!” Jules exclaimed, deeming his face good enough and throwing the pantry door open. “We’ve got pancake mix, potato chips, poptarts, hot dog buns-”

***

The take-down mission was going about as well as expected.

Which meant that it was going well, but it was also a chaotic disaster at the same time. Fitting, right?

Agents were everywhere, it seemed, outnumbering the Snakes at least three-to-one. The Snakes were scattering, running for the exits and fighting tooth and nail to get out – whether that was with weapons they had or just their fists, they weren’t going down without a fight. But even if they made it out, they were met with another line of defense waiting for them in the form of the Durmstrang agents.

Remus really had the op planned out to the last contingency, it seemed.

Logan and Finn were headed down an unfamiliar hallway, looking for stragglers to round up and escort outside. Most Snakes had joined the main fight to get out, sequestered in the entryway. Logan was glad they were tasked with this, though. There were too many familiar faces back there – Greyback, Lestrange, Snape. Logan wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that just yet. Between that and the sound of gunshots echoing in his head… well, let’s just say it brought back bad memories. And even though it wasn’t the best utilization of his skillset, he hadn’t been separated from his partner. He’d learned from experience what a bad idea that was. When this was all over, he wasn’t letting the two of them out of his sight for at least a week.

God, he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Movement caught his eye and his gun was instantly up and aimed at the person. Yellow eyes landed on them and Logan held his breath, every muscle tensing and adrenaline spiking.

Logan knew they had direct orders to bring the Snakes in alive, but it was much harder to think about that when he was staring Riddle down from the sights of his gun. He knew exactly where to aim – he’d seen it mapped out on Leo’s chest, memorized the angry red wound contrasting against the gentle slope of his collarbone. A shot not intended to kill, but to inflict unfathomable levels of pain – another thing Logan had branded into his memory. A shot that was intentional, designed to send a message. And Logan definitely wanted to send back a reply.

Riddle recognized them and got this smug gleam in his eyes. “Long time, no see.”

Logan’s finger twitched against the trigger.

“Trust me, we’re planning on never seeing you again.” Finn said, then sighed dramatically. “And it looks like that dream is going to become a reality, since we’ve got all the evidence we need to lock you up for – what do you think, Logan? Two life sentences?”

“I’m banking on three.”

“But it’s not really up to us, now is it?” Finn shrugged. “If it were, I think you’d be dead by now, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the judge says.”

Riddle still looked remarkably calm. And it was that ego, that sense of infallibility that ended up being his downfall. “All the evidence you have is circumstantial. Any decent lawyer can get those charges dismissed.”

“Sure.” Finn’s smile turned lethal, knowing he had Riddle right where he wanted him, ready to deliver the final blow and relish in the aftermath. “But I think all that detailed information on the flash drives can put you away for a long time. Why seven flash drives, by the way? Lucky number?”

Riddle’s smile faded in increments as the realization struck. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s very possible. You can thank the guy you shot for that.” Finn said darkly. They watched the gears turning in Riddle’s head, then the way his face turned from pale to a sickly green. His hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket where his flash drive used to be – where the fake one now was, switched when Riddle had pulled a bleeding, agonized Leo close to taunt Logan and Finn through his microphone.

Yeah. Karma was a real bitch sometimes.

Logan smiled, grim but glad to finally be putting this guy behind bars. “You’re coming with us.”

***

“Yo,” Pots said into a phone, a grin almost too wide on his face, “we got some stinky bastards over here. Can you come get them please and thank you?”

Remus snorted at his antics, no doubt talking to the FBI since processing criminals was in their jurisdiction now and not Gryffindor’s. He almost wished it was on speaker phone – he would’ve loved to hear their response.

Remus found Sirius waiting in the parking lot, watching all the Snakes get corralled into transport vehicles and taken to whichever prison they were being kept in until the trial. Some of their own agents were by the ambulance getting tended to, but there weren’t any serious injuries, thank god. Talker took a superficial gunshot to the thigh and Kuny’s arm got grazed by a bullet but everyone else was fine. The element of surprise and the backup by the other agencies really did wonders. That and the fact that they were all armed to the teeth and not even thinking about leaving this job unfinished. They had a pretty good reason to win this round, after all.

He couldn’t believe it was all over. This mission had taken months and lead to way too many problems, but they were finally done with it. They could finally move on. Remus was thinking of taking the next week off of work and spending it at the cabin, just him and Sirius. A much-needed vacation sounded like a dream right about now.

Sirius’ back was to him, but he heard Remus coming and didn’t flinch when long arms wrapped around him, tight and secure. He leaned back into the familiar warmth behind him and let himself be held. He’d been great in there. Remus had been a little worried about letting him come, afraid that taking down people he’d worked with for years would be too hard for him or – even worse – that his presence would be a bright red bullseye for the Snakes. Luckily, there had been so many other agents and so much chaos that most of them had only noticed Sirius and Regulus in the aftermath, when it was too late to do anything about it.

“We did it.” Remus murmured, letting go and stepping around to gauge Sirius’ reaction. The raven-haired ex-Snake smiled at him, a hint of something warring with the relief on his face.

“We did.” He finally said, eyes flitting from Remus to the action around them. He still looked a little uneasy, after everything. Remus couldn’t blame him – sometimes it took a while for the adrenaline to wear off and for reality to set in. “Doesn’t feel real just yet.”

Remus grinned wolfishly, letting the victorious feeling wash over him. “It’s real.”

“Sirius Black?” One of the other agents inquired, causing the man in question to turn around.

“Yes?”

The agent pulled out a pair of handcuffs, looking very bored of the current situation. “You’re under arrest for the crimes you committed with the Snakes organization. If you could put your hands behind your back-”

Remus stepped forward aggressively, staring the agent down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The agent didn’t flinch. “Following orders. Even if he quit the Snakes, he’s still got to answer for what he did during his time there.”

“But he’s helping us – he’s a consultant for our agency. He’s got immunity.” Remus looked between Sirius and the agent, running a hand agitatedly through his hair at the blasé attitude of the agent.

“Take it up with my boss.”

It was all happening so fast. Remus was still reeling from the mission, his brain struggling to keep up with the new situation. The agent started to lead Sirius away when Remus shouted, “Wait!” He hurried to stand in front of Sirius, caramel eyes hard and fierce and determined with an underlying blaze to them as they met silver. He didn’t care if he was making a scene; he didn’t care who was watching. The only thing that mattered was the man standing in front of him, eyes resigned and – unsurprised.

He knew this might happen. And he hadn’t said a word about it. He came on this mission willingly, knowing this was the way it could end.

Remus would have to come back to that.

“I’m going to fix this. Ok?” Remus met his gaze firmly, letting the honesty drip from his words.

The ex-Snake nodded quickly, trustingly. The sight was a little nauseating, because what if there was nothing Remus could do? Sirius was counting on him now; he couldn’t stand the thought of letting him down, not when he was looking at Remus like that – like Remus could fix anything, when Remus knew damn well that he couldn’t. His chest seized up and he held his breath, gritting his teeth resolutely. He’d find a way. He had to.

Sirius was loaded into the back of a car, his brother already cuffed and waiting in the seat beside him – no doubt being charged for the same thing. Their faces were stony masks, tense and unreadable.

From the next car over, Riddle watched with a smile.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: nightmares #cw: anxiety #cw: food #cw: injury

[fairytsuk1]

i was all over her (a)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: yandere!tomura shigaraki x reader

genre: angst

words: 2.5k

summary: you never learn.

prompt: visitor

warnings: noncon mentions/intentions, stalking, pervertedness, this is a yandere fic

    The rain was quickly soaking through his cotton shirt, chilling Tomura to the bone with a grumble threatening to work it’s way up his throat. He hadn’t brought an umbrella in protest of Kurogiri’s suggestion, he was sure it wouldn’t rain as he walked his normal path. But, he was wrong, it was fucking downpouring and his chuck-taylors were hardly holding up.

    Your frog umbrella flashed in and out of the streetlights, the rhythmic step of rain boots clicking and splashing in the puddles that littered the sidewalk. Brown, muddy water rushed in the crook of the street so fast he was briefly reminded of the times he and his family used to look at fish in the nearby rivers. That was a long time ago, no need to make room for old broken memories that would soon cease to exist as he aged further in life.

    What he wanted, was you. Your cute little feet stuffed into rainboots far too big for you, they were a gift from your father. That man was too flippant of your desires and needs that he didn’t even know his own child’s shoe size, a sorry excuse for a man if he were to be honest. The umbrella was a gift from your sister, adamant on you having something to keep you sheltered in this shitty ass neighborhood. You didn’t deserve to live here, he could imagine you in a perfectly manicured house with polished nails and frilly sundresses. The sun would sparkle on your skin and you’d smell flowery with a twinge of cinnamon, leaving men desperate and eager to flip up your skirt with the intent to breed you. You’d look so good, he mused. Cum filling your cunt as you squealed underneath him, pleading for more from your dearest, Tomura.

“Mmph!”

    Your shoe caught onto a crack in the sidewalk, nearly sending you face first into the mess that was the gravelly street. He imagined you’d make such lovely whimpers and moans as he rammed his cock into you, greedily taking you from behind...or maybe the front? He’d like to cum inside you to mark you and maybe, if he was really desperate, your mouth.

    He was working himself up, your apartment was near and the excitement was practically eating him alive with the thought that he’d be able to have you if he was just patient. It would be far too easy for you to get away and cause a scene if he grabbed you by the hair and tugged you into his arms, though, would anyone come for you? Your sister was right, this rough place that you called home was no home at all, they didn’t care about your wellbeing. They didn’t even care about basic necessities, like moving the trash bins so it would be easier for you to keep clean. They were selfish and it made him sick to think of them hurting you, taking you, and doing whatever these fucking creeps could think of. They didn’t care about you like he did.

    “Hey! You live in this apartment?”

    Shigaraki ducks into a nearby alleyway, back crashing against the wall as he shakes water out of his face like a wet dog. Soft pants fall from his chapped lips as water dribbles down his ears and neck. There’s a tightness in his pants and his heart is racing, a usual occurrence when he followed you home.

“Hm? Oh...yes, I do! It’s nice to meet you!” You tell him your name, why would you even think that would be a good idea? “Is there something wrong? I’m new to the area!”

     The man chuckles and your stalkers red eyes peer out from behind the wall, noting your neighbors large frame practically swallowing you up. He almost couldn’t see you considering this man was huddling you into the corner and looking down at you like a piece of meat.

    “You’re new? No shit, I’ve never seen a pretty thing like you before.”

    You can’t even help yourself, cheeks lifting as you pull your keys out of your pocket. Must be the neglect from your parents, you’ll let just anyone in between your legs huh?

     No.

    He can’t think like that, you’re different. You wouldn’t, you can hardly touch yourself correctly. He’d form you into the perfect girl, perfect housewife who made him meals and let him bend you over any countertop.

“Ah, well thank you sir.”

    You’ve got manners too, he likes that. He wants to hear his name-not Shigaraki-but Tomura as it rolls off your tongue, it’d be syrupy and sweet just like you.

    Clunky boots step into your apartment and a creaky door is locked closed, bet that makes you feel safe huh? Like no one’s gonna hurt you? Well, under his eye they won’t. But the only thing it won’t stop is Shigaraki; climbing the white rickety stairs to follow and a copy of your key to match.

    Waiting takes a long time, but it’s worth it to keep this little habit up. The water drips from his hair to his chin and neck, leaving a trail that would no doubt make him smell as disgusting as he felt. His hand reaches up to insert the key before the bulbous man from before is grunting out words that he couldn’t care to listen to. Though, the dude is utterly unrelenting and questions him, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

    “Are you...who the fuck are you? I thought she was single.”

    Shigaraki scans him, unimpressed with the way he’d come to confront him when the two of them had the same goal in mind.

“It’s none of your business.”

     The man reaches for his wrist, looking small in the meat of his palm as Shigaraki lets him play hero for the time being.

     “I’m calling a hero! I have a cousin who works with Endeavor, you know! Stay here!”

“Let go of me.”

     The grip is starting to hurt but the man keeps squeezing, even adding a bit more strength when the wiry man expresses resistance. Doesn’t matter, he’ll just get rid of him while he can. Can’t go around harassing women if you’re just a pile of dust, right?

    Isn’t that what you do, Tomura? Stalk and harass future fucktoys? Or rather...as you like to call them, potential housewives?

    Sometimes, he might blanch when those thoughts resurface, bothering him and making him feel ashamed of who he is. How could someone like him, a successor to fucking All for One feel shame? That frustration or perhaps disturbance due to the intrusive thoughts lets his anger unleash, cracking like whips in the form of crumbling the man to dust. His wife beater, something he was sure he was (though he doubted anyone would want to marry this fuck), crumbled on top of the ashes and grew soaked under the downpour.

“I told you to let go of me. Now look at you.”

    What once used to be a living, breathing person, is now kicked to the drain below. Fingers itching the delicate skin near his jaw, he enters the apartment. He feels hungry, but not for food. He just wants to eat you right up. Yeah, that sounds right. Take you all for himself.

    You’d discarded the boots in the alcove near your door, the frogs smiling with pink cheeks as Shigaraki’s childish shoes squash them in his path of destruction. You lie drowsily in bed, pink fluffy pajamas comforting your soft skin and a duvet pulled up to your nose. You’d normally be asleep if it weren’t for the constant nagging in your gut. It felt as though something had gone horribly wrong. The anxiety causes you to lay still in your bed as if something was watching your every breath.

    It was eerily similar to the way you’d cower from your closet at night with the idea planted in your head that monsters were coming to eat you. This was only different in the way that you didn’t know what monster was coming. Not only that, you had no idea what he would do to you.

    You’d call yourself crazy during times like these, but you’d been right when the door to your bedroom opens.

    “I know you’re awake. You always sleep on your back, not your side.”

    It’s quiet and still. There’s tension thickening in the air like gravy on the stove and you briefly wonder if this was another bout of sleep paralysis. You thought you’d been in this position before, someone or something watching you. It had never felt like this, you’d never felt so terrified in your life.

    “Not up for talking, huh? A bit ungrateful considering I helped rid your little ‘home’ of that greasy pig next door.”

    The footsteps grow closer and against all instincts to play dead or even just move away, you sit up and face the man. His red eyes stare down at you, face bony and cracked...he looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Most people you knew were delicate and kind; they looked like regular people. Shigaraki though...you thought that Shigaraki might eat you alive and tear you apart limb by limp. A whimper exits your mouth as you sit paralyzed whilst he simply gets closer and closer.

    His eyes trace the neckline of your sleeping shirt, a scoop neck that showed the smattering of beauty marks adorning your skin. You were so beautiful, he grinned and planted his bottom at the edge of your bed. You shook, the water logged clothes easily soaking through to you and making your heart sink deeper in your chest. You held a confused look, like a deer in headlights or maybe a puppy with twitching ears.

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

    “Why are you apologizing? Aren’t I the one who broke in?”

    Cry for me. You’d look so good and I’d commit it to memory, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

    “You’re such a pushover, how’d you let this happen? Hm?”

     The tears build at your lash line until finally falling in fat droplets down your cheeks. Your hands turn to fists like a child as you rub your eyes, no defenses in place other than to cry like a submissive brat. Your breaths were uneven as you attempted to wipe away tears until a quick hand caught your wrist, pinky lifted.

    “Look at me, when you cry. Gets me off,” he giggles before leaning so close your lips could almost touch, “did you know that? Everytime you sobbed in your pillow, I had a hard time choosing whether or not I should cuddle you or jerk off.”

    A broken wail escapes you as your body finally makes the move to get away, your feet kick in the tangled sheets and you attempt to wrangle your wrist away from him, thrashing and beating on his chest desperately. He almost felt a bit sad, sure, he was a bit mean with the teasing. But...you had to have known that someday someone was going to come for you like this, right?

     It’s easy to intercept your punches, holding both wrists at your head as he leaned over you. His hair framed the two of you, leaving you completely caged in this man. His lithe body scooched up yours, hips resting at yours for a moment.

     “I’m gonna make you mine, well, more like you already are mine. Tomura Shigaraki's little wife. Okay? So you’re gonna come with me to the base without complaints, yeah?”

     A brave scream tore through your mouth as you arched your back, trying for a second escape attempt. His left hand detached from your arm to grab your throat, cries quickly dying out as you thrashed wildly.

     “If my pinky touches this vein right here, you’ll turn into a pile of dirt. If that happens, I’ll move onto someone else. So come on; do you really want to be the cause of someone’s future suffering? Give up, daddy taught you better than to fight.”

“How…?”

     He laughed heartily, your throat clenching under his grip before he loosened to let you get a whoosh of air.

     “Seriously? It’s so obvious you’re a daddy’s girl, take the stupid little gifts, listen to his every command, and wait for the day he decides to acknowledge you. It’s practically...practically predictable! You’re predictable and sad.”

     His words feel like venom as you cry, the lack of oxygen making fuzzy black spots dot your vision. He might kill you in this moment, your lungs squeezed and he finally let go. You sputtered, body confused with it’s sudden freedom as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and snot dripping down past your lips to your chin.

     “You look tired, I’ll take you home okay?”

     You’re dazed, you almost don’t recognize the way he peels back the covers and grazes his hands up your thighs, exposing every inch of skin as if you were a present meant to be savoured.

“I’m a virgin! Please don’t…”

     A look flashes in his eyes as he peers at you from his lashes.

     “Perfect, just makes you even sweeter.”

     You hadn’t thought you could cry more, but every word that came out of his predatory lips made a new wave of heartache resurface, was this really who you were? A weak girl who could let herself be lifted into the arms of a man she didn’t know, fingers digging into the plump flesh of her bottom as she weakly clung on?

      A memory flashes in your mind as you let yourself be taken care of...well no, be kidnapped from your bedroom. It was the one with the high school boys, the way they’d flipped up your skirt and prodded at your weakest, most sensitive places. You’d cried for them to stop, told your father what the sickening boys had done to you. They’d practically defiled you, maybe would have gone so far to take you in that empty classroom had you not kicked one of them square in the shin.

     Your father’s words ring in your ears.

     “Well, you must have done something for that to happen. Don’t wear such short skirts next time.”

     A hand comes to caress the top of your head. Tomura’s, he had you right where he wanted you. Vulnerable and weak to his advances, you were tired too. This was just going to make things easier.

     The rain has slowed to a drizzle, you shivered in his arms and prayed to God for forgiveness as you buried yourself closer to him, the warmth comforting and soothing for your soul. Your bare feet swung limply as he kept you pressed to his front, walking on a seemingly practiced path. He was all over you.

      If he could apologize, Tomura didn’t think he would. He had to be all over you. Consume your soul like the evillest of demons.

      “Cheer up, maybe if you’d been a bit more vigilant, this would have never happened.”

     Your bottom lip trembled, maybe love was not destined for you. After all, you must have been asking for this.

     “And by the way...you know I love you right?”

     You’d heard it a million times before.

#bnha #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #tomura imagine #tomura x y/n #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura

[nomsugayoongi]

Off My Face.

Pairing: Jungkook X OC female (nameless)

Tags: fluff, slight angst, eventual smutty smut, softJK.

Disclaimer: So, I literally created a Tumblr to post this mess. There are already a bunch more parts written which I can post if wanted. Haven't written anything in ages so be nice and forgive my overwhelming JK softness. :p

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Who's that?" She asked, leaning against the wall next to Namjoon. He raised an eyebrow as he scanned the room, clearly confused. "Who?" He replied. "The purple haired dude that just walked in. Over there by the door. Black jacket." She muttered, squinting through the darkness. Namjoon chuckled and looked at her like she was crazy. "What do you mean? It's Jungkook." He said.

She gasped and squinted even harder. "Eh??" She squeaked. "That's not Jungkook. Look at the hair. It's...long, and there's way more tattoos there than Jungkook has and..." Her rebuttal died mid sentence as Mystery Purple Hair moved out of the shadows of the doorway and she saw him clearly. It was indeed Jungkook but he looked...different. She'd only been gone a couple of months but apparently that was all it took for Jungkook to transform himself. He looked...older. He appeared to have shed his "puppy" look and what was stood across the room from her was nothing but man. Hot man. Jungkook scanned the room, stopping to talk briefly to Jin before he caught sight of her. His face broke into its token bunny smile and he said something to Jin who nodded before he made his way across the room. "You're back!" He grinned. She gulped quickly, paying absolutely no attention to the nose dive her stomach was currently doing into her shoes as he approached her. "I'm back" she confirmed, returning his smile. He strode straight over, scooping her up into a bear hug. "How was England? Did you miss us? Are you happy to be back?" Jungkook asked, setting her back on the floor and pulling back. She nodded. "Massively. England was...England. Cold, wet, grey, joyless. But nevermind that, what happened to you? Someone leave you alone with a Sharpie?" She teased, pulling his right arm out by then wrist and turning it over to indicate his new ink. He chuckled. "I like them" he shrugged. She glanced up, catching his big brown eyes then gasped again. A silver bar now pierced his eyebrow. "And you've poked holes in your face. Was nobody watching the maknae while I was away?" She teased. Jungkook rolled his eyes and grinned. "Welcome home" he said, pulling her into another hug. She spent the evening catching up with her boys. Laughing riotously, eating great food, regluing herself to Suga's side and wondering why she ever felt the need to go back to England. If anything, the trip back to her country of origin had done nothing more than cement the fact that there was nothing there for her anymore. Her life was here. Her family was here. Her family was the people all gathered in this house. She felt utterly content and beyond happy to be back. However, there was a niggling little something that was putting a crimp on her perfect homecoming. She could not, for the life of her, pry her mind off Jungkook. And as the evening drew to a close and one by one, the guys started retreating to their rooms, the noise died down and her thoughts got louder. What had happened to him? What had happened to her that she couldn't focus on anything but him. He was just Jungkook. She'd known him years. He was one of her family. He meant the same to her as the others. But her mind was screaming and his name was the only thing it was saying. It was approaching 3am. Suga had passed out hours ago and was fast asleep sprawled along one side.of the corner sofa next to her. The room was in total darkness except for the flicker of light from the TV screen. Namjoon was half asleep on her other side. Hobi, Jin, and Jimin had gone to bed already. V was sat at a table opposite tucking into some Ramen with Jungkook. Both engrossed in their conversation and their noodles, she allowed herself to study him in the flickering light. His hair was considerably longer than when she last saw him and now coloured a deep purple, Contrasting strongly against his flawless skin and framing his face perfectly, then resting just above his shoulders. Her urge to run her fingers though it was making her hands restless and she fidgeted uncomfortably on the sofa. She swallowed hard, her eyes skipping over his features. Pretty brown eyes, newly pierced eyebrow which really suited him, cute nose, sensual, slightly pouty lips that broke into the most disarming smile, strong jawline, slender neck. She tried to swallow past her increasingly dry mouth as she became painfully aware of her heartbeat, thudding more and more erratically the longer she looked at him. She reprimanded herself silently, arguing in

her mind that this was ridiculous. He was Jungkook. It didn't matter that her stomach rolled uncomfortably every time he looked at her. It didn't matter that she wanted to trace every line of the dark ink that snaked his arm with her fingertips. It didn't matter that all she could think about was running her nose slowly along his jawline, inhaling the scent of his skin as she clenched his soft, long hair in her fingers. It didn't matter that there was nothing she wanted more than to disappear in him. Her nose brushing his, close enough to feel his warm breath between them, his lips parted, hers skimming gently along his, hot, heavy breath, the pressure of his soft lips yielding to hers, the taste of his tongue. His hands, strong, firm, sliding slowly down her back, hitching up her shirt to touch skin as he pulled her closer. Her eyes fluttered, her breath caught in her throat, stomach churning. What the hell? It was Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. This couldn't be happening. She snapped back into herself so suddenly she wondered if she'd actually fallen asleep. Her heart was racing. Tae and Jungkook were looking at her when her eyes finally focused on a solid object. "Bad dream?" Tae asked with an amused smile. "Did I fall asleep?" She muttered, genuinely confused. She kept her gaze locked firmly on Tae. She could see Jungkook out of the corner of her eye but was terrified that whatever had just happened to her was written all over her face. "Well you just jumped out of your skin so I figured you had." He replied. Her face was burning. She could practically still feel Jungkook, smell him, taste him. She needed to get out of here. She jumped up, causing Suga whose head had been resting against her knee to flop unceremoniously back onto the sofa, waking him with a start. "HUH? He yelped. "Erm....sorry Shugs" she muttered, ruffling her hair and trying to get her bearings while still carefully avoiding looking at Jungkook at all. "I need to go...pass out" she grumbled, heading straight for the stairs without looking back. She knew that exit was highly suspicious but once into the safety of her room, she didn't care. She leaned against the door, bracing it with her body as though she expected someone to try kick it in. The air was cool and refreshing thanks to the open window and she breathed steadily, trying to return her thumping heart to a regular rhythm. "Oh this is not good!" She whispered. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The following morning came far too quickly after a restless night. She just couldn't settle. Her stomach was in knots. What the hell had happened last night? What was that half awake fantasy business and why was it replaying in her mind like an iMax movie with full surround sound and smell-o-vision. She dreaded leaving the confines of her room for fear of running into him. Just the thought of seeing him made her stomach churn. "This is stupid!" She grumbled to herself, throwing her legs off the bed defiantly. "I will not be a prisoner in this god damn room for nothing. Last night was...a one off. Everything is fine. I will go downstairs, I will see Jungkook and he will just be Jungkook. No weird romance movie slideshow, no flutterings, thoughts or desires of any kind. Just...normal" Even she didn't really believe her whispered self pep talk but she feigned conviction anyway. She slid out of bed, pulled on ripped jeans and a hoodie and approached her bedroom door. With a deep breath, she reached for the handle and practically threw herself out of her room. Her determination was not only building by the second but she was also flooded with a sense of defiance. She jogged down the stairs, ready for the day ahead. Looking forward to hanging out with the boys and having a lazy day. She could hear the faint murmer of chatter as she approached the kitchen. Hobi was up for sure and maybe Namjoon. She strode into the kitchen with a bright smile. "Morning guys!" She was greeted with a chorus of responses and scanned the room. Hobi making coffee. Namjoon leaning on the

counter. Suga slumped at the kitchen table. Jimin and Tae chatting as they poured orange juice. No Jungkook. She ignored the wave of relief and made a beeline for Suga, ruffling his hair as he grumbled sleepily against the table top. "Morning Shugs" she grinned. Namjoon was looking at her quizically. "You seem...better today" he mused. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him as she squeezed passed Hobi for the coffee pot. "Better?" He nodded with a look of amusement. "You were...weird yesterday. Not yourself. You seemed...distracted." he said. She shrugged and shook her head. "Jetlag probably. I felt kind of out of it to be honest. Just needed to be home and sleep" she replied, nonchalantly. Namjoon wasn't buying it at all and she could tell by the look on his face but he nodded as though he accepted her reasoning. She stayed in the kitchen with the guys, filling them in on her trip back to England and what had happened during the 3 months away. She got so caught up in it that she didn't think about Jungkook at all. That was, until he came down. She was halfway through her bowl of cereal when he padded into the kitchen. Barefoot in black shorts and an oversized white t shirt showing off his tattoos. His long hair deliciously tousled. He was still sleepy eyed but he looked warm and...inviting. She dropped her spoon, clattering loudly against the table making everyone turn and look at her. "Whoops. Butter fingers" she mumbled sheepisly. Everyone carried on with what they were doing apart from Namjoon who was looking from her to Jungkook with a smirk. "Jetlag come back?" He teased. She could feel the heat rising to her face and hoped to every deity under the sun that she wasn't blushing. "Never dropped anything before?" She questioned. He shrugged and chuckled playfully. His gaze was casual but she felt like he could see every thought in her head. She pushed her half eaten cereal bowl away from her and leaned back in her chair. She was trying to look casual but had an inkling that she was failing miserably. Suddenly Jungkook was right behind her, leaning over the back of her chair to reach for her unfinished cereal. His hair tickled the side of her face and the faint fruity smell she associated with him flooded over her. Her breath caught sharply. Her heart kicking into double time. It lasted literally seconds but it seemed like an age before he straightened up with his stolen breakfast. He flashed her a bunny smile and wandered over to the fridge to grab milk. She realised she'd been holding her breath the entire time and let out a quiet huff. Namjoon's smirk had turned into a full blown grin. Flustered, she stood from the table and exited the kitchen. Maybe she'd find some solace in the lounge. She flopped wearily onto the sofa, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. Damn. It didn't make any sense. How in the hell had Jungkook turned from bunny to honey overnight. A few more tattoos, an eyebrow piercing and slightly longer hair didn't change him that dramatically. He was still the exact same Jungkook she'd known for years. But...he wasn't. He was hot. Like...painfully, sinfully, stomach clenchingly hot. Had he always been this hot and she'd just not noticed? She knew he was attractive in the general sense. She worked for BTS. She saw the effect he had on women every day of her life. But... she'd never been one of them. He was just...adorable, sweet, regular Jungkook. Now one trip to England had turned the world on its head and there was nothing regular about him. She groaned with annoyance, closing her eyes. She was going to be objective about this if it killed her. She'd always been close to all the guys. Each one had a different facet to their personality that made them so very dear to her. Yoongi was a part of her. She loved him completely. Namjoon was her confidante. She could talk about anything with him and absolutely trust that he'd never give her anything back but honesty and understanding. Jimin was her sunshine. He could brighten the darkest of days with no effort. Tae was her sweetheart. One of the most

genuine, lovely people she'd ever known. Hobi and Jin made her laugh until she couldn't breathe on days when laughter seemed a million miles away. And Jungkook was a bunny. Sweet, playful, easy going, her gaming buddy. They were all integral to her. But NEVER in a romantic sense. It seemed almost laughable to her to put romance and any one of them in the same place. It just wasn't that thing. Ever. They were family. More than simple, fleeting romance. They were her ride or die. None of the others had changed a bit. She still loved them completely. She'd still die for any one of them. But now Jungkook wasn't so much tiptoeing as stomping in huge obnoxious boots into a whole new territory for her. Him and romance seemed intrinsically linked. They went together like water and ...more water. She couldn't even look at him without her mind throwing up a million different scenarios, none of which were located even remotely near the friend zone. She pictured him as he was when he walked into the kitchen. Objectively, that was just early morning after not a lot of sleep Jungkook. Not like she hadn't seen him like that a thousand times before. But this morning he was different. Sleepy, disheveled, soft and warm, relaxed, comforting and so so sexy. Jungkook and sexy were not two words that went together. Now she couldn't separate the two if her life depended on it. God, he was sexy. Like, lose all thought, toe curling, scream into a pillow sexy. Her mind raced, presenting her with thoughts to only fuel the fire. Him laid in bed, languid and comfortable, snuggling into him, feeling his body heat, legs entwined, burying her face into the back of his neck, smelling his hair as he grumbles happily, rolling towards her with a sleepy smile, his eyes still closed, skimming his fingertips up her arm until they stop on her neck, his thumb slowly stroking along her jaw, his lips meet hers in a lazy kiss, still halfway between sleep and waking, sweet to begin with, gentle, his lips brushing softly as he's pulled from his sleep, then teasing as he realises what's going on, his lips part, his tongue tickling her lips, asking for entry which is happily granted. His hand moves from her neck back down her arm until he finds her hand. Their fingers entwine as he rolls her onto her back and straddles her, lifting her hands to pin them either side of her head. He's more forceful now, tongues brushing together, his kiss deep and heady. A soft moan of contentment rumbles in his throat. He breaks the kiss, her eyes flutter open to see him on top of her, hair falling into his eyes as he scrunches his nose up in a wide smile. "Good morning" he whispers. "Everything ok?" A voice broke her from her daydream and her eyes snapped open. Namjoon was stood in the doorway of the lounge with the same grin he'd been sporting when she'd left the kitchen. "Peachy. Why?" She responded with a tight smile. "You're being weird again. If I didn't know better I'd think you and Jungkook hooked up" he shrugged. "WHAT?" she squeeked. Her attempt at casual fell completely flat. She sounded more like she'd just been stung by a bee. Namjoon laughed heartily. "Something's going on. What it is?" He questioned. She considered brushing it off but this was Namjoon. He could read her like a children's book. She swallowed hard, suddenly needing to say everything in her head out loud to a human person. Maybe that would make her realise how dumb it was and restore her sanity. She sighed heavily and noticing the expression on her face, Namjoons grin faded into a look of concern. "Can we talk?" She muttered. He frowned, nodding. "Of course. What is it?" He asked. She looked around and ran her fingers though her hair. "Not here. Outside?"

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jjk #bts namjoon #bts fanfic #bts #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts ot7

[writethelifeyouwant]

Nothing On But The Radio

Pairing: Jared x Jensen  Rating: 18+ Tags: SAXX, clothing kink, dirty talk, degradation, blowjob, anal fingering, object insertion (DO NOT try this at home - not safe), anal sex Word Count: 2.7k  Created for: @spnkinkbingo - SAXX | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Dirty Talk Prompt: @downanddirtydean 's 500 follower celebration challenge: “The internet is more than just naked people. You do know that?” - Congrats on the milestone babe! 

“The internet is more than just naked people. You do know that – right?”

Jared jumps in his chair as Jensen comes up behind him on set. He had been scrolling through the SAXX website to stock up on a few necessities, which isn’t necessarily embarrassing, but still not something you want people looking over your shoulder while you’re doing. “They’re not naked, Jensen,” Jared scoffs, going back to adding more pieces to his cart. “And stop stealing my lines,” he adds as an afterthought when he realises that Jensen was quoting Sam to him.

“Okay, mostly naked,” Jensen laughs and leans over the back of Jared’s chair, their heads almost touching, but not quite.

“Dude, do you mind?” Jared chuckles and tries to put some space between him and his co-star.

“Yeah, I mind. Lemme see,” Jensen grabs for the phone and starts scrolling through Jared’s cart. “I want to pick something out.”

“Why? So you can steal them for yourself?” Jared grins.

“No, so I can tear them in half before I fuck you in them,” Jensen whisper-growls into Jared’s ear so no one else can hear him. Jared goes bright red, checking no one is near enough to overhear them. “What, you embarrassed baby boy? Don’t want everyone around here knowing a big, strong guy like you lets himself get fucked in the ass every night?” Jared is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. “Don’t want them to know what a little whore you turn into the second I get you alone and on your knees?”

“Jesus, Jen, fuck,” Jared gulps and steadies himself, trying to get a handle on the erection that is starting to push a little too insistently against his zip. “Shove the dirty talk, will ya? We’ve got a whole other scene to film before they let us outta here.”

“So is that a yes to buying whatever I pick out?” Jensen smirks.

“Yes, fine,” Jared concedes and sinks back in his folding chair. “Just nothing pink, yeah?”

“Oh, I am one hundred percent buying you the pink ones now,” Jensen grins and Jared drops his head into his hands. Why is his boyfriend such a doofus?

Their little exchange is all but forgotten until Jared drops by his trailer and sees Jensen waiting on the steps for him, brown cardboard box in hand.

“Terri dropped off a package for you,” Jensen waves the box around in case it hadn’t been obvious to Jared what he meant. “I told her I’d be sure to give it to you,” he grins. Jared’s heart skips, knowing exactly what is in that box. Well – not exactly what is in the box. He knows everything he added to his cart before Jensen got hold of his phone, but Jen hit ‘purchase’ before he passed it back, and deleted the receipt, so there was no way for Jared to figure out what Jensen had ordered.

“Why do I feel like there’s a decent chance you’ve hidden a bomb in here,” Jared asks as he gingerly takes the package from Jensen and pushes into his trailer.

“Because you’re weird,” Jen laughs, staying on the pavement. “They need me for blocking checks but we’re done in time for dinner if you’re free?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Jared nods.

“And, Jar–” Jared turns back around at Jensen’s call. “I count on seeing you in those tonight.”

“Which ones?” Jared calls back, a feeble attempt at a joke.

“Oh, you’ll know which ones,” Jensen laughs, and Jared can feel the hunger in it. He gives Jared a perfunctory salute and makes his way back to the soundstage, leaving Jared with his new package.

As soon as the trailer door is shut, Jared tears into the box. The relief he feels upon not seeing any pink is immediate, but it’s closely followed by suspicion about what Jensen actually did buy him. He quickly skims through the items and finds the culprit – a pair of black briefs that are really testing the limit of the definition of ‘briefs’. Jared is positive that these will barely cover any part of his body, and when he tries them on a few minutes later, his suspicions are confirmed. He looks like a hooker in a g-string. Almost certain that he is going to regret this later, Jared pulls his jeans back on over the new underwear and gets redressed.

When Jared and Jensen stumble back into their shared apartment later that night, very much worse for wear courtesy of the new whiskey bar downtown that Misha recommended to them, Jared had mostly forgotten that he’s wearing ridiculously skimpy underwear. Jensen, on the other hand, hasn’t been able to get the image of Jared in the tight black briefs he’d bought him out of his head – and now he wants to see if the real thing measures up to his imagination.

“Right, J-rod,” Jensen claps once to get Jared’s attention and points to their bedroom, “bedroom, strip, now.”

“Romantic Jay,” Jared grins dopily but does as he’s told.

“Trust me, ain’t nothing romantic about what I’m planning on doing to that ass of yours,” Jensen laughs and follows Jared, catching the recently-shed flannel Jared flings down the hallway at him.

“Bettin’ on it,” Jared smiles, stripping out of his t-shirt in the doorway to their room and dropping it to his feet. Jensen can see the waistband of Jared’s underwear peeking above his jeans, the little ‘SAXX’ right in the centre of the deliciously cut vee of Jared’s hips. Jensen wants nothing more than to run his tongue along the line straight to Jared’s cock – and then he realises there’s nothing stopping him, so he drops to his knees in front of his boyfriend and does just that. He drags his tongue across Jared’s skin, smiling when he hears his intake of breath, and moves lower and lower until he reaches the ‘SAXX’ label and sucks it into his mouth. Jared jumps when Jensen lets it go and the elastic snaps back against his stomach. “Jerk,” he whines.

“Shuddup ‘Sam’,” the intonation is heavy in Jensen’s words and he drops into his ‘Dean’ voice, grinning as he undoes the button and zip on Jared’s jeans, tugging them down harshly and leaving him bare except for the skimpy underwear. “Unless you want me to make you my bitch tonight?” Jensen uses his Dean voice again as he leans into mouth against the erection straining in Jared’s briefs, the black cotton bulging so much Jensen’s surprised Jared actually fit himself inside them in the first place – now he was hard they barely cover anything.

Jared moans at the feeling of Jensen’s mouth against his cock. Something about getting sucked off through fabric always hits a bit differently than just having someone’s mouth on your dick, and right now, with Jensen suckling intently on the tip of his dick through his briefs, this is hitting exactly the right spot for Jared. “Fuck,” he whimpers, threading his fingers through Jensen’s hair, “Jen, you know if you want me to be your bitch, all ya gotta do is ask,” Jared pants, looking down to meet Jensen’s eyes, which are smirking up at him from where he still has his lips wrapped around Jared’s dick.

Jensen pulls off of Jared with a grin and gets to his feet. “Yeah I know, baby boy,” he coos and pulls Jared in for a heated kiss, tongue pushing its way between Jared’s lips, hot and wet. “Now, be a good little bitch and go get yourself ready for me, yeah?” Jensen smirks as he watches Jared nod and trip over his own feet in an effort to get to the bed quickly. He gets the lube out from the nightstand and goes to take off his underwear but Jensen hurries over to stop him. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. Keep those on for me,” Jensen orders with his hand clenched around Jared’s wrist.

“Sure,” Jared gulps, wide eyed, and moves his now slick fingers behind him and sneaks his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs to find his entrance. Jensen watches Jared hungrily as he fingers himself open, undressing all the while; plaid, then t-shirt, then jeans, then boxers – all one by one dropping to the floor. Jared moans when Jensen starts to stroke his own cock, admiring the drop of precum that’s already spilling over the dark pink tip. “C-can I?” Jared stutters, eyes locked on Jensen’s fingers moving slowly up and down himself.

“Yeah, c’mere baby,” Jensen kneels on the bed and shuffles closer so Jared can reach him with his mouth. The second he’s near enough, Jared sucks Jensen between his lips, running his tongue along the underside all the way to the hilt, until his nose is pressed snuggly against Jensen’s hip. “Fuck, forgot how much of a cockslut you are when you’re drunk,” Jensen chuckles deeply, combing Jared’s hair back off his forehead so he can watch him start to move up and down on his dick. “That’s it baby. Shit, your mouth feels so good,” he groans, closing his eyes and bucking his hips into Jared’s eager throat. “Such a good little slut letting me fuck your mouth while you finger that ass open for me. Got you wrapped around my little finger don’t I, bitch?” Jared moans around the cock in his mouth but Jensen doesn’t let up enough for him to get a proper answer out. “Yeah, thought so,” he scoffs.

Jared hums and moans around Jensen’s cock as he continues to finger himself. He’s definitely stretched and slick enough now, but he loves the feeling of Jensen using him like this, so he’s not gonna stop until Jensen tells him that’s what he wants him to do. After a few more minutes of Jensen fucking his throat, Jared feels him start to tense and jerk, and he knows Jen is close.

“Stop, stop, fuck baby,” Jensen groans, pulling Jared off his cock by his hair, and drawing a whine from the younger man. “Don’t want me to cum before I get the chance to fuck that ass, do you?” Jared shakes his head weakly, still pushing his fingers lazily in and out of his hole. He whimpers when he pulls his fingers out, and Jensen smirks down at him as he tries to once again take off the pair of SAXX. Jensen catches Jared’s wrists and holds them behind his back, pushing him onto his stomach. “I didn’t say you could take those off,” he growls against Jared’s ear, nipping at the skin and pulling another whimper out of him. Jensen sits up, keeping Jared’s wrists pinned in one of his hands while he reaches for the lube with the other to slick up his cock. “Your ass looks so good in these baby, look like such a little tease.” He lands a harsh slap against Jared’s backside, making Jared jump and cry out. “Imagine if all those fans saw more than just the label peeking out over your jeans, saw what a big man whore you look like with nothing but these on.”

“Jen, please,” Jared groans, humping against the bed to try to get some kind of friction or relief. “You want me to beg, I’ll beg, please for the love of God, put your cock inside me.” Jensen just laughs and spanks Jared again, even harder this time. “C’mon Jen, please, need you,” Jared pants, looking over his shoulder to catch Jensen’s eye. The desperation on his face is clear as he moans – “Need something inside me, please Jay.”

“You need something inside you baby boy?” Jensen sympathises, relinquishing his grip on Jared’s wrists, but the look of mischief in Jensen’s eyes makes Jared nervous.

“Yes, fuck, please,” Jared begs again.

“We can fix that,” Jensen smirks, reaching forward to grip just under the waistband of Jared’s briefs and wrenching the seam apart, the underwear ripping easily under Jensen’s violent influence. Pieces of the briefs come away in Jensen’s hand and he grins, getting an idea. Eyeing the shine of Jared’s hole, Jensen gathers some of the lube leaking out and smears it over the cotton, which is already damp with lube and Jared’s precum where his cock had been leaking. Bunching up the sopping cloth, Jensen pushes a finger into Jared to check he was still adequately open, then he shoves the torn material inside.

Jared chokes on his moans in surprise at what he’s feeling. The ball of cotton is pressing just against his prostate and it’s a very weird sensation but he can’t deny it feels good. “Fuck Jen,” he groans, pushing off his stomach and onto his hands and knees. Jensen lets out his own groan when he sees Jared’s hole winking up at him, showing him glimpses of the black cotton he’d just shoved inside him. He ruts his cock along the seam of Jared’s ass, catching the tip on the edge of his hole and dragging groans from both men. Jensen can’t hold himself back anymore, and he finally pushes himself into Jared, moving agonisingly slowly to tease the younger man as much as possible.

“You dick,” Jared pants, dropping his head to rest against his arms and pushing his hips back into Jensen’s cock, forcing him the rest of the way inside.

“Someone’s eager,” Jensen tries to keep his tone light, but now that he’s inside Jared, who keeps clenching his ass around his cock in an effort to get him to do something, he’s lost the majority of his composure.

“Just fucking fuck me already,” Jared hisses, bucking his hips back again. Jensen is tempted to make Jared wait, and beg for it – tease him until he’s crying in desperation – but he knows even he won’t last that long. As he draws out and snaps his hips back in, the tip of his cock brushes against the cotton he’s shoved into Jared and the sensation is electrifying. The little bit of slick friction just on the tip of his cock every time he fucks into Jared is so fucking good, he can’t get enough, and his pace turns frantic quickly. “Fucking hell, fuck yes,” Jared moans beneath him, spurring him on even more. “You fuck me so fucking good baby, shit, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’–” Jared’s words trail off into unintelligible whimpers as Jensen pounds into him mercilessly.

“Yeah, fucking love how good you take it baby. Gonna cum on my cock like a good little whore? My good little bitch, huh?” Jensen grits out breathlessly, draping himself over Jared’s back and angling his hips so he knows he’s dragging his cock over Jared’s sweet spot with every push in.

“Fuck, please, please,” Jared whimpers, turning his face to Jensen’s and clumsily trying to press their lips together. “I– I’m.. fuck,” Jared keens and Jensen growls his approval against his ear.

“C’mon, cum for me baby boy, wanna feel you cum,” Jensen snarls and he feels Jared let go, his hole spasming around Jensen’s cock as he empties himself in long white ropes onto the bed beneath them. Feeling Jared lose control is all that Jensen needs to go over the edge himself. He finally lets himself cum, grunting as he slams his hips into Jared one last time and stills, the tip of his cock pressed against the ball of black cotton still nestled inside Jared, now covered in Jensen’s cum. That thought brings a satisfied smirk to Jensen’s lips.

When their breathing has settled, Jensen carefully pulls out of Jared and rolls off of him, collapsing on the bed. Jared drops on top of him, nestling into Jensen’s chest and giving him a small kiss.

“That was really hot Jen,” Jared smiles drunkenly – though whether he’s drunk on whiskey or his orgasm, Jensen can’t tell.

“Just like you, baby boy,” Jensen says softly, kissing the top of Jared’s head.

“But,” Jared says shiftily, glancing up at Jensen.

“But?” Jen prompts, defensively.

“How am I supposed to get this fucking underwear out of my ass?”

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#downanddirtydeans500followerscelebration #spnkinkbingo #anyfandomgoesbingo #afgbingo #J2 Fic #jared x jensen #j2 smut

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Zeus´s Zeal

“To your right you can see the ruins of the fabled temple of Zeus, the once deity patron of the city. A statue in his honor was considered a world wonder in the ancient world. Now if you follow me…”

The enthusiastic tour guide waved her little red flag to gather the group of students listening to her. It was a particularly windy summer day when Markie Laur and some of his college classmates were taken on a tour through Greek archeological sites. This excursion was one of the only excuses’ students found in order to participate in this lecture. Markie himself had little to do in a Greek and Roman mythology course, being an engineering major. His two best friends convinced him to join the course so they could do a tour around Europe together. Besides, the free credits were always welcome.

The excursion moved sluggishly through the different ruins in the archeological site. Some students were very interested in the information and keen in on learning more. They engaged in discussion and conversation with the tour guide and their professor. Markie and his friends were none of them. They hung out in the back of the tour. Robert was showing Jordan different bars in Amsterdam on his phone, both plotting enthusiastically how many drugs they would be able to take and how many European girls were they going to take back to their hotel room once they were there. Markie just hung out on the back watching the sites in peace. Although the three 21 year old college students shared the same nerdy nature, Markie was the shyest of the three. He didn´t share the other two´s deliriums of grandeur, nor sexual preference for the matter. His insecure nature made him unsure to come out to the supposedly closest friends he had in college. He was friends with Robert and Jordan out of survival instinct more than true friendship.

Markie and Robert landed in the same dorm room on their freshman year. Jordan was Robert´s hometown neighbor that had the luck of landing in the same college as his best friend. Both were boastful economy majors who tried and failed constantly in on inserting themselves amongst the more popular social circles. Markie was more down to earth than the other two, completely conscious that the combination of his cherub face, short unathletic body and shy personality automatically put him on the bottom layer of the Darwinist ladder that was college life. Robert saw the physical similarities of his roommate as a reason to adopt him into their duo, and so the three of them started hanging out together, playing videogames, making complex plans to get into some fraternity parties and talking about their crushes. Markie just went along with it. Drug use, even though mild was where he drew the line, completely paranoid that he was going to get expelled if caught.

Now the three of them were finishing their sophomore year with cero conquests under their belts, so their trip to Europe was the only hope of Robert and Jordan to get some of the validation they had been craving.

The sun started setting down as the tour started heading towards the information center to compare notes and conclude the visit. The day had gotten increasingly stormy, with dark clouds gathering on the sky and blocking the sunset light. Markie was still on the far back of the group, his gaze scanning the surrounding ruins. He started wondering why the site was so empty, with none other than the little group ahead of him on sight.

“Maybe there´s bad weather coming.”

He thought as a chill crossed his spine. He stopped to take his sweater out of his backpack, completely missing that everyone, including his friends continued advancing down the road until he was left completely alone. Markie put on his oversized college sweatshirt, his body practically drowning in the garment. He looked around searching for his friends, but there was no one on sight. An ominous wind started blowing, moving the grass with an eerie rhythm. The trees rustled next to him, and the faint sound of thunder resonated in the distance.

“Guys? Rob?”

His anxiety started acting out, as he nervously wandered on the dirt road looking for his friends. The path started to disappear slowly, leaving tall luscious grass behind. An unseen force was guiding Markie through the glade. His mind was racing, already making up hundreds of scenarios where he got lost and was never able to return home. He just felt he needed to move forward, and so he did. The breeze around him kept getting stronger, with little droplets of rain being blown straight into his face.

Suddenly Markie found himself right in the middle of the ruins of the temple of Zeus. He recognized them from the tour, being the only part that really caught his attention for some reason. The sound of thunder kept getting stronger, as the air current suddenly started to form a whirlwind around him. The rain had gotten stronger, pouring down furiously and completely drenching him.

Markie started having a panic attack, his breathing getting to the point of hyperventilation. He suddenly felt an incredible pressure on top of him. He looked up to one of the columns and saw a gigantic golden eagle perched on top of it. A bright lightning bolt completely blinded his eyesight for an instant, and when he looked up once again, he was confronted with a vision of the most perfect man he had ever seen.

His gargantuan chest was framed by two sets of enormous shoulders, which were connected to two arms so muscular they must have been around the same girth as Markie´s waist. Powerful legs supported the massive body of the gorgeous man, whose height made him seem double the body size of the little 5��6 college student. The luscious curls of his golden beard fell right in the middle of his chest, as his gorgeous mane of equally beautiful hair framed a face that looked near aesthetic perfection. Features that exuded masculinity, but still kept a supernatural beauty that was only present in the sculptures of antiquity. The man was wearing a white robe tied only on top of one of his shoulders, with big golden bracelets on each of his wrists. The man emitted a light glow from his body, like his whole silhouette was encased in a halo.

“Who—o a—are you? Did I die?”

Asked Markie nervously. His gaze couldn’t find anything else other than the godly fantasy in front of him.

“Silence boy. I´m going to grant you a gift. A gift all mortals would kill for.”

“A gift? Please don´t hurt me. I´m really sorry if I trespassed, I can´t find….”

“I said quiet!”

The man roared with fury. Markie managed to get out a panicked yelp as thunder stroke the ground all around him.

“You really remind me of him. Come and find me when you´re ready. All your questions will be answered. Enjoy it boy, for it will come with a price.”

The man pointed his finger at him. Suddenly Markie felt a jolt of electricity course all across his body. He was afraid he was going to be fried by the stud in front of him. Lighting fell again very close to the man, completely blinding Markie again. When he looked up the storm was gone, and so was the man. He briefly thought he imagined everything, until he felt his soaking wet clothes. He could also still feel the light static effect he felt when the stranger raised his finder towards him. He wondered if his friends had pranked him by sneaking in some hallucinogen into his water bottle when the annoyed voice of his professor grounded him back on reality.

“Mr. Laur, may I remind you that profanation of ancient heritage sites is strictly punished by the law? Come back here this instant. The bus is waiting for us.”

Markie rushed out of the ruins to join his classmates on the bus back into town. He briefly looked back at Zeus´s temple one last time, and thought he saw a big bird fly fast into the sky.

 “Whoa man did you jump into the fountain or something?”

Asked Robert when he saw his roommate entering the bus soaking wet.

“Very funny Rob. It was the rain.”

Answered Markie unenthusiastically as he took the seat behind Robert and Jordan.

“What rain dude, its as dry as Angela´s pussy over there.”

Whispered Jordan giggling whilst nodding in the direction of one of their most conservative classmates. Markie didn´t even reply to his friend´s crude comment, as the bus slowly departed the site towards the hotel. Olympia wasn´t a big city, but his classmates had already made plans in meeting in the small bar next to the hotel to talk about the trip so far and have some drinks. Robert and Jordan kept snorting and laughing from time to time watching some random insta-girl´s page.

“What a pair of losers.”

Thought Markie to himself as he pondered on his friends’ blatant misogyny. He kept staring out the window into the dark void in front of him. His smooth boyish face greeted him back on the black window. He took a moment to really look at himself. Other than the childish rounded cheeks and soft features, he wasn´t so ugly. His dark brown eyes gave him a friendly look, and his teeth were straight and white. He could look much cuter if he put some effort into it. Stop shaving his dark brown hair with an electric razor, paid an actual hairstylist to get him on of those popular haircuts every guy on the internet had and get some actual sunlight in order to improve the corpse looking hue on his skin would get him far. He could finally stop hanging out with those guys.

The sudden confidence rush went away as fast as it came, leaving Markie languishing in self doubt once again.

“Who am I kidding? I´ll never have the confidence to be on my own.”

Crippling social anxiety and low self esteem were the true shackles tying him to a lonely existence, not the way he looked. Confidence could completely change someone´s image of themselves, making him attractive to himself and by inertia to others as well.

The sudden epiphany caused a golden spark to light in on Markie´s eyes, just an instant so he could see it, but not slow enough so he could know if it was real or a product of his imagination. The static feeling was slowly turning into a constant tingling spreading all across his body. A droplet of sweat travelled down his temple as he felt his body heat slowly rising. He took away his sweatshirt only to find his equally wet t-shirt clinging to his thin body, but showing a tiny strip of skin belonging to his lower belly. If it were dry Markie would´ve also noticed a certain tightness on the kid sized garment, his torso gaining an almost imperceptible amount of mass. He still felt as if he was being asphyxiated by his own clothes. His temperature was rising so high that he could almost feel a humidity cloud form all around him coming from his wet clothes.

“Markie! Man you´re really off today.”

Markie was so busy fighting his need to rip his t-shirt off so hard he barely noticed the curious eyes of both of his friends staring at him.

“We need to get you some new clothes. You have to look your best if we´re gonna go hunting man!”

Said Robert enthusiastically as he high fived Jordan. Markie just answered with a nervous laugh as he kept trying not to cause a scene in a moving vehicle.

After what felt like an eternity the bus arrived at the hotel. Markie practically jumped out of his seat and rushed towards the exit. He could also feel his jeans ending a bit above his ankles, and his shoes constricting his feet. The first thing he thought was that the water had shrunken his clothes, but after feeling the sensation spread along the static tingling, he suspected this could be related to that fever dream he had in the ruins.

The professor gathered everyone right outside the bus to plan the rest of the evening. Markie stood there impatiently among his fellow classmates feeling increasing discomfort. The tingling turned to numbness, making him lose sensation on his hands and feet. The only thing he wanted was to get back to his room so he could wash himself and get into fresh clothes. His usual nervous expression started turning into an angry sneer, as his impatience grew along with his discomfort. As soon as the professor dismissed them, Markie rushed straight through the small hotel doors directly to the room he shared with his two friends. He got into the bathroom slamming the door behind him.

He was sweating profusely and his body heat started rising so high an actual steam cloud started forming around him. The numbness in his limbs had turn into an excruciating pain, as cramps travelled all across his body tensing the little muscle mas he had. He felt like he was being electrocuted. He looked into the mirror and was greeted by a bizarre image of himself wearing a little kid´s clothes. The t-shirt looked more like a crop top now, the little sleeves were being strained by two longer arms. His pants were riding halfway up his calves. He managed to kick out the shoes that were also clearly a few sizes too small for his grown feet. Markie did his best not to scream in pain due to the sensations assaulting his body.

The small lightbulb illuminating the bathroom started flickering and a small air current started forming around Markie. A sharp pain in his stomach made him turn to the toilet and throw up the little food he had ingested during the day. Shivers crossed his body as the cramps got stronger. He could see the ligaments in his hands contracting and moving on their own because of the strong muscle spasms. He turned his face back into the bowl and retched loudly clasping his stomach, tears of effort running down his cheeks.

“Markie? Are you alright in there?”

Asked Robert knocking on the bathroom door. He was so distracted by the sensations assaulting his body that he completely missed his friends enter the hotel room. He responded with a quiet “yeah” and made a conscious effort in making it sound as calm as possible. The last thing he wanted was those guys seeing him in his current state.

“I´ll be out in a minute.”

Said Markie as he managed to pull himself back on his feet. The wind in the bathroom had gotten stronger, and Markie could swear he could hear the faint sound of thunder inside the room. He grabbed the edge of the sink and looked into the mirror. His face was completely red, and his hair was dripping sweat as if a cloud was pouring rain on top of him. He looked at himself straight in the eyes, and then it happened. A golden color started to seep out of his pupils, changing the brown hue of his iris. It looked like molten gold was being directly injected into his eyes. Once the new color took completely over, the lightbulb started shining so bright it completely burst after a few seconds. Markie heard the glass shards fall on the ground, and the room was left in complete darkness. The only source of light were his iridescent golden eyes.

He tried to move to the side, but he accidentally stepped on a few glass pieces and slipped on the wet floor. He howled in pain and steadied himself with the bathroom sink. He also didn’t realize his hand moved way too close to the electrical outlets next to the mirror. A faint crackling sound could be heard, and white sparks started jumping out of the outlet.  Suddenly, a lightning bolt shot straight out of the outlet directly into Markie´s hand. He tried to scream, but not a single noise came out of his mouth. The wind started flowing stronger, forming a vortex with the college student straight in the center. Another lightning bolt coming from an electrical outlet on top of the floor flew straight heading for his other hand. Both currents formed two chain lightning shackles that tied the boy in the center of the room.

Markie felt vertigo, as his growth spurt continued on an accelerated pace, putting him over a foot from his original height. His feet grew proportionally to help him stabilize his now towering stature, the skin on his soles hardening and expelling the glass shards he slipped on earlier. The electric shackles started spreading lighting bolts up his arms and into his torso, completely burning the remains of the already ripped small t-shirt. He felt an excruciating pain while his bone structure changed. His clavicle extended, pushing both of his shoulders further to the sides. His ribcage also expanded together with his waist. The remains of his pants started digging painfully into the skin of his hips. Once the bones finished their transformation, the pain started to subside.

Markie stood in the middle of the room completely disoriented. His new height made everything take on different dimensions and the irregular sparks and lightning bolts were illuminating the bathroom in all kinds of bizarre ways. Not to mention the wind throwing all kinds of hygiene supplies all around. His gaze found his reflection in the mirror. He looked like an underfed giant of a man. It was like the little muscle mass he had was distributed evenly across his new size, leaving him practically just bones and skin. He watched the flashy shackles fascinated, as sparks jumped and squirmed in the air before fading into blackness.

Suddenly, he felt the strong static feeling on his wrists, as lightning bolts dug under his skin and spread through his body. He could feel the electrical current inside of him, the pain of the intense cramps returning in major scale. Electricity was contracting every muscle fiber, breaking and healing them very rapidly. New muscle nuclei started forming as well in order to endure the work the chain lightning was putting them through. Markie´s hands were the first to grow. Delicate long fingers filled with strong muscle, as his palms expanded and hardened. Callouses formed to protect them from the heavy labor they were now designed to do. They looked comically large, comparable to big baseball mitts on a small child. The transformation immediately shot right up his forearms, expanding them to incredible size that would put Popeye out of work without question. Strong sinews connected his powerful hands to his elbows, giving them a vice like strength too atop of their intimidating look. His upper arms picked up on the growth too, biceps inflating to the size of a cantaloupe and triceps completely defying gravity jutting so far out the back of his arms it looked like someone had welded big horseshoes on his already enormous arms. The shoulders expanded next, gaining epic proportions comparable to a pumpkin on top of each arm. Markie gritted his teeth in pain as he caught a glimpse of what has happening to him. He looked like a doll that had gotten the arms of a He-Man toy accidentally glued on his lanky torso.

A strong spasm in his chest caused him to fall forwards, the shackles on his arms preventing him from touching the ground. He was scared for a second, he was having a heart attack, as each pectoral muscle twitched and pulsed manipulated by the electric current. His chest started inflating rapidly in all directions, rising high on the top reaching for his chin, and squaring off in the bottom, leaving a big shelf hanging from the distressed student´s upper body. The electric bolts reached for his nipples, hardening them and expanding them until the former tack sized miniatures grew to a more manly dollar coin size.

Markie could feel the electricity running all across his spine, engorging his back so support such a top-heavy body. His traps developed in the upper part, reaching for his ears, and his lats expanded to the sides pushing the gargantuan arms to the sides on a permanent forty-degree angle. His lower back developed strongly to support the heavy muscle on the top. Then he felt as if someone was punching him straight on his stomach, as each individual abdominal muscle popped from his midsection, carving a deep valley in the center of his body, and leaving him with a truly enviable small waist that made the proportions on the upper body look more freakish.

The cramps then travelled down his waist, focusing on his practically non-existent glutes, contracting and twisting them. His ass started to slowly inflate into two pairs of gravity defying boulders, completely ripping the rest of his pants and leaving Markie with his tight white briefs, which looked more like a thong being swallowed by the two monstrous muscles. His manhood was left completely ignored by the electrical current, leaving him practically flat on the front. Each quadricep spasmed and developed deep cut muscle, growing to gigantic proportions in order to move this behemoth of a body around. Calves inflated next leaving him with two powerful football looking muscles ready to propel Markie in whichever direction he wanted. His feet were the last part of his body to change, filling with powerful strength to support the now card-carrying bodybuilder.

As soon as the last part of his body concluded growing, the electrical shackles were absorbed into Markie´s body. He started to emit a faint glow, dimly illuminating the bathroom. His pale skin took on a golden hue. He looked into the mirror once again and he saw his face with two glowing eyes on top of a body that wasn’t his. The miniature storm inside the room also subsided, leaving him quietly staring into the mirror.

“Is that really me?”

Asked Markie to himself whilst touching his powerful chest. He accidentally brushed one of his nipples with his hand, and it caused a small electrical current to travel across his chest. Only this time it wasn´t pain what he felt, but pleasure. Markie had a very prude attitude, barely exploring sex by himself, let alone with somebody else. But this sensation sparked something else in him. An instinct buried so deeply within insecurities, that it had remained imperceptible to him. But something inside his was pushing him to do it again, to finally unleash the real him.

“I can´t believe it. This can´t be real.”

Markie raised an arm and flexed. Powerful muscle twitched and pumped inside of him, his bicep raising higher and higher. He chuckled slightly. A quiet laugh that increased in intensity, as Markie explored and felt every new part of his anatomy. He then took his other nipple between his fingers and pinched it slightly. An even stronger pleasure jolt shot across his body.

The college boy was becoming less and less of a boy the more he touched himself. Confidence was flooding every inch of his being. Someone who looked like a God should behave as a God as well thought Markie, while his slow caresses of his body turned to an intense erotic massage. His hand touched the deep crevices of his abdomen, and slowly found its way to the boy´s less than impressive endowment.

“This simply won´t do.”

Said Markie in a quasi-trance like state. He slowly reached to the electrical outlet again, and focused all of his energy in summoning that spark again. His call was quickly answered, as an intense lightning bolt shot straight towards his hand again.

“Yes. Give me more. More strength. More power.”

Said Markie, his boyish voice taking on a powerful commanding voice. He then took the hand connected with the electricity to his crotch, and grabbed his bulge once again. The electricity then travelled directly into his manhood, shotting bolts of pleasure all over Markie´s body. His mind was filled with images of intimacy, of epic scenes of desire and encyclopedic sexual knowledge.

“Fuck yeah. More.”

He cursed for the first time in his life, while the overwhelming sensation clouded the last of his senses and erased the old Markie from existence, leaving a blank canvas for his new godly persona to take place. His manhood started growing to divine proportions, completely straining the briefs to the point of breaking. White tatters fell to the floor, as his equine endowment raised straight and up, reaching almost a foot in length. Like the rest of his body, the girth proportions adjusted too, leaving him with practically an extra limb on his lower body, as thick as a baby arm. His testicles inflated like water balloons until each was the size of a lemon. The powerful divine seed inside them started seeping it´s essence to the rest of his body, as Markie reached the final step of his transformation.

His neck thickened, and his moans of pleasure started dropping in pitch until his boy-like cadence reached an intimidating deep baritone. He grunted as his mandible contorted and expanded into comic book hero proportions. A cleft formed on his powerful chin, and his teeth grew to fit the new size of his mandible. His lips thinned out giving him a serious look. The baby fat on his cheeks evaporated, leaving sharp angular features behind. His nose remained straight, but grew to accommodate the aesthetic of the new man´s face. His brow expanded and hooded over his eyes, giving him a stern serious look.

His shaved brown hair then started growing on the top, parting sideways and acquiring a thick silky texture, along with a golden tone. The new blonde´s body hair flourished right afterwards. Clear body hair sprouted on his forearms and on top of his hands, but the rest of him remained smooth. The hair in his pits and on his pubic region also changed to a blonde hue, before falling down leaving the new man completely shaved. Changes in the hair follicles were made, as this was a very hairy man that manscaped regularly. Thick stubble then grew on his face, leaving a permanent five o´clock shadow. Finally, a thick mustache and a soul patch formed around his mouth, completing the transformation.

Where once stood a puny college student, now stood a complete god of a man. The former 21 year old looked almost a decade older, not that it would worry him too much because his mind also started changing to accommodate the new bodybuilder. His fears and worries completely evaporated, leaving behind a man that lived in the moment. He ate when he wanted to, he went where he wanted to and he fucked whenever he wanted to. His repulsion for his nickname grew, and he decided to adopt his full name from ow on.  Where there was once a Markie now stood Marcus, the champion of the thunder god Zeus.

He flexed and roared in triumph as one last lightning bolt shot through the outlet reaching him. Veins started popping on his arms and legs, like lightning coursing through a stormy sky. He turned around and opened the bathroom door, stepping into the world for the first time.

“What do you think of this one?”

Said Jordan whilst showing his friend one of the many fedora hats he brought to the trip.

“Who cares? Fedoras aren’t cool anymore man. It´s all over the internet, look it up.”

Answered Robert exasperated of having to go through another wardrobe dilemma. He couldn´t stop thinking about Markie and his weirder than usual attitude these last couple of hours. His roommate had been in the bathroom for a while now, but there was no sound coming from the bathroom ever since Markie answered him, he was fine.

“Do you think Markie is okay in there?”

He asked Jordan, who barely looked up from his suitcase.

“I don´t know. But who cares man? Less dead weight for us when we go for the chicks later.”

“He´s not a dead weight Jordan. I know Markie is shy and kind of weird, but he´s a great guy. Trust me, I know. I live with him.”

“We both know why he´s like that. Not that I have anything against it, but its impressive how he thinks no one realizes the way he looks at those douches from the frat sometimes.”

“He will tell us whenever he´s ready. And even if he´s not it´s okay. He will still be my friend. And I hope yours too Jordan.”

“Come on man. I like gay dudes. Less competition for us. I just don´t want him to ruin our hunt with his angst when we go out to the bar.”

“It´s about time to get going though. I´m gonna ask Markie if we should meet him directly in the bar, if It hasn´t confused him with a child and kidnaped him through the sink.”

Both friends laughed at the reference just as Robert approached the bathroom door once again.

“Markie my man, we´re gonna get going. You can meet us there if you want, but don´t feel rushed take your time. Hope that you´re okay though.”

He said knocking lightly on the door. A faint grumble could be heard on the other side, but Markie didn´t answer. Robert took that as a response, and he turned around to prepare his stuff and go.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened with such a force it ripped it out of it´s hinges. A blinding light was coming from the bathroom, together with enough steam to turn the small hotel room into a sauna. Robert and Jordan watched completely in shock as the new Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, his whole body enveloped in a golden halo. Both college students looked tiny in comparison to the enormous wall of muscle standing in front of them.

“Who—o a—are you? Whe—ere´s Ma—arkie?”

Managed to squeak Robert nervously while his eyes scanned every mountain and every valley that composed the behemoth´s body.

“It is Marcus now, my friends. Come and bathe in all my glory.”

Said Marcus while raising both of his arms and flexing his latissimus muscles, completely eclipsing the now small in comparison bathroom door. A potent smell started wafting through the air, impregnating the steam with masculine pheromones coming directly from the giant´s underarms. Both Robert and Jordan were put in a trance like state, and approached the shining man.

“Yes. Come to me. I will show you the true meaning of pleasure.”

Deep primal instincts were awoken in both boys. Lust, submission and adoration completely eclipsed the nervous feeling both had. As soon as their hands touched Marcus´s chest, an intense shock of pleasure shot through both of their bodies, travelling directly to their brains completely burning their old personas out of their heads. Both boys had their irises completely drained of color, leaving white mindless eyes behind. Marcus took each one of them by their waists and pulled them close. Their hands started exploring the giant´s body, leaving a trail of sparks jumping off the radiant skin.

He then leaned down to kiss Robert, while Jordan worked his way down licking the sweat off his chest and descending slowly through the cobblestone road on his midsection. His giant manhood was already hard as an iron bar, eager for attention. As soon as Jordan´s mouth made contact with the pulsing member, a strong stream of electricity started inundating his body. The small muscles spasmed and expanded to ridiculous proportions. The small belly he had grown out of eating too many pizza slices and drinking mountain dew evaporated into this air, leaving a hard six pack behind. His chest raised, forming two pillows sticking far out of his chest. His limbs contracted and expanded into heroic proportions, leaving the new man at least a hundred pounds heavier with pure lean mass. He stayed at the same 5´6 height, making the new man a fireplug of a bodybuilder.

He had already kneeled down and was worshipping the godly pole in front of him, savoring the nectar coming from the tip as if he was drinking ambrosia directly from the source. His face cracked and rearranged leaving brutish heavy features, but still holding onto some beauty. Age seeped into his skin and his muscles, seasoning them with the hardness of a more adult male. All his hair fell down, except his eyebrows, leaving the man completely smooth. His skin took on a stronger golden hue than Marcus, without the glow.

Meanwhile Marcus was inserting his large tongue into his former friend´s mouth, completely invading him. Robert´s jaw cracked and rearranged into a sharp square. His cheekbones raised and the fat melted off his face, leaving a shockingly handsome face behind. Unlike his friend, Robert stayed young, his visage devoid of any single imperfection. He slowly grew up a couple of inches, but still remaining far off the height of the god sodomizing his mouth. His body then expanded, muscles piling on top of each other, but also craving themselves deep into his body. His former chubby physique completely shed off any excess fat, leaving him at a single digit body fat percentage. His chest didn´t hang as far as Jordan´s, but it squared off in the bottom as if being carved out of a marble statue by a classical sculptor. His eight pack was accentuated by the sharp Adonis belt pointing downwards. His legs and arms grew muscular, each individual sinew visible thanks to the thin skin on top of them. He had a bit less mass than his kneeling friend, but was way more defined. His body hair also fell down entirely, leaving the new handsome hunk as smooth as his former best friend.

Both new men´s manhood stayed the same size though, which made them seem much smaller on their larger bodies. Marcus then looked at his two new servants. He was completely conscious he was their master and demanded their adoration, but also felt a deep bond to them. He was free to fornicate with whomever he wanted to, but these two were going to be forever bound to him, desperate for his love and addicted to his divine masculinity. As for the two men worshipping their new master, their sole purpose of existing was serving and pleasing this new god among men.

He then ordered the former Jordan to lay on the bed, and pushed the former Robert right next to him. Although it was his sexual debut, Marcus felt as if he had done this for all of eternity. He was ready to claim what was his and become the supreme being he was destined to be.

The students evacuated the hotel in panic, together with their professor and fellow guests. An unusually strong lightning bolt had stricken the small building, completely blowing up an entire corner. Three students were missing. Cries and sirens resonated through the night sky. The professor tried desperately to communicate with the local authorities, completely ignorant that the three students had disappeared forever.

 A car approached the ruins of the temple of Zeus. A giant figure then got out of the vehicle, accompanied by two large silhouettes that stayed behind. Marcus approached the center of the ruins. He was wearing a tight pair of black underpants, unable to find any other fitting clothes. Not that he needed to, his enormous body produced large amounts of heat, and still emitted a low shine highlighting him in the darkness. He had no need to hide. He was a gift to humanity, their savior. Anyone should feel blessed and humbled on his presence.

A lightning bolt fell directly in front of him, but the man stayed completely unfazed. Zeus appeared in front of him, still towering over the new Marcus, but seeming less than a giant next to the behemoth in front of him.

“You turned out very well. I was not mistaken in choosing you Marcus Laur.”

Said Zeus examining his perfect handiwork. He would say he was surprised by how well the job was made, but it was he who had done it, so it was only natural it was perfect. Marcus bowed in front of his creator and said with a respectful, but firm tone.

“Your words are my command my lord. What is it that I should do?”

Zeus´s stern face showed a glimpse of joy.

“I need you to be my envoy on this world, imprinting it with my will, which shall be your own. Humans are sheep, you shall be their shepherd. Come to the base of Mount Olympus. I shall put you through fearsome trials. Fear not though, with my power as your own you shall overcome them without problem.”

He then looked at the two muscular men standing right next to the car.

“I see you already got a taste of your powers. Good. You have two weeks to discover and reach your full potential. Do not fail.”

“Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint you.”

Marcus watched as lightning fell again, and Zeus disappeared. The golden eagle was already flying out of sight in the night sky. Zeus was very pleased with himself. He had many things in mind for his new toy. Not ever since meeting Ganymede had he felt an infatuation like this for a mortal, only this time he used his will to turn him into his ideal for true human beauty, and he imbued him with some of his divine power. His desire was going to burn the other competitors out of the way, thought the god of thunder. Marcus would become the Champion of Olympus.

#musclegrowth #transformation

[rattlerinthewheel]

Beast of Our Behaviors: Scud/OMC

Scud and a friend hang out like old times.

For a prompt request by @pandoratriestowritestuff: 9) "I don't care how good it feels, you'd better not cum until I tell you to" and 13) "Touch yourself for me", taken from @palettes-and-prompts’ 100 Smut Dialogue Prompts.

Fic title is a song from The Crystal Method.

Chapter title is lyrics from TCM and Bubba Sparxxx’s PHDream, which is what Scud has playing when he meets Whistler.

- - -

"Old man, fuckin’ prick. Ain’t even around yet and he’s pissing me off. 'He’d do this, he’d do that.' Bullshit."

Something about one of his bosses not being around, and they’re looking for him, Marley thinks. He isn’t sure, he’s been zoning in and out, letting Josh vent.

Marley lets his head go ragdoll-limp and flop on the lump of beanbag his weight’s rearranged. Just getting a hazy picture of dark shapes, so he blinks, and then he can make out a pair of pacing red denim legs. They’re baggy and hide the feet, except for the toes of the white socks. The only bright thing in the studio, with the lights off, except the crummy TV playing some DVD the guy on the street said was popular overseas (didn’t tell him it wasn’t in English, the asswipe, so it’s reduced to background noise rather than entertainment).

The pacing halts, blocking half of the yellow-haired chatterbox, and a sigh freshens the earthy reek that was just beginning to fade. He pulls it in, a deep inhale, like he isn’t high enough already. Not like second-hand does much for him.

Any kind of it. Emotions included, which is why he ignores the grumbling and reaches out, fingers wavering because his world’s inverted, to snag the hem of the pants. "Jus’ tell him to fuck off, then."

The denim kicks free. Marley goes for it again, getting a better grip, ignoring the, "Quit bein’ an ass," as the denim kicks again but can’t get loose.

"Point’a you coming over if you’re just gonna bitch?" Marley asks. Something in his neck aches as he lifts his head to look up at the face that owns the denim he’s latched on to. "Thought we were gonna do shit."

"We always do shit," chapped lips huff.

Marley licks his own. Inspired, forgetting about the denim, he fumbles off his bean bag and drops to his haunches in front of his mini fridge. Bristling with anything a stoner could want (well, the shit that doesn’t need to be cold is piled on top) but all he goes for is a soda. He thinks he read something once about it dehydrating more than doing him any good, but he’s pretty sure that’s bullshit. It’s cold going down and wets his lips, how couldn’t a drink hydrate?

Government bullshit.

But when Marley turns around, his seat’s been stolen. He doesn’t mind the view it gets him: Josh, splayed out across the chair, an angry starfish. His joint’s in one hand, sagging in a half-assed pinch between his middle and ring finger, and Marley would worry about the carpet catching if he wasn’t drawn to the point where those sprawled legs lead.

Haven’t done shit yet, might as well, so he takes one big swig of his soda, jams it up on top of the fridge between two bags of chips, and pounces—if crawling over on his hands and knees and pawing at the practically-offered bulge could be considered a pounce. A stoner’s pounce, he decides: lazy and slow.

"Mm, thought you’d never," Josh hums, and Marley scoffs and elbows his thigh.

"Been tryin’," Marley grumbles as he pries away the zipper, then the boxers beneath, to get at the stiffy that’s just beginning to take. It’s easy to pull it out, get the foreskin down, and he gets in three slow pumps on his own before Josh starts to arch into his hand. "So now you wanna."

"Man," Josh pants, somehow going boneless and tense at the same time: his limbs melt while his body goes rigid. It gives Marley something to work against, and the sigh a slower pump earns puffs the hit Josh takes up into the stuffy apartment air.

"Gimme," Marley tells him, thrusts stumbling as he reaches for the joint with his free hand.

The end’s bitten and wet but he gets his lungs filled with earthy smoke anyway, and he forces them to hold it longer than he usually would’ve. When Marley does let it go he’s dizzy, and he wavers on his knees and has to grab one of Josh’s thighs.

The joint sticks out between his fingers, wagging with him, and Josh hisses as it bobs dangerously close to his cock. "Watch it."

Marley giggles as Josh reaches for the joint for another hit. It’s a brief fight, because Marley knows Josh was hogging it way too damn much and Josh doesn’t want to interrupt the hand job. In the end he’s got the joint back in his mouth, and he’s not a starfish anymore, propped up on his elbows so he can watch. Marley doesn’t mind an audience, so he gives Josh a show.

"Fuck," comes on the heels of his thumb swirling around the head, then his palm taking its place so his fingers can drape down and stroke up. That doesn’t get as much of a reaction, so Marley goes back to his first grip. The firm, sluggish stroke down to the base mashes his hand into the blonde curls springing around it.

Josh bucks his hips again, and Marley freezes, near the tip this time. "Behave," he teases.

Blue eyes lock onto brown and Josh growls, "Y’want me to do you after? Keep goin’."

Marley giggles again, a true high giggle, as Josh tugs him forward so he’s close enough to kiss. It’s awkward, the joint getting shoved to the corner of Josh’s mouth, singing their cheeks. But it’s good, because that means Marley gets a mouthful of earthy smoke on top of the sugar of the donuts they scarfed down earlier.

Josh’s cock twitches in his grip when he leans forward enough that his own stiffy, clothed, bumps it. "Uh uh, you ain’t finishing unless I say."

And Josh snorts at that, and Marley can’t keep his composure. He outright laughs and topples onto the stoner under him, kissing him harder, forgetting about the hand job. Josh doesn’t, grinding under him, which reminds Marley that yeah, right, he’s got one too. Funny how weed can make him forget that. It aches, like he’s going to explode right there, now that he remembers.

"Touch yourself," Josh pants as Marley’s rucking up his band shirt. It’s awkward, with how he’s straddling Josh, his legs kind of holding him and kind of not. Too much distance, the bean bag and body puts between the floor and his hips.

Marley’s too busy running his fingers over the scars webbing the exposed belly to pay attention; a pinch to his hip makes him jump, and he’s scrambling for his own fly as Josh watches, smoke fogging his face, but Marley can still see the tongue poking out in the corner that means he’s concentrating.

"Cute," Josh teases as Marley gets his jeans down as much as he can while keeping his position—because right, his zipper’s busted, damn—but pauses to scowl. "What? They are."

Marley scoffs and parts his boxers briefs—ignoring the red, yellow, and green zig zags; so what if they’re stoner colors, they were a gag gift someone got him, they fit, so why not use ‘em?—and groans when he plants one hand on Josh’s shoulder to brace himself and starts to stroke. Easy to ignore, when he wasn’t getting too much stimulation; but now, shit, he’s shaking and greedy and gladly lets Josh paw at him to help.

They get in their scuffles, know how to fight, but it’s not too often they resort to it; not now, either, but the rough pets make Marley shudder, the lack of lube, the tugs that rut his balls against Josh’s pinned shaft under him. They’re both getting off, this way.

"Not till I say so," he hums when he feels it—pre-cum, not his, making a damp spot on the thigh of his boxer briefs.

Josh hisses, holding out. Marley gasps as Josh’s other hand clamps onto the back of his neck, holding him down so Josh can buck his hips up. Josh’s cock slides along his thigh, up onto his hip, and Marley angles them down to trap the rut.

The carpet’s concrete compared to the bean bag as Josh flips them. "What was that about not being a fighter, Fromeyer?"

A scoff pants into his neck as Josh tucks in to nip. "Scud, like stud, dammit. Dunno why you don’t just call me that."

"Because it’s stupid," Marley grunts as Josh picks up the pace.

They’re grinding like horny teens, kissing and pawing, but fuck it—Josh’s got work now, and it’s been a while. Probably will be, again, before they can do this again. Hopefully his hardass bosses don’t drug test.

Josh’s leaving a bigger damp spot on his thigh as he trembles and finishes. Marley’s on his heels, getting that band shirt dirty, he’ll get bitched at for that. But for now, he’s content to just let the other stoner lie on top of him. They’re trapping the mess, getting it over more of them, but fuck it. They’re high, and Marley sighs, and grabs for the joint that’s been left smoldering on the carpet. Landlord’s an asshole, anyway. Can deal with it when his lease is up.

Marley snatches his fingers back as a boot grinds the joint to nothing. He yelps, and Josh fumbles and swears. The unfazed face above them tracks Josh as he gets to his knees, no real shame as he tucks himself away, then to his feet, gesturing at their intruder but not kicking his ass. Knows him, apparently.

"B? The fuck, man?" Josh hisses. Yeah, he knows him.

Marley isn’t as brave, and his high tanks as he blushes and tries to make it look like he doesn’t have white striping his thigh, smearing his hip. He stuffs himself away, at least, in time for the black dude to finally look at him.

"Uh, hi." And because Marley vaguely remembers manners, he points to his fridge: "Pretzels?"

Which feels wrong to ask this guy, somehow. Doesn’t fit with the vibe the room’s got now. He’s still a little high.

B ignores him, and Marley can’t help but frown when he sees Josh is packing up his shit, zipping his bag and jamming his boots on. He’d hoped they’d have a little more time. Not be interrupted, at least.

"You said you were grabbing provisions," B tells Josh flatly.

It doesn’t sit right with Marley. He doesn’t talk... normally. Too formal. But Josh is used to it, doesn’t say anything except, "Yeah, had a detour. Relax, man."

"Oh, I’m a detour," Marley scoffs, poking at the remains of the joint as B steps off to look out the kitchen window. Well, the everything window, since it’s a studio. Joint’s done for, and Marley sighs. His fun’s over, anyway.

"We’re already late."

"Yeah, yeah, I—Jesus." Josh is in front of Marley, then, as he finally clambers to his feet. That catches him off guard. So does the nudge Josh gives him. "Should be back in a few months."

"Months? Shit, what kinda job is this, dude?"

"Classified," comes from the door.

Josh rolls his eyes. "Tell Davey to have more of that good shit grown, yeah?"

"Only if you bring better snacks," Marley negotiates. Chips had been salt and vinegar. Gross, even if he’s too high to care much about flavor.

"Deal."

The quick peck Josh sneaks when he headbutts him surprises Marley, and then Josh is gone, scruffy and flushed and clomping down the stairwell outside the door with his bag. Too soon, too fast, Marley thinks. Would’ve been nice if they could figure out what the DVD was about.

Not as fast as B, lunging back into the room when he looks like he’s going to leave—no, checking to make sure Josh’s gone—and hurling Marley back against his bookshelf. It doesn’t hold a lot of books, more just junk, and an empty turtle shell clatters to the floor.

"Name?" B asks, and his coat twitches, and—holy fucking shit, that’s a big knife, and Marley tells him so. "It’s a sword. Name," B says with the weird patience of someone who doesn’t have time but knows he’s dealing with someone who’s high, and forcing him to hurry won’t do any good.

"Marley." The knife, the sword, taps his shoulder. "Jacobs. Wait, what—"

The hand pinning him goes for his face, his mouth, and Marley winces as his lip’s stretched down. B lets it curl back up just as fast, leaving behind the taste of fake leather, then he’s tilting Marley’s head to the side. Marley wants to tell him to maybe take the shades off first, but then he remembers this guy has a sword. He’s learned a thing or two from buying weed and a little bit of harder stuff. Don’t piss off the guy with the sword isn’t a rule verbatim, but it’s a cousin to don’t get into shit with Stevie, who’s known to carry.

"How do you know Scud?"

Josh, Marley thinks. "Uh, friends. High school, kind of." At B’s head cock, he hurries, "Well, Josh dropped out. We still hung out after."

"Why don’t you call him Scud?"

Jesus, who is this guy? "Not his name," Marley shrugs. "I’unno, I... like it better."

"And you hang out."

Marley says, "Yeah," even though he doesn’t think he’s being asked.

B’s tone suggests he knows what hanging out implies. Marley nods, and B steps off him. For a beat, there’s nothing but the background noise of the TV, what’s a funny pastime for them flat-out embarrassing now. Doesn’t matter that it’s not in English, the yellow-haired boy’s voice is grating, annoying to both the other characters and the audience. Chanting something about a hokage, whatever that is. Soup looks good, though.

The stack of junk over the fridge crinkles as B takes something—a bag of pretzels.

"Hey, what..." Marley trails off, expecting to be ignored as B heads for the door, this time for real, Marley thinks. But he pauses. Waits. "Is Josh okay? He got this job after he got jumped at some festival, I dunno if you knew. But he’s... what kind of job is this?"

Because it clicks. B: this is Josh’s boss. Josh sure bitched about him often enough. Not to mention: provisions, running late, classified.

"Like I said," is all B gives, which, yeah.

But Marley tries anyway. Steps forward, kicks his turtle shell by accident. It skitters further than it ought to, bumps the heel of a clunky boot. "Look, just..." I don’t know what the fuck happened, but is he suicidal? Is this some bullshit he took up to off himself? Is he in too deep with something? Mob? Cartel? "... is he gonna be alright? Is he gonna come back?"

The boots turn. A gloved hand picks up the shell, and then B’s pushing it into Marley’s hands. It’s not gentle, but he think it tries to be. "He’s useful."

That sounds... less than great, but Marley takes it. How many teachers bitched at Josh for goofing off, skipping classes, not being anything but a waste of space?

"Yeah," Marley says, "okay."

- - -

In the morning he wakes up hungover, the TV screen on a purple input screen, the DVD player fried because his soda must’ve fallen off the fridge and spilled. Marley wants to just turn over and go back to sleep on his futon, but blue and red are thrown up on the walls, cops—and Marley’s wide awake and checking that his stashes are hidden like any good stoner.

There’s a body bag being rolled out of the lobby, he sees, with his face pressed up to his window. When he pokes his head out to see if his neighbors know anything, one tells him it was the landlord being carted off. Shot point-blank, and Marley cringes at that. Sure, he was a strict asshole (only available at night, no food in the lobby, no black lights in the apartments) but that’s just... rough.

Well. Hopefully Josh doesn’t have to deal with that kind of violence, wherever his job takes him. Marley entertains the idea that maybe he’s with the CIA. Nah, not Josh, who treated Rage Against the Machine like commandments when they were in high school, who rolled his eyes at army recruiters, who laughed as they got their asses chased by truancy officers.

He’d just as likely be running around with monsters, Marley snorts, and rips off a chunk of stale donut and goes back to bed.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x oc #prompt request #season of kink #felt weird having OCs and different readers in the same thing #just organizing #ignore me

[hermannsthumb]

Newt picks up a parasite while working on a sample, like we talked about!!

basic summary: think sex pollen but parasite...that removes your inhibitions and makes you all lovey-dovey  👀 👀 👀 this marvelous idea belongs to @k-sci-janitor​ and we talked it over in discord the other night. hope u enjoy!!!

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

“You’re in a right foul mood today,” Hermann says one morning, when Newton stomps—grumbling, scowling, and slamming the door behind him hard enough to send Hermann’s pencil cup teetering over the edge of his desk—into the lab. Hermann catches the cup with one hand and rights it. He arches an eyebrow at Newton as Newton ignores him in favor of hurtling himself into his desk chair. Newton’s sudden downward mood shifts are no stranger to Hermann, but they rarely take this sort of form—he’s far more the sort to engage Hermann in pointless arguments or lock himself away in his bunk than throw a tantrum. “What on Earth is the matter?”

“My request to join the Singapore trip got denied,” Newton announces.

Ah. That would do it. Newton was excited about the prospect of overseeing the salvaging of fresh samples for weeks, to the extent that it was all he would talk about to Hermann. Hermann is not typically in the business of extending pity to Newton (and Newton is not typically in the business of wanting pity from Hermann), but he does feel a small twinge of it anyway. “Ah, bad luck,” Hermann says. He wonders if he should offer Newton a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, but then realizes that would require him to get up and move across the laboratory, and decides it’s more trouble than it’s worth. He twists his mouth down sympathetically instead. “Well, perhaps it’s a good thing. Travelling’s just a great big bloody hassle, isn’t it? All the packing, and airports...”

“I love travelling,” Newton says.

“What I mean to say,” Hermann tries again, “is that now you can devote your time to more, er, worthy pursuits. Your work, for example. I imagine there’s plenty to be done here.”

“Dude,” Newton says. “No.”

Hermann appreciates the opportunity to shut up. Newton, still grumbling to himself, pulls on a pair of disposable work gloves and straps on his headlamp. “I’m workin’ with shit that’s three months old, dude,” Newton says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. Finding it highly unlikely he’ll get any proper work done until Newton finishes his oncoming tirade, he picks up that morning’s uncompleted crossword puzzle.

“It’s decaying,” Newton says. “It’s barely viable. You see this bullshit?”

He holds ups a greyish strand of kaiju intestine. Hermann pushes up his glasses and pretends to observe it. “Mm,” he repeats.

“It was barely viable when I got it,” Newton says. “So stupid. Whoever they have in charge of salvaging is a fucking clown. I should be in charge of it everywhere.” He rips a chunk of the intestine in half with a disgusting wet sound that makes Hermann wince. “They should let me go to Singapore. I said I’d pay for my own plane ticket. My work here is too important, apparently. Ha! Then why don’t they give us some funding, huh?”

“Quite right,” Hermann mumbles, and fills in a clue of the puzzle.

“I already bought those little travel-sized shampoo bottles too,” Newton says. “And I—“

He stops, suddenly, mid-sentence. As if the words have been seized from his very throat. Hermann looks up: Newton is standing, still, quiet, mouth half-open. He remains that way for a full minute. It’s no small amount of disconcerting. Is this some strange new act of protest he’s decided upon? Not speaking at all? “Newton?” Hermann finally says, cautiously breaching the silence.

Newton shakes himself, and casts a funny look at Hermann. As if Hermann is the one behaving in an utterly bizarre fashion. “Wha?”

“Are you—?” Hermann sighs. It’s not worth it. “Never mind. Well, at any rate, I’m sorry about your trip.”

He’s made nice headway on the rest of the crossword puzzle—some ten-odd minutes later, perhaps—when he hears Newton set down his scalpel with a clatter. Newton has been strangely, though blissfully, silent up until then, a stark departure from his mood upon arrival. “Hermann,” he says. Rubber snaps as he pulls off his work gloves, one by one. “Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?”

“Beautiful eyes?” Hermann snorts. “No. And someone’s told you that you do, I suppose?” Rather odd thing to get competitive over, but perhaps it’ll cheer him up.

“Why would someone tell me that?” Newton says.

Hermann looks up. Newton is still staring at him in that funny little way—almost dazed, Hermann realizes, as if someone’s smacked him upside the head, or he’s had a bit too much to drink. The last time Newton looked like that, he upended the contents of an ill-advised trip to a club for his birthday all over Hermann’s trousers. “What on earth is the matter?” Hermann says. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Your cheekbones drive me nuts,” Newton says.

“Did you hit your head?” Hermann says.

Newton crosses the lab in several quick, easy strides, and—to Hermann’s utter and abject confusion—swings himself down onto Hermann’s lap. Hermann stays stock-still as Newton burrows in against his neck. “Hermann,” he sighs. “Hermann—” His fingers slide up the back of Hermann’s scalp to toy with his hair, and Hermann’s hands fly out to grip his waist instinctively. “You must be the most gorgeous guy in the whole world. On the whole planet.”

Hermann makes a funny choking noise.

“And so smart,” Newton says, “and talented.” He twists a short strand of Hermann’s hair between his fingertips, and exhales heavily. His breath is warm against Hermann’s skin and sends goosebumps prickling across it. Hermann feels too-hot under his collar; his ears, he’s sure, are turning a spectacular red. “I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you, like, all the time, dude. Do you remember last month, when I cut my hand?”

Hermann nods, not trusting himself to speak. It was a rather frightening moment for them both: Newton pale, red human blood mingling with the blue of the kaiju’s on his workbench, his (red) scalpel dangling limply between his fingertips. It was why Hermann began insisting on his wearing work gloves in the laboratory after that. “I was distracted because I couldn’t stop looking at you,” Newton admits. “Your were wearing a new sweater, and all I wanted to do was go over there and...” 

He whispers something in Hermann’s ear. “Newton,” Hermann squeaks, eyes widening.

Newton pulls back just so slightly and looks at him. His mouth is inches away from Hermann’s—their noses so close as to bump together. Newton’s eyes drop to Hermann’s lips. His tongue darts out across his own, wetting them. “Dude. You know how much I...”

“Yes?” Hermann says.

“Ever since—”

“Since when?” Hermann says, eagerly. He can scarcely believe this is even happening—it feels as though all of his fantasies have come to life at once. 

Newton begins to lean in. In a heartbeat, Hermann will be kissing him. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann murmurs, and (shutting his eyes) reaches up to cup the back of Newton’s head.

Instead of feeling nothing but Newton’s soft, brown hair, however, he feels something vaguely...slimy, atop it. Slimy, and...pulsing. Hermann falls away from him with a yelp. “Newton, there’s something on your—!”

“Huh?” Newton says, and leans back in for a second attempt at a kiss. But Hermann dodges him and jerks Newton’s shoulder around to get a good look at the back of his head. There—right at the nape of his neck—some odd, small, blue little thing. Otherworldly leech, perhaps. Hermann’s stomach churns unpleasantly at the sight of it. “Is something wrong?” Newton says. He blinks innocently at Hermann behind his glasses.

“No!” Hermann says. The little thing stares innocently at Hermann, too, or at least it would if it had visible eyes. “Er—just had a few questions answered, I suppose. By Jove, Newton, you—”

“Hmm?” Kiss evidently forgotten, Newton begins to stroke the close-cropped part of Hermann’s hair. He gives a high-pitched giggle. “Your hair is so fuzzy.”

Right. Off to medical, it is. “Get off of me, please,” Hermann says, as calmly as he can manage. Apparently not as calmly as he intended: Newton flinches, and he scrambles to his feet as if Hermann had shouted it.

“Oh, dude, your leg! I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

“My what?” Hermann says. He glances down at his lap. His thighs are still tingling from Newton’s body—Newton’s warm, warm body, which Hermann had his hands on only moments prior... “Oh. Er. Yes. Right.” He coughs. “Would you hand me my cane, Newton?”

Newton obliges. Hermann pushes himself up, and grabs a firm hold of Newton’s hand; he steers them both out the laboratory door, Newton providing very little resistance. In fact, he appears even happy to follow Hermann. “Where are we going?” Newton says. Then he frowns. “Wait. Don’t you wanna make out with me?”

Hermann swears under his breath. “Believe me,” he grumbles, “I would like nothing more than that.” Then he says, louder, “We’re going to get...ice cream.”

“Oh!” Newton says. “Yay!”

The doctor on duty in medical doesn’t look surprised to see them. “I was wondering when Dr. Geiszler would be back in,” she says, as Hermann nudges Newton over the threshold. “What is it this time? Kaiju venom? Is he bleeding to death again?”

“Some sort of...parasite, I think,” Hermann says. “He’s been saying—” He clears his throat. “Odd things. He’s not quite himself.”

“I thought we were getting ice cream?” Newton says.

The doctor catches Hermann’s eye. “Yes, of course, it’s right back here, Dr. Geiszler,” she says, and ushers Newton into the examination room. When she catches sight of the back of Newton’s head, her eyebrows jump in alarm. To Hermann, she says, under her breath, “Oh.”

“Isn’t Hermann the hottest guy ever?” Newton asks her just as the door shuts behind them. Hermann blushes fiercely.

They emerge twenty minutes later, Newton clutching a small Tupperware container. Inside of it is the little blue leech. He grins when he sees Hermann. “Hey, dude, check this out!” He thrusts the Tupperware out so Hermann may take in a better view of it. “This was stuck to me! Isn’t that gnarly? I was wondering where it went.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. He hopes Newton doesn’t ask after his blush, which has yet to fade, and indeed only grown more prominent; the door to the examination room is rather thin, and he heard every single thing Newton said about him in those twenty minutes—extollations of everything from the various facets of Hermann’s physical appearance, to Hermann’s mental prowess, to what an, er, attentive lover he imagines Hermann would be. Most of these were in great detail. 

“It appears to be something of Anteverse origin,” the doctor tells them. “Some sort of leech which removes one’s inhibitions. Dr. Geiszler likely came into contact with it on one of his samples. I’m glad you brought him in when you did—I’m not sure what effects prolonged exposure would have.”

“I kinda want to keep it in a terrarium or something,” Newton says. “Isn’t it cute?”

The leech stares blankly out at Hermann, its blue body pulsing. Hermann suppresses a shudder of revulsion. “Bring him back in if his...condition returns,” the doctor finishes. “And, Dr. Geiszler—please keep an eye on that thing.”

“Sure thing,” Newton says, and then taps the Tupperware and begins to coo.

Hermann doesn’t ask the question that’s weighing on his mind until they’re almost back to the laboratory. “I don’t suppose you...remember the last hour?” he says.

“Nah,” Newton says. “One minute I was examining this little guy, the next, I was in medical.” The corners of his smile twitch down. “Why? I didn’t do anything too embarrassing, did I?” He punctuates this with an awkward laugh.

"No, no,” Hermann says, quickly. He can’t tell if the knowledge disappoints him or not, for surely if Newton did remember, he might feel a tad more courageous in, er...following up on things, so to speak. Removes inhibitions. Just bloody typical, isn’t it? “Not at all. Let’s get you back to the lab, shall we? I imagine we could both do with a cup of tea.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF

Pairing | Chris wood x reader

Warnings | smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Word count | 1513

Summary | you’re the chef at a restaurant that the TVD cast go to and Chris gives you a big thank you

Masterlist

"Hey, um, excuse me?" Ian called to the nearest waitor, smiling at him as he walked over.

"How can I help you?" The man replied and Ian smiled.

"We'd like to know who the chef was - my friend here would like to thank them for the amazing food." Ian suggested, sending Chris a little wink.

"Certainly, she's just finished her shift actually - I could ask her to wait out back for you?" The waitor recommended.

"Thank you so much, that would be perfect." Ian smiled, the waitor on his way. Paul nudged Chris in the ribs playfully, Ian sending him another wink.

"C'mon dude, we've been eating here for the last week so you could finally meet her - Now's your chance!" Paul assures him, both the boys laughing at Chris' red cheeks and shy expression.

"I'm not a confident as you guys, and what if she finds me weird or creepy? Do I tell her I've been eating her food for a week just so I can talk to her? Do I pretend I've never seen her before?" Chris ranted, suddenly extremely nervous.

"You'll be fine." Matt chimed in, giving Chris a reassuring pat on the back.

"Just remember to stay calm." Ian reminded and Chris let out a heavy sigh.

"And to charm her - use that Chris Wood seductivity that reeled me in." Paul wink and the table erupted into laughters. Chris decided to take his shot, standing quickly and bidding his friends fare well before he headed out to the back of the restaurant.

When he reached the small, empty alleyway behind the daunting building, his eyes landed on you.

You were leant against the old brick wall, just next to the back door to the building, fiddling with the sleeve of your leather jacket.

"Hey?" Chris asked tentatively and you looked up, a smile gracing your soft lips.

"You must be my secret admirer." You smirked and a flush of heat brushed over Chris' cheeks.

"You've noticed?" He asked sheepishly and you chuckled lightly. It was a calming sound, one that went straight to Chris' pants.

"Oh honey, my colleagues have seen you hanging around here all week. Always when I'm on shift. News travels fast in a independent local restaurant like this." You informed and Chris looked down at his shoes, a smile dancing on his lips.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to be creepy. It's just-" he took a pause, "I saw you this one time - at a book store just down the road."

"Rose and Cover?" You confirmed and he chuckled, giving a small nod.

"That's the one." He smiled. "And you look so...peaceful, nose stuck into a book, hair forming a curtain around your face - god I wanted to talk to you, but I was a wimp." He admitted and you giggled softly. "So then I told my friend - Ian - about you and he said he knew you worked in this little food place because he ate there a lot and often saw you leaving/arriving to you shift and I knew I had to talk to you." Chris said, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"And now you have?" You asked and he let out a small laugh.

"And now I have, I only want to know you more." Chris says, walking closer to you until he was stood right in front of you - foreheads touching.

"And you will." You muttered, eyes flickering between his and his lips - his soft, plump pink lips - that were just begging you to kiss them. "If you don't kiss me in the next three second I'm going to scream." You murmured and he breathed a laugh through his nose before his lips crashed to yours in a lustful, earth-shattering kiss. Chris's hands travelled up your sides, squeezing your waist before going higher until one wrapped around your neck possessively and the other braces against the red brick wall behind you.

Your moan let him know it was exactly what you wanted and Chris tightened his grip slightly on your neck, a gentle squeeze to test the waters that had you groaning against his lips. When his lips left yours, they trailed down your neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses over your throat and your collar bone. His hands found their way under your jacket, pushing it off you shoulders and feeling under your loose shirt - hands warm against you cool skin making you shudder and sink into him further.

Your hands were wrapped around his neck by now, fingers tangling into his brown hair as his lips never left your skin.

"Fuck, Chris, please." You begged, but you weren't really sure what you were asking for.

"You want me to fuck you?" He whispered in your ear, a moan slipping past your lips. "You want me to fuck you in a back alley like a whore?" He husked and your moaned even louder - knowing the word should offend you but it did anything but, the combined sensation of his hot breath fanning over your cheeks and his hands resting on your bare sides overwhelming your senses. His hands moved up, tugging your shirt with him and discarding it on the floor before his fingers were fumbling with you jeans, popping the buttons open and dragging the zipper down the track.

His hands moved to cup your ass as you pulled Chris's shirt off, hands desperately trying to undo his belt buckle but miserably failing in the rush you were in. He chuckled, nose buried in your hair as you finally got his buckle undone, pushing his jeans and boxers down his legs just enough to free his length.

You both let out a moan when your small hand wrapped around Chris' cock, Chris shivering slightly at the coldness of you palm. All of a sudden he picked you up, a squeal from your lips quickly cut off when he kissed you again, hard. He slammed you back into the wall again, hand braced against the bricks as the other hastily pushed your panties aside, a groan escaping his lips at how wet you'd become.

You gasped as his thumb flitted over your clit, hips bucking against him as his fingers trailing through your wetness before he brought them up to his lips and licked them clean.

"Shit, you taste good." He moaned, hand wrapped around himself as he lined himself up with your core. Chris leant in, pecking your lips. "Ready?" He mumbled and you moaned his name, letting out a loud moan when he sheathed himself inside of you in one sharp thrust.

"Fuck, Chris!" You moaned and he quickly clamped a hand over your mouth, blue eyes now turned black as he looked into yours.

"Gotta keep quiet, pretty girl." He whispered, fore head resting against your as he begun to thrust. Your hands clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin only spurring Chris on as his pace became slow but strong, knocking the air out of your lungs with every thrust. His breath was hot on your cheeks, eyes keeping yours prisoner and a small layer of sweat coated your faces.

The whole scene was very erotic, so it only pushed your further to the edge when he began moaning and groaning, your own sounds muffled against his hot palm.

"Good girl." He moaned, the praise sending a new wave of wetness tumbling down to your core, his cock pushing in and out of you effortlessly now with how much lubrication you were supplying. Chris hand moved from the wall, fingers tapping against your clit as his speed picked up to punishing very quickly. "This pussy's gonna make me cum so hard, sweetheart, so fuckin' hard." He mumbled into the skin of your neck, dropping his head to nip and suck at your jaw line.

You knew there'd be marks there tomorrow, but you couldn't care less in that moment as your walls began to clamp down on his in a vice grip.

"C'mon, cum for me. I can feel how close you are." Chris moaned and your screamed against his hand, his pace picking up as he tried to push you to your release.

When you came it was a mind-shattering orgasm, eyes rolling back and hips bucking, stomach tight and legs shaking around his waist.

"There we go, good girl." Chris groaned, chasing his own release now as he used you for his own pleasure. "Shit, y/n." He moaned, stilling his hips as a final thrust sent him over the edge, cumming in you in hot spurts.

His hand left you mouth slowly. Heavy breaths were shared as you both came down from your highs, panting all that could be heard in that small alleyway.

"Feel like coming again?" You whispered and you both laughed.

"Someone has to pay compliments to the chef."

#smut #elena gilbert #image #images #stefan salvatore #the vampire diaries #tvd #chris wood #damon salvatore #kol mikaelson #Chris #wood #Jake Riley #Kia Parker #Kai Parker smut #kai parker x reader #kai parker image #chris wood x reader #chris wood image

[novoaa1writes]

comeback kid

pairing(s): f!reader & jennifer jareau (familial), f!reader & emily prentiss (familial), jennifer jareau x emily prentiss, the BAU team & f!reader (familial)

summary: reader is a young girl who escapes captivity at the hands of a very bad man with the BAU’s help. she meets emily and JJ. spencer, too, along with the others. somewhere along the way, she learns a little something about trust and healing.

word count: ~5,500

rating: mature

warnings: kidnapping, rape/non-con, canon-typical violence, non-graphic sexual & physical abuse to a child

notes: i definitely spent too much time on this bitch i’ve got FINALS tf??? anyways. in this ‘verse, jj never met will and therefore didn’t have henry or michael. and yes i’m aware the title is stupid but it’s kinda sticking with me so i might change it later. **PLEASE read the warnings dude i’m begging you the first half of this is pretty brutal before the healing starts*** (also on ao3)

— —

“I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it.

I’ve tried to put some of the good things in as well. Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?”

— Margaret Atwood

Your daddy dies on a Tuesday. The bad man forces him down onto his knees, shoots him in the chest with a real-life, actual gun. BANG. It’s so loud. Way louder than it is in the movies. 

He turns to you next. Tells you to watch as he takes Momma’s clothes off, throws her onto the bed. He starts touching her like Daddy sometimes did, except she doesn’t smile and laugh like she does with Daddy. She screams and cries like it hurts, like the bad man is making it hurt. It goes on for a long time. 

Eventually, he takes out a knife, puts it in Momma’s stomach. Once, twice, three times. She cries a little louder, starts to breathe a little funny. Soon enough, she goes completely quiet.

Then the bad man turns to you with a big, toothy smile. You don’t like to think about what happens after that. 

— —

Time passes, and the bad man gets a name—Sir. You think it’s sorta a funny name (not truly a name at all, really), but you don’t ask him about it. He gives you a name, too—Princess. You don’t ask about that either. Your questions only ever seem to make him mad, and he gets really mean when he’s mad. 

Sir gives you a bedroom down in the basement of his house. He tells you it’s your home now, but it doesn’t feel warm and safe like home should. 

You get used to it, though. Eventually. 

— —

You start to grow. It’s slow, at first, but once it starts it doesn’t stop, and you have no idea how to feel about it. 

Your chest starts to get a little bigger. It isn’t flat like Sir’s anymore, and that makes you worry about what he’ll think. Instead of getting mad, though, he actually seems to approve. You don’t know why or what it means, but it’s a relief all the same. 

One morning, you wake up with a tummy ache and blood staining the bedsheets between your legs. You kind of freak out about it, but Sir just smiles and says that it’s a good thing, that it means you’re a woman now. That same night, he spreads your legs and takes out his thing. It hurts when he forces it inside you, but you know better than to fight. He says it’s called “making love,” that it’s what two people do when they really care about each other. 

You wonder why it’s called “making love” if it hurts so much, but you don’t ask him that. 

After that night, Sir starts letting you stay in his room. You were never allowed before. At nighttime he puts his thing inside you and makes love, but you don’t mind. His bedsheets are so much softer than yours, and his pillows are so fluffy. You sleep a lot better most nights, even if your private parts feel ache-y and sore more often than not. 

Sir isn’t angry with you as often as he used to be, but he’s still super strict and punishes you for almost everything. He says it has to be done, that you’ve gotta learn your place. He says it hurts him just as much as it hurts you to do it. You don’t know if you believe him. His thing always grows in his pants when he hits you, which you’ve learned to mean that he’s excited. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of punishing you to drag you upstairs and make love. 

It’s okay, though. You’re kind of used to it now. 

— —

More time passes, and you get a sister. 

She’s smaller than you are, and when you ask her if she’s bled yet, she just looks back up at you all confused. 

Sir says her name is Sissy. Sissy frowns and says, “No, my name is Bella.” Sir slaps Sissy until she screams and cries and her nose starts bleeding. By the end of it, she’s calling herself Sissy, too. 

Eventually, Sissy’s body starts to go through changes, too, just like yours did. Her chest gets a little bigger. One day she falls to her knees, whimpering and clutching her tummy, and when you check her panties, they’re red with blood. 

Sir starts making love to her, too. Sometimes he invites his friends over. They make love with you and Sissy, too. 

Other times, he makes you and Sissy kiss on the mouth and touch each other’s private parts. You don’t understand why, ‘cause you thought sisters weren’t supposed to do things like that, but you know better than to question it. 

You actually like having a sister, you find. She’s warm and soft and you get to hold each other when things are bad. Since Sissy is old enough to do grown-up things now, Sir gives you and Sissy your own room and a bed to share. 

He still makes love to you most nights, and forces the two of you to play grown-up games together in his bed. But you try your best to be good, and teach Sissy how to be good, too. Sometimes, the two of you can manage to go hours on end without making him upset.

When he hugs the two of you against his bare chest late at night, squeezing you tight and saying how much he loves his two beautiful little girls, it doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to. It actually doesn’t bother you at all. 

— —

The angry-looking people with guns and vests come barging in late at night when you and Sissy are with Sir in his bed playing grown-up games. Sir grabs a knife, stabs it right into Sissy’s tummy. You’ve never heard her scream so loud.  

The pretty man with dark, chocolate-y skin barges into the room, yanks Sir off the bed and pins him down on the floor. Sissy is whimpering and bleeding from her gut, Sir is thrashing and yelling on the floor. A handsome man with dark curly hair yanks you off the bed, drags you outside. You keep hitting your fists against his big, burly chest; wriggling and flailing in his strong arms; begging him to take you back in and get Sissy, too. He doesn’t. 

The next bit is kind of a blur. 

Someone drapes a coat around your shoulders. A lady with a buzzcut sits you up on the back of the ambulance and dabs wet cotton balls all over the cuts on your face. It stings.

She says you’re gonna be okay, so long as you go to a hospital later.  

They take you back to the police station. You’ve never been in one of those before.

Sissy’s blood is drying on your hands when the big, burly man with brown eyes leads you into a room right next to the captain’s office. It’s got a table and cushion-y chairs. He leaves you there with a tight smile and an apology, but not before telling you that there’ll be someone in to talk to you soon. 

You’re wearing a big blue jacket that says FBI on the back, a pair of panties and nothing else. It’s a little cold, but otherwise you don’t mind. 

You clamber up onto one of the chairs, tuck your bruised knees against your chest. 

You don’t have to wait for very long until someone opens the door and comes inside. She’s really pretty—tall and thin with long golden hair and big blue eyes. You think she kind of looks like a Disney princess. 

“Hi, there,” she says. You watch her carefully as she takes a seat at the table right across from you. “My name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ.”

“Are you a police officer?” you ask. 

“No, I’m with the FBI.” Her voice is soft and gentle, like silk. 

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

She chuckles, like you’ve said something funny. “Kind of.”

You nod, staring down at the tabletop. “Cool.”

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”

“Princess.” 

“‘Princess,’” she repeats, eyebrows raised. “That’s a cute name.”

You look up. You can’t figure out if she really means that. “Thanks. Sir gave it to me.”

“Ah.” JJ’s eyebrows creep a little higher.  “And do you like being called ‘Princess’?” 

You frown. “I guess so.” You don’t really understand what she’s asking. “It’s my name.”

“Okay.” JJ nods. “And how old are you, Princess?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admit. 

“That’s alright,” JJ says. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You start fidgeting with your hands, concern for Sissy still fresh on your mind. “Is Sissy okay?”

JJ looks confused. “‘Sissy’?”

“My sister,” you tell her. “Is she okay? She was bleeding.”

JJ pauses, a wrinkle forming between her brows. You get a sinking feeling in your gut. “Princess, your sister was hurt very badly,” she explains, looking at you with sad eyes. “The doctors said there was nothing they could do. I’m so, so sorry.”

Your eyes start to burn like they do when you’re about to start crying. “She’s… She’s dead?”

JJ nods slowly. The sad expression doesn’t leave her face. “Yes, Princess. Again, I’m… so, so sorry.”

Your body feels numb. There’s a humming in your ears you can’t quite place. Your sight grows hazy around the edges. 

“Princess?” JJ’s voice sounds far-away, distant. 

A hot tear traces down your cheek. It helps to anchor you in the moment, sort of. “Sir is a bad man, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” JJ says after a moment. “Yes, he is.”

You tuck your knees a little tighter to your chest. Your bad arm aches, but you ignore it. “I don’t wanna be called ‘Princess’ anymore,” you whisper. 

“Alright. What would you like to be called instead?”

You sniffle as another warm tear traces your cheek. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

“You’re really nice, Miss JJ.”

“Just ‘JJ’ is fine.” She takes out a notepad and pen, sets it in front of her on the table. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You nod. You still feel numb. “He came into my house one night. He was scary.”

“He hurt your parents, didn’t he?”

You gulp down a whimper. “Y-Yea. He had a gun and a knife.”

“What did he do with them?”

“Shot Daddy right here.” You shift in your seat, pointing at your chest with your good arm—right around where you think your heart should be. “Put Mommy on the bed, and… made love.”

JJ frowns. “‘Made love’?”

You nod, looking at her curiously. Weren’t grown-ups supposed to know all about making love? “Yea. The thing that grown-ups do with each other.”

JJ just stares.

“You know, when they take off their clothes and touch each other’s private parts.”

Something in JJ’s eyes shifts. “Honey… ” she begins. She sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Did Sir teach you about that?”

You nod again. “Yea, he showed me how once I became a woman.”

JJ’s eyes widen. “Once you ‘became a woman’?”

Why does she keep repeating everything I’m saying? “When I started bleeding down… there.”

“Your period?”

Huh? “What’s that?”

“It’s something that happens every month to girls like you and me.”

You lean forward a little bit in your seat, peering intently at her over your knees. “It happens to you, too?”

JJ’s lips curve into a little smile, like she’s amused by your question. Her eyes still look kinda sad, though. “Yes, sweetie, they happen to me, too. I have one every month.”

“A period.” It sounds kinda funny coming off your tongue. “Do you get tummy aches when they happen, too?”

“Sometimes. I take painkillers for the first couple days so that it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Why… Why doesn’t it happen to boys?” 

“Because girl parts and boy parts are different.”

You nod. That makes sense. After all, whenever Sir pulled out his thing, it was so strange-looking. It didn’t look anything like what you had between your legs.  

“Boy parts are weird,” you say eventually, wrinkling your nose. 

JJ laughs. She has a pretty laugh. “Yes, they certainly are.”

— —

JJ leaves eventually, says she’ll bring you food when she comes back. Your stomach growls. You don’t know how you can be hungry at a time like this, but somehow, you are. 

Another woman takes JJ’s place. 

She’s beautiful, too, in a different way. Black hair, bangs, dark eyes. Her smile is white and dazzling. She’s tall and thin like JJ, but the sweater she’s wearing looks soft while JJ’s shirt was crisp and business-y. 

“Hi, there,” she says as she takes JJ’s seat across from you. She places a brown folder on the table in front of her. “I’m Emily.”

“Are you FBI? Like Miss JJ?” When you mention JJ’s name, her smile seems to get wider. You wonder if you’re just imagining things. 

“Yes, in fact, I am,” she replies. 

“Are you gonna put me in jail?”

Emily raises one eyebrow. “No, honey, I’m not going to put you in jail.”

“What about Sir?”

Emily sighs. “He’s in another room right now. One of our agents is talking to him.”

“He’s gonna go to jail, isn’t he?”

Emily nods. “Yes. For a very long time.” Straightforward and honest. You like that about her, you decide. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You frown, hesitating. “Sir called me ‘Princess.’”

“So, should I call you that as well?”

Instantly, you shake your head. “No, thank you.”

“What about the name you had before Sir took you?”

“I… I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay.” Emily opens the file, flips it around and slides it across the table over to you. “One of our people, Garcia, found you.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to trace the paper on top. There’s a smaller picture paper-clipped to the front of it. It’s… It’s you. “Name: Y/N Y/L/N,” you read off the page. “That’s… That’s me?”

“Yes, honey,” Emily agrees. Her voice is soft like JJ’s, but different. Deeper. You like it, you decide. “That’s you.”

Your head spins. You look up at her, searching her pale features for an answer. “Miss Emily, h-how old am I?”

“You’re 14.”

“And my parents… They’re gone, aren’t they?”

Emily nods. There’s sadness in her eyes, too. It’s different from JJ’s, but not by much. “I’m afraid they are.”

You bite your lower lip nervously. You really don’t want to think about that right now. “Are you and Miss JJ… friends?”

Emily’s lips twitch. “You could say that.”

“What does that mean?”

“We live together.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, tapping your knees. They’re a mottled combination of purple and black and blue. “Miss JJ is really pretty.”

Emily smiles. “Yes, she certainly is.”

“You smile when you talk about Miss JJ,” you observe, watching Emily carefully. You can’t quite figure her out. “You don’t seem like a very smile-y person.”

Emily looks a little taken aback at your remark, but she recovers quickly. “Well, JJ and I are very close.”

You hum, resting your chin on your knees and giving her your full attention. “Sir says I’m a woman now. Is that true?”

Emily huffs out a laugh. “No, sweetie, not quite. You’re a teenager.”

You tilt your head curiously. “But I did the period.”

“What’s that now?”

“The period. Miss JJ says that that’s what it’s called when you bleed from... down there.”

“Oh, I see what you mean now,” Emily says. “But you don’t ‘do’ periods. You have them.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And, either way, having a period doesn’t automatically make you a woman, Y/N.”

You squint over at her. Now you’re even more confused. “It doesn’t?”

“Nope. I had my first period when I was around 12 years old, but I didn’t grow up until much, much later.”

You nod at that, like you understand. (You don’t really.) “How much later?”

“According to the law, everyone’s an adult at 18. But honestly, I don’t think I really became a grown-up until I was 25, at least.”

“Woah,” you murmur. “That’s a lot of years.”

Emily chuckles again. You find that you’re beginning to like the sound of it. “I used to think that, too.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. “Miss Emily?” you ask eventually. “Why am I still here?”

“We’re not quite finished with Sir yet,” she tells you. 

“But you caught him.”

“That’s true,” Emily agrees. “But we need him to tell us where to find some other people, too.”

“Why? Did Sir do something to them?”

“Yes. He did.”

“Sir gets angry sometimes,” you say. You don’t quite know what point you’re trying to make, but you feel like you should say it all the same. “He loses control.”

“Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone loses control.” Emily leans back in her seat. Her eyes don’t leave you. “That still doesn’t make it okay to hurt people.”

You agree with Emily on that, you think. Even if Sir doesn’t. “Miss Emily?”

“You can just call me ‘Emily.’”

“Emily,” you correct yourself. It feels wrong coming off your tongue. You don’t think you’ll be doing that again any time soon. “You know about making love, right? The thing that grown-ups do in bed?”

Emily opens her mouth but nothing comes out, like she doesn’t quite know what to say. You think she looks kind of silly like that. After a long moment, she says, “I… Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Why does it hurt so much? Sir says… that it’s supposed to hurt when you make love. He says that sometimes we have to hurt the people we care about. Is that true?”

Emily’s face falls. All of a sudden, her eyes are sad again, and the way she’s looking at you… like she’s sad for you. 

When she finally answers, her voice is small—smaller than you’ve heard it be since she came in and started talking to you. “He’s wrong, Y/N,” she says.

“But then why is his thing so big?” you ask, completely bewildered. “How could anyone ever fit it in without getting hurt?”

If anything, Emily’s face gets even sadder at that. “He’s a grown-up. He’s much bigger than you are.”

“But I can do grown-up things. I had a period,” you point out. 

“Sweetie, that’s not how it works.” Emily’s hands clasp tightly together on the tabletop until her knuckles turn white. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t be doing things like that with grown-ups, and it isn’t fair that he forced you to.” 

You frown. That doesn’t sound totally right, but you don’t know enough to say one way or the other. “Do I belong to him now? ‘Cause we did grown-up things together?” you ask. As soon as the words leave your lips, you realize how badly you’ve been wanting to know the answer.

You can see Emily’s jaw get tight. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yea,” you admit. Your tummy churns as you watch Emily’s clenched hands start to shake. “Um… Are you angry with me, Miss Emily?”

Emily blinks, looking down at her hands and then back to you. “No, honey. No, of course not.” She takes her hands back, puts them in her lap. “I’m sorry. I’m angry with him for doing these things to you.”

“Oh.” Your frown deepens at the defeated look on Emily’s face. “It’s okay,” you assure her. You don’t want her to be sad. “It wasn’t too bad. I learned what he liked pretty quick, and that made it easier.”

Emily begins to look a little sick. 

“Miss Emily, are you alright?” you ask. 

Emily clears her throat. The green complexion fades, but she still looks wary. “Yes, sweetie, I’m fine.”

She’s lying. You don’t know why, but she is. Still, you won’t ask about it. You’re smarter than that. “Is Miss JJ coming back soon?” 

Emily glances down at her watch. She wears it on the inside of her wrist, you remember. “Yeah, I think—”

A sudden knock at the door interrupts Emily mid-sentence, making you flinch. 

“Ah.” Emily’s eyes shift to look at something over your shoulder. She smiles. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

You chance a look behind you. 

There Miss JJ is, holding a brown paper bag and a Sprite. When you meet her eye, she gives you a warm smile and a wink. You immediately turn back around, your cheeks feeling hot. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a handful of things for you to choose from,” JJ explains. She drops the paper bag and soda right next to the open file in front of you, then circles around to the other side of the table. It smells like grease and fast food and ketchup. Your tummy rumbles again. “There’s a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets, and a grilled chicken sandwich. I got you some fries, too.”

JJ gently touches Emily’s shoulder, and the two of them share some sort of silent communication. Then she sits down, too. 

“Thank you, Miss JJ,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to touch the food. 

“You’re welcome, honey.”

The room goes quiet. You steal glances at the food, then over at JJ and Emily. They’re watching you with identical frowns. Occasionally, they turn to exchange concerned looks with each other. In the meantime, you continue your staring match with the purple skin of your kneecaps. 

“Not hungry?” Emily asks after a little while. 

You glance up at her. “Is this a test?”

JJ and Emily exchange another look. “‘A test’?” JJ repeats. Her voice is just as soft and silky as you remember it. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

If it is a test, it’s already way more elaborate than anything Sir ever did. Still, you can’t help falling back on old habits. 

“Food is earned, not given,” you recite. The words come out easy—like second nature. At this point, they kind of are. 

It’s quiet again, until—

“Y/N… Did Sir tell you that?” Emily’s dark eyes on you are steady, like if she looks at you for long enough, she’ll figure out all your secrets. You pray that that isn’t true. 

Reluctantly, you nod. You look back and forth between them, searching. “What do you want for this?”

“Nothing,” Emily says simply. 

You just raise your eyebrows. You’ve played this game before. “A favor, then?”

Emily shakes her head. “No favors necessary.”

“I brought you food because you’re hungry and you need to eat,” JJ adds. She’s looking at you with a pained expression. “That’s all.”

Slowly, you reach for the Sprite. You don’t take your eyes off JJ and Emily. The can is cold and wet, dripping down the sides. 

“Oh!” Emily abruptly stands, leaning forward over the table and reaching out. “Here, I’ll open it for y—”

She stops herself short when she sees you flinch. 

“Y/N, hey,” she prompts. She raises both her hands, palms facing you. “I’m sorry; I should have asked first.” She nods down toward the soda can. “Would it be alright if I opened that Sprite for you?”

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Slowly, you reach around your knees to slide the can forward a couple inches. Your eyes don’t leave Emily’s face. 

“Okay, I’m gonna open it for you now,” she tells you. Her hands fall to the soda can, and she does just that. Chk-chk! Her nails are all ragged and torn, you note. One of them has dried blood around it. It looks painful. The soda hisses as she slides it back over to you. 

You don’t relax until she retreats back into her seat. 

“Thank you, Miss Emily.” You take the soda can into your hands, down a little sip. It’s fizzy and strange and way too sweet. You like it. 

“No problem, hon.”

— —

After endless tests, and doctors poking you, and a whole bunch of confusing questions, you’re finally left alone. Well, mostly. 

It’s just you, a hospital bed, and a thin pale man who says his name is Spencer. He’s FBI, too, evidently. He doesn’t look like he’d be FBI, but the gun on his hip says otherwise. 

He’s got big brown eyes, short brown hair, and he won’t stop fidgeting with his hands. He seems nervous. It’s making you nervous. 

Eventually, you can’t take it any longer. “Mister Spencer?” you ask. 

Immediately, his eyes shift to you. “Yes?”  He leans forward in his seat, rests his elbows on his knees. 

“They said I have to have surgery.”

He nods. “You’ve had some broken bones that didn’t heal correctly,” he explains patiently. His voice is soft, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Most of them won’t require surgery, but from what I understand, the one in your left forearm is still hurting.”

Instinctively, you cradle your bad arm to your chest. “It’s not so bad.”

“That may be true, but the doctors here can fix it. They’re very good at what they do. And once you heal from the surgery, it won’t ever hurt like that again.”

A song plays in your head—one of Sir’s favorite songs. He’d play it all the time. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free,” you murmur. 

“Sorry?”

“Nothing in this world is free,” you say. “They can’t just take the pain away, Mister Spencer. Not unless the price is really, really high.” 

“The price has been taken care of.”

“By who?” Owing someone is dangerous. You know that. 

Spencer hesitates. “Well—”

“By me.” A familiar voice makes you whirl your head around. You really don’t like surprises. 

Emily’s standing there in the doorway. She looks at you with an expression you can’t quite figure out. 

“Miss Emily, I—I can’t pay you back—”

“You don’t have to.” She pushes off of the doorframe, comes in and sits in an empty chair next to Spencer. “I just want you to get better, sweetie.”

You eye her suspiciously up and down. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper out eventually. 

You don’t expect her to hear you, much less answer, so it’s a surprise when she does. 

“I know,” she says. 

— —

The next couple days are a blur. You get the surgery, though you don’t really remember it. All you know is you wake up with the room spinning and your bad arm feeling numb. There’s a bandage on it, and white gauze wrapped from your wrist all the way up to your elbow. 

The doctors smile and tell you that things went well, that you’re gonna be okay. Their smiles are too big and the room is too bright and you really don’t want to be there anymore. 

Someone carries you out of the hospital to a big, black car. They smell like cinnamon, and their shirt is really soft. Their long black hair tickles your nose. Emily.

She stays with you in the backseat when the car starts to move.  

There’s a woman with golden hair driving the car. You think you might know her. JJ, a distant voice in your head supplies. 

Things go black for a while after that.

When you wake up, it’s bleary. You’re warm and comfy, which strikes you as unusual. The bed you’re on feels like a cloud. It’s a million times softer and more cloud-like than Sir’s bed ever was. That’s unusual, too. 

Turns out, it’s a guest room in an apartment that’s too fancy to be called an apartment. A “loft.” 

There’s a black cat with green eyes that jumps up on the bed and starts nuzzling you as soon as you’re up. Its fur is really, really soft. You like the way it purrs when you scratch it behind the ears. 

Turns out, the “it” is a “he.” His name is Sergio, and he belongs to Emily and JJ. 

This is their loft, where they’ve offered to let you stay for the foreseeable future. 

You have no idea what their angle is, and that terrifies you. But they’re warm and they smell nice and they let you order takeout from wherever you want for dinner. They’re gentle and they smile a lot and as far as you can tell, they don’t come into your room to touch you at night. 

Still, there’s only one way to be sure. One day, you sneak a strip of Scotch tape from Emily’s desk before dinner. That same night, you stick it horizontally on the inside of the door—from the metal frame across to the wood of the door itself. 

This way, it won’t come undone unless someone opens the door. And if they do, it’ll be impossible to stick the tape back exactly how it was unless you’re on the inside. You’re not sure where you learned that, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t from Sir, but you figure it doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that it’s smart, and it works.  

Three nights go by. The tape doesn’t move. 

Three nights becomes a week. You keep sneaking bits of Scotch tape to replace the old ones when they start to lose their stick. 

The tape still doesn’t move. 

JJ and Emily are still as kind as ever. They still give you food, change your bandages, let you watch as much TV as you want. They don’t make you play grown-up games. They don’t yell at you. They don’t hit you, either. 

It’s new, and confusing, and strange. 

You think that maybe you could use a little of that. 

— —

A geriatric, balding judge with bifocals and a lisp signs the adoption papers on a Tuesday afternoon. And just like that, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau are finally declared the official legal guardians of Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. 

You’re sixteen, now, after a quiet but memorable birthday spent at home with your moms three weeks prior.

Thanks to Uncle Spencer’s influence, you’re reading books like a fiend and doing weekly crossword puzzles with him on Sunday mornings. Social media remains something of a mystery to you, still. Hell, even Mama Emily’s better at it than you are. Auntie Penelope says it’s better that way ‘cause “the Internet is a beautiful but terrible place, my sweet sugarplum,” but at the very least, you think you should get a Facebook before you graduate.

Plus, Uncle Kevin says he’ll teach you some hacker tricks on the sly so long as you don’t tell Auntie Pen. You’re really, really looking forward to that. 

Uncle Hotch goes on weekly runs with you around the park. You pretty much spend the whole time teasing him for being so old and having to stretch so much before the two of you can actually get going, but he still very nearly beats you every time. 

Uncle Rossi spoils you with gifts and home-made Italian recipes. Sometimes, he’ll come over just to cook you dinner. 

Uncle Morgan’s teaching you how to pick up girls. Ever since you told him about that cute girl Emiko in your Spanish class, he’s been drilling you with lessons on “how to woo a lady.” You groan and blush and act like it’s the worst thing that ever happened to you, but secretly, you don’t really mind it. At all. Sometimes, you even take his advice. (Though admittedly, that’s rather rare.)

Luke, Matt, Tara, Alex and Stephen are all new, but your moms seem to trust them, and that’s good enough for you. Plus, Luke lets you play with his dog Roxy sometimes, so he’s already pretty cool in your book.

Friday nights are special. They’re the nights you always, always spend at home with your moms. You play board games, watch movies, binge trashy Netflix shows. Currently, you’re 11 seasons into Grey’s Anatomy. 

Most of the time, you pass out snuggled between them on the couch. They shake you gently when it’s time to go to bed, and you trudge back to your room in a zombie-like trance. You don’t stick tape anywhere. You don’t even close the door. You just fall face-first into bed and drift off to sleep. 

In the mornings, you always wake up all tucked in with a smudge of JJ’s strawberry-scented lip gloss drying on your forehead. 

And… you’re happy. Happier than you’ve ever been. 

‘Course, you still get sad sometimes. You still think about Sir and miss him even when you know you shouldn’t. You still visit Sissy every year, lay pretty pink flowers at the foot of her grave. (Sissy always loved pink.) But, things are different—you’re not alone. Your moms are always, always, always at your side. 

You think Sissy would’ve liked them. Loved them, in fact. 

After all, you certainly do. 

— — 

end notes: the song is “ain’t no rest for the wicked” by cage the elephant and uhhhh that’s it? i think? i Love using fanfic as a means of self-projection <3

#jj x emily #jemily #jj x emily prentiss #criminal minds #cm #stuff i wrote #criminal minds fic #cm fic #f!reader #reader & emily prentiss #reader & jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #reader-insert #jennifer jareau x emily prentiss

[namjoonchronicles]

finer arts | th

↳  genre fluff, slice of life, domestic, husband-Taehyung  ↳  words 4.6k ↳  summary inspired by the Baumgartner Restoration channel on Youtube, Taehyung is written as a fine art restorer. This fic centres on the point where arts and science collide. Also, long haired Taehyung. Unedited. :’) ↳ song miley cyrus ‘when i look at you’ slowed ver.

Very soft. Taehyung’s hair, at this length, had always been soft. It’s been awhile since he told you he wanted them to grow longer, and it’s finally paying off. He looks terribly soft with bangs going just a little over his brows and poking his eyes. Gathering his hair into one apple sprout and tying it up has always been your favourite way to start the day. He was humming Frank Sinatra's in the living room as it played on the bluetooth speaker when you found him. Always so hardworking. You leaned on your side by the wall, folding your arms and watching your husband pouting at the document he was reading as his head hung low. Big round glasses sliding down the slope of his Godly carved nose he learned to hate, growing up. Parker Fountain Pen in his slender fingers, cross crossing, underlining, circling the paper in a professional manner makes you remember why you had fallen for him. Slowly, but surely.

He lifts his eyes, noticing another presence in the room, and briefly smiles before returning to his writing pad again, greeting in a deep voice, “You’re awake?”

“Yes, I am…” you nodded, indulging the view still. When he starts to repeatedly push his hair away from his face, you take off your own hairband and have him sit down on the floor, with his back leaning against the couch. And you gather his hair with your finger raking the locks gently, tying an apple sprout hair. His eyes were glued on the work he brought home.

“I take it that you’re leaving home for the studio today?” you tipped his head back, chin pointed upward, demanding his attention. He chuckles through his nose as you leaned in for a chaste kiss on the lips, where his beauty mark is and then the tip of his nose and the skin between his brows. With the chuckles alone, you knew you were right. Judging from the wrinkles on his forehead when he crosses out the plans he had, you knew that he was handling a semi large painting.

Taehyung is a fine-art conservator-restorer and because of it, his work consumes him. He treats his client’s painting like his own wife; each with their own time, loving and care. Instead of being envious towards the time he puts in them, you weigh more on the term ‘admiration’, towards his work and dedication. He truly is invested in his line of profession. It was only natural for an art lover like him to eventually become an artist himself, but after some unfortunate series of art blocks, he began to turn to conservation midway through college. You were always supportive of his aspirations. Although you don’t share the same passion for arts to actually go to a college as an art major like him, he always says you should have been an artist rather than scientist when he saw you sketch a lion behind your notes, after being frustrated about writing papers on your research.

Ever since then, you and Taehyung shared an art studio at your shared home after marriage.

“Polyurethane,” he let out a deep sigh. One word is enough.

A big part about restoration and conservation is perfection. When the previous conservator uses polyurethane as varnish, the next restorer, in this case is Taehyung, will have endless scrapings to do. Polyurethane becomes embedded in the paint, which makes most restorers emotionally frustrated. This poorly chosen varnish not only becomes a part of the paint, it makes it difficult to remove because it is scraped along with the original paint by the painter and artist. This then, leads to more restoration work because the objective of a restorer, is to… restore. Using polyurethane just adds into the time working on it. The last time he dealt with polyurethane paintings, he went home with colors drained out from his face. He spent a week on them because he needs to be extra careful to get most of the polyurethane out with minimal damage on the painting.

After the scrapings, he will have to remove the paintings from the old plywood it came with and it was glued with rabbit-skin glue which is the most tedious process, one after the other.

“When it came to the studio, I was holding my breath because the state of it... was just,” Taehyung puffed his cheek and deflated it. Where does he even start? Dented surface, skewed plywood frames, rabbit skin glue, and polyurethane varnish. The owner’s cat sat on the painting. And this painting was already fragile at this time. It was a very old painting auctioned for at least a million dollar. Taehyung almost fainted.

Right. That was how he is. When Taehyung works on a painting, any painting for that matter, of any values of any age, he is consumed by it. Giving it his all, but careful not to leave traces of him as to respect the original painter.Taehyung, as an artist, is mind blowingly authentic. He has unique perceptions towards everything he sees and he was the first few artist you knew that began with taking photographs. Actually, he was the only artist you knew all your life that was intimate enough to have this talk. Back in the days, art students don’t really mingle with science nerds due to unforeseen differences seniors claim to have. You personally were told that art students are too superficial to really want to understand the world and that they see you as a fuss in human form. You believed none of that bullshit.

You have always been the kind to look deeper than what is on the surface, always skin deep. Taehyung noticed this from the first time he laid eyes on you. There was something worth uncovering.

Just like today, when your eyes tunnels into the magnifier to see the photographed version of the painting he was supposed to restore, he gets giddy at the fact that his wife, his forever girlfriend takes so much interest in so many things and is well-versed in all kinds of art despite not being a member of the field. It was at moments like these that he relentlessly wonders why you never considered to seriously take art degrees just like your science stuff.

“Looks flaky, and the dent is so deep…” you commented, craning your neck on his desk as he watches fondly from the side, “You’ll have to patch it up and sew it together…”

The smile melts away and he averted his eyes, tapping his index finger on his knee at the same time. By his demeanor alone, you know that he dislikes this. The work just keeps piling on, and more and more of the original paint is lost. Like a wet on wet painting work, that keeps bleeding color, the painting will have more of Taehyung than it would of its owner. Taehyung let out a sigh you understood so well. You leave the painting’s print on the table with the magnifying glass set away on the corner with the rest of his tools. You bring yourself next to him and put your arm around his neck and the other palm rests on one side of his face, sliding down his chiseled jaws and thumb, tracing his lips. His cologne swims around your nostril, and the smell of his hair that you love, engulfs you. He gathers his arms around your waist, rests his head under your chin and stays like that as long as you both need.

He will be away for long and intimacy of such degree would be difficult to execute. Long tiring week ahead will make you drift you both apart, only to hopefully meet each other like the first time again.

You remember the first time you laid your eyes on Kim Taehyung. He was helping the waitress picking the pieces of fallen tissues after a minor accident. He looked like he walked out of someone’s innate dream. Clean-shaven, dark brown comma hair, boring a dark brown suit and pants to match. The selfless act was something intriguing to you. It’s so rare to find someone who would take the time to help others in such a fast-paced era where everything has to be quick and perfect. You remember turning away and smiling to yourself, grateful that there’s such men still in the world. You never planned to find any attachments that night, it was just a casual formal gathering that you had to attend in order to remain in the social circle. You actually wanted to leave after thirty minutes, and probably watch a late night movie at a nearby movie theatre to appease yourself.

A drink in your hand, a small talk about how good the eclairs were, and a little bit about your short-term plans; apart from that, there was nothing much. You were never the kind to approach people first, finding more interest in the food than you do the people attending. But not your best friend, not Jimin. He is the loudest, most animatic figure out there, talking about all kinds of things, doing a lot of gags and just, a walking entertainment channel, with his addictive laughter and outgoing personality. Jimin would make friends with a broomstick if it attended. It was because of him that you were dragged into this little dinner party. He said if you come, he will join your presentation that he called boring and asked relevant questions. After careful consideration, and losing a couple of friends because of your hectic college schedule, you had no choice but adhere to his demands.

“Hi,” a succulent honeyed deep voice greeted you from behind, “Where did you get those jelly desserts?”

You glanced at him and when you recognised that he was that dude who helped the waitress, you shot your eyes back to your plate instantly, then jerked your head back up, “From the dessert corner, next to the pillar… I think they haven’t refilled them,” you said to him through a smile. Wow, he was so much taller than you expected. And, smells so nice.

“Oh thank you,” he tutted his tongue and nodded once, before he walked away grinning, “Over there right?” He walks sideways to talk to you still. He almost trips over the folded carpet and you got instantly worried before replying in a haste, “Yes! Oh careful, please!”

He gave an okay sign and puffed his cheeks.

Finding the back of your calves began to strain from the long period of standings, you had to find yourself a bar stool and ate your food alone, while Jimin was throwing his head back at a joke one of his new friends were telling. Someone took the empty seat next to you and sat with a huff.

“We already met twice and I still don’t know your name,” he peels his eyes off of his plate and turns sideways to you, “I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung.” You said your name in a hurry with an awkward giggle at the end, before poking your fork into the grapes and shoving them into your mouth.

“Did you come here alone?” he asked. “No, but he looks like he is having fun,” you didn’t specify who it was and Taehyung hung his head low with a dry, “Oh.” “You?” you replied. “Alone,” Taehyung said, “Didn’t plan to stay very long…I was going to catch a movie.”

Your eyes light up, “What movie? Because I’m not staying too!” Taehyung pouts, “Haven’t decided… I was going to decide there and then.”

“It’s nice to watch movies alone ha…” “Helps me recharge…” “What major are you? We’re from the same uni, correct?” “I am. I am an art major, and now more to restoration and conservator.” “Oooo, interesting… Meticulous work. That’s amazing.”

Taehyung then learns that you’re a science major, pharmaceutical technology. It sounded foreign to him, he had never known anyone with a science major, let alone talk to one. They always seem so…

“Fussy? Introverted? Closed up?” you listed. He shakes his head, jutting his lower lip out trying to think of a better adjective to describe, shooting his eyes to the ceiling then to the right. “Guarded,” Taehyung tipped his head to the side, looking at you as he spoke. “I get why we seemed that way,” you swirled your fork around the plate of spaghetti you took and nodded in agreement, “But we’re probably thinking about our gazillion unfinished reports and stressed out about why the results aren’t tally, and forgetting our breakfast, lunch and dinner, being high on caffeine…” you shrugged your shoulder, explaining.

“Doesn’t seem like a healthy way to live,” Taehyung commented, “But I understand the struggle.”

Discussing about the stereotypes, the polar opposites of a science versus art majors lasted longer than you expected. Art majors and science majors actually share more in common than you’d think. For starters, both are extremely meticulous and precise. Taehyung spoke about the specification of colours and blending of several techniques into one art requires an extensive studies of observations and practice. As a conservator, he must recognise personalized styles of close to thousands of painters to differentiate a genuine piece from a copy--a skill that would take years and decades to perfect.

For science, specifics come in the definition of science. There has to be hypotheses to be proven, and theories that aligned with the results. Making medication has several strict rules; and the process, the testing are endless. From the drug is being formulated, to the way it is processed, and how it reacts when it enters the human body, to how long it takes to be expelled and whatever happened in between must be noted. Uniformity, size particles, bottling, storage, etc. are all taken into custody when it comes to making drugs. You told Taehyung about the exhausting 48 sets of 100mL volumetric flask being used in order to determine the complete dissolution of 100mG of paracetamol.

“I get cross-eyed having to stare at the mark, trying not to make mistakes,” you smiled and Taehyung giggled. “I understand about getting cross-eyed,” he added. He continues about having to re-color a varnished painting with a limited set of light in the studio, and not being able to determine what pigment it was until daylight reveals that he was wrong.

“I think art and science are two things humans can’t live without,” you started, looking down at your semi empty plate, “I mean, life depends on science, but art is what makes it worth living.” “Rebecca Atwood,” Taehyung cited. Then you both looked at each other for what seemed the longest time, as if you both had found home in each other.

Your heart clearly whispered, “Where have you been all my life?” And for a period of time, you actually believed it was one-sided. How could someone like Taehyung want to spend time with you. But you guys eventually went to the movies together.

Jimin called midway through the movie. You excused yourself and took the call outside the hall.

“Yo, where art thou? The party’s over, don’t tell me you went home without me,” Jimin nags.

“I’m at the movies, I’ll get the Uber, don’t worry,” you hissed, “No, Jimin, I’m going to be fine. It’s not that late, I’ll call you when I get home. Yes, I know there’s class tomorrow at 2pm, alright bye,” you hang up and rush back inside.

Taehyung looks at you with wondering eyes and you felt inclined to explain, “Jimin. Asked me where I was, and wanted to go home. I said I’ll take the Uber.”

“Uber? No, I can drive you home,” Taehyung offered. You don’t think you should be in a car with someone you barely know so you politely declined. Taehyung however, waited with you for the Uber, and waved you goodbye. He didn’t ask for your number, much to your disappointment. But maybe it was a one night thing for him. It’s not like you expected anything, so why do you carry yourself heavily to your dorm?

It was rare to find someone you could connect to in such a short time. Tonight was a miracle at work, and it was short lifted. Laying down in your bed with the light from your phone shone over your face, you scrolled down Instagram to see your married highschool friend cradling babies. Another friend just got married. Another is half a world away. A few are taking pictures of cute dates they went on. And then there’s you, who is now staring at each one filled with envy and discontent, wondering if anyone will ever find the time to notice you and hopefully fall for you. Deep inside, all you ever wanted was to be in love. Despite you plunge yourself into heavy work in the most strenuous field out there, you were inexplicably lonely. It gets increasingly difficult as you grow older, and your options for men decreases.

They say, everyone has a soulmate. But for some reason, you think God forgot to make yours. Real connection is possibly impossible to find. The love you seek probably doesn’t exist.

And as you turn your phone face down next to you, it vibrated a message in.

Jimin: Are you home yet? Hello? Jimin: So you found Kim Taehyung? From arts? Jimin: He texted me the Uber car’s plate number to make sure I know where you are…

You replied,

You: yes.. You: you know taehyung??

Jimin: uh yeah. Orientation week together. Campmates. Jimin: how was it? You: he was nice… Jimin: You cold-blooded women. You: XD

The next day was your presentation. After spotting Jimin in the crowd, you immediately felt better. Some familiar faces would be nice. Final year project presentations can be brutal. Some of the questions you expected would be the purpose, the motive, the need for this project to be funded and why it carries such significance. Sometimes what you expect doesn't happen, and because of that you get very disheartened and disappointed. No matter how brave you decide to be, your body protests and rebels against your wishes. The way the bottle tremble in your hands shows how much this is hammering your dignity. It is as if you expected to be humiliated. You glanced down to your heavily arrowed notes and scribbles, closing your eyes as you stood in the back stage, mentally preparing yourself. How to be bulletproof?

Had he not helped the girl to purchase a canned coffee from the vending machine, he would not have been late, Taehyung thought. Now he creeps in the back of the lecture hall, carrying his own opened canned drink. There was an extra unopened canned coffee drink he snuck in. You had already started your presentations. Does he have the mental capacity for this new information? Of course. There were a few terms he wasn’t familiar with, but it was not enough to bore him. Your simpler explanation the night you met actually helped a lot. The oozing charisma you carry and the calm way you carry yourself was something worth looking up to. It was the kind that he actually envied about you. He had a feeling that you weren’t showing all parts of you and because of that, he was intrigued. Even as he sat there as an audience, completely at awe of your presentation, you were magnetic.

Not a single one person in that auditorium was paying their attention elsewhere. Being able to draw such dedication and passion is a talent. And it was all Kim Taehyung wished he could do.

“With all the existing medication with the same purpose, what good would a research in the same area pose? A renewal?” “And what about the gene-specific cancer studies that are already initiated since 2004? Haven’t we spent enough on that?” “What about the ethical issues surrounding the existing CRISPR, the so-called genetic-specific medications?”

The questions from the PhD holders you presented were all valid. You agreed.

“As a scientist, we understand that our research will continue far after our death. Many researches are done without a clear view of where the finish line is. If we want to talk about ethical issues regarding gene modifications, we have done them on all the things we could consume, grow and breed. If we have the power to prevent abnormality before it becomes one, why do we second guess ourselves? Isn’t the purpose of science to better understand, and then to prevent? To create a better living?”

The room fell into a deathly silence, and you were inclined to go back to your statements but when you dragged your eyes to the corner of the room, you saw some juniors nodding in agreement to what you’ve just said, you regained a little ounce of confidence. “But we haven’t truly understood the after effects of gene modifications. And through all prolonged research thus far, it doesn’t suggest a good result. How do you guarantee a perceptible study in the development of the medication you’re proposing?”

. . . Sniffles greeted Taehyung at the door he pushed opened gently. You were standing by the handrails on the faculty’s rooftop, the papers you brought in scattered around the ground. Some are drained into the pool of water puddle from last night’s rain. Digging the heels of your palm into your eyes, you heard the door creaked open and jumped.

“I’m sorry…” Taehyung whispered. You glanced over your shoulder at him and then turned away. Not because of anger or fear, but from shame. You have never shown anyone this timid side of you. You’re always expected to be strong, and you took that mask on literally. Having someone witnessing your vulnerability is as foreign as the sight of a shooting star. How unlucky for Taehyung, you thought.

“I bought you…” he placed the canned drink on the ground, next to where you placed your backpack, “A canned coffee.”

“How did you,” you sniffed, “How did you know that the presentations’ today?” “You told me the night we met?” he answered, in a confused tone.

And you gave him a lopsided smile, “Oh right. I’m not used to people remembering my errands. Jimin never does. No one ever does.”

“I am not actually good at remembering. But for some reason, yours was unforgettable,” he added an awkward chuckle at the end, scratching the back of his head not sure why he finds conversation with you feel homey. Sincerity and honesty comes naturally like breathing the air in.

“I did a crap job at presenting, didn’t I?” it was a statement, pretentiously laid out as a question.

But Taehyung knew better than to cement the depressive thought. Then he scooted near to you, and coil to your side, to give you a puppy eyed bright smile.

That was when you first knew a Kim Taehyung. Everything else that happened after that seemed like a story written just for you. But loving Kim Taehyung didn’t come without challenges. When you love a man as attractive as that, there will be wandering eyes directed towards him. And you have your own fair share of evil eyes directed at you. How can a science nerd catch the attention of an art student? It was totally unheard off. Had Taehyung paid any attention to those thirsty hyenas, you would have given up the fight. However, this is Taehyung you’re talking about. Once he had his eyes set to a person, he developed tunnel vision only to that person.

For years, you struggled with perfection. And the thing about the struggle is that it was common to everyone, but so few would understand. Perfection quickly becomes a disease to over-achievers. Had it not been Taehyung, you would probably engage in an insufferable discontentment towards life and everything it has to offer. Everything changed when he handed you a paint brush and a 200-sized plain white canvas and a studio to yourself.

You felt liberated.

Not knowing where your illustrations will take you was the first taste of freedom you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Because in the arts, there are no wrongs or rights. And it's uniquely yours. And the look on Taehyung’s face when it's done? Priceless. To the point that you think you began drawing because of him and that he was just saying the things you wanted to hear. Then he hangs your drawings in the open hall, and brings home the comments written by the art lovers to prove that you are wrong.

When it comes to relationship turbulences, Taehyung and you personally respect each other’s space, friendship choices and principles. Such maturity is again rare so you’d like to think that you’re lucky in that sense. However, Taehyung’s family proved to be a massive hurdle. While you were raised in a humble home, and accustomed to having sleep as dinners, Taehyung’s family owns a collection of farms that produces vegetables and fruits, and Taehyung’s favourites happen to be strawberries. He surely is raised in an upper middle class well into his elementary years and then catapulted into first class around his high school time. Not to say that he doesn’t know what it’s like to starve, he has a fairshare of that in his rebellious years; but he was not used to the life you lead. The part-time jobs, the tutoring weekends, the errands. He never had to do those.

When he brought you home to his parents for the first time, you felt out of place. His penthouse, his army of maids, sports cars and spacious area. His parents, they were wonderful. They welcomed you with open arms. Even inviting you to a family-only event, introducing you to everyone, and then letting you see their family photo albums. Taehyung has a massive support system, a healthy relationship compared to yours. No matter how much he wants to convince you that his life isn’t perfect, it was a whole lot better than yours. You remember how he snuck you into his bedroom in the middle of the night when his parents were asleep, the snickering, the whispers and the night you shared, cuddling. You had tears in your eyes that night, because you never thought you’d be this fortunate.

Watching him fall asleep in your lap so soundly really made you think about the last time you ever made someone this comfortable. Is this how it feels to love and cherish? Finding a middle ground is not always easy, and most people take time to reach there. For Taehyung and you, sacrificing a lot comes without say. Your internal conflicts and his willingness to understand your perspective, and vice versa--it all takes time. You can owe it all to Taehyung’s ultimate patience. Just like the way he handles his work. Meticulously, and carefully. Like how chemicals are precise, the paints are too.

In every phase of life, we are being prepared for the phase that comes next. In accordance to what we are made of, we continue to evolve, continue to grow. And it is in this stage that we feel most vulnerable, most bare, most uncomfortable. Sometimes you dread the things that you weren’t allowed to have, much like the doctorate you sought after (that took much longer than others), the way it was withheld from you because life said you weren’t ready yet, even when you thought you were. Waiting patiently becomes the hardest part of it all. Although Taehyung might not understand half the things you went through, isn't he still here? Isn’t he still holding your hand? Isn’t he still singing to you?

Fine arts are creative art, especially visual art whose products are to be appreciated primarily or solely for their imaginative, aesthetic, or intellectual content. If that’s the case, then Taehyung must be finer arts.

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copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

:. I wrote a bit about the things I do in university, I’m sorry if you find that boring... it’s the only world I know... I am currently going through mid-semester exams, and I’m not doing well, spark up a fever with 3 more papers to go. Anyways. Have a great day!

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