#THIS IS ANOTHER GODDAMN BIG FILE SHIT FUCK HOW DO I KEEP DOING THIS

[bippot]

Summary: How many times does Vigilante need to get injured before Harcourt finally gives in and hires a medic to help out with the squad's injuries? Far too many times, that's how many.

When it's uncovered that a fancy hotel is linked to, not only what's left of the legion of butterflies, but also a string of weird deaths and missing persons reports, the only two for the job are lovesick Adrian and the newbie.

Will they both make it out of paradise alive?

Tags: Canon-Typical ViolenceGun Violence, Blood and Injury, Undercover as a Couple, Fluff, Idiots in Love. Fake/Pretend Relationship, Summer Vacation, Butterflies, Alien Invasion, Stitches

Music recommendation: Ultraviolet by Stiff Dylans

Peacemaker, Adrian Chase Masterlist - here

One of Vigilante's most obvious characteristics was his recklessness. And this lack of self-preservation and complete disregard of the possible consequences of his actions ensured that Harcourt was almost always pissed at him for some reason or another - whether it was his tendency towards stupidity or how he constantly was nothing other than his annoying self.

Harcourt didn't like Vigilante. It was a fact. She put up with him, of course, as there wasn't really any other way around it. He'd wedged himself into this group and was not leaving at any moment. That didn't mean she had to be nice about it. Especially when he was messing up constantly. Like, right now...

"You're a walking fucking disaster! How the absolute fuck did you get injuried again?" She yelled, looking at him through narrow eyes as the blood seeped from beneath his torn sleeve in a slow but steady trickle.

"She got me." He nodded his head towards the dead body beside him, which had once been a woman who happened to have a very full chest and a butterfly shaped alien thing in her brain. "She got me good."

The injury had occurred because both Peacemaker and Vigilante had been distracted thanks to the boobs. Before her death, the butterfly had thrown an ornate letter opener from the stationary set in this very fancy office that had plunged its way into Vigilante's bicep, and she was swiftly rewarded by Harcourt's bullet in her brain. Why, oh why, did she always have to deal with these two dumbasses? Couldn't they, you know, stop with the whole zero braincell bullshit when they were on missions?

Out of missions? Fine. They could go around town and do whatever useless shit they wanted to. But on missions? And her missions specifically? Well, the fact that they didn't focus was becoming an insult. Harcourt was the leader of these fucking things. If either of those two himbos messed up, it was her reputation as a strategist and as a person who was goddamn good at her job that was on the line.

Was it a smart idea to take the 'boss' mantle from Murn? With each passing mission, Harcourt was seriously beginning to regret her choice. Sometimes, she couldn't even rely on Leota to help keep the boys on track.

"That's a shame. She had a great rack," Adebayo commented once she saw the big breasted corpse. Emilia's eyes flashed with something akin to anger before she managed to hide it behind her usual poker face, but Leota saw straight through it. "I know, I know, feminism and stuff about being more than our bodies - which I agree with, obviously - but those bazongas are stellar. It has to be said."

"No. No, it doesn't though. It doesn't have to be said."

From their earpieces, they heard John question, "Who's got a great rack?" over comms. Harcourt was surrounded by idiots on all sides, it seemed.

"You want me to take a pic?" Peacemaker patted himself down in search of his phone, which was quickly ripped from his fingers before he could even try. "Hey!"

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

With all the information transferred onto a USB that Economos would have to do his hacker shit to get past the encrypted files, the mission was over. They'd gotten what they need to. The extraction team could go home and not see each other for a while, which was something that Emilia desperately needed. Time away from these assholes was the only thing on her mind, so she began the walk back to the RV with a departing and very disapproving snarl to her teammates.

Peacemaker, ever the Harcourt simp, pushed Vigilante to encourage him to start following after her so that he didn't look so whipped when he did the same. As he made contact with Vigilante's shoulder, Chris accidentally touched Adrian's wound and he yelped loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Ah, sorry, dude."

"Don't worry, man. It doesn't even hurt."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

Adebayo was last out. She looked over her shoulder and saluted. "Thanks for your boob service, soldier," she stated as she left. Keeya wasn't even going to believe how good they were.

When they were all back at the van, each member of the group had their own things to do. Chris was rustling a crisp packet out of the passenger's side window to get Eagly to follow the vehicle. Leota was in the process of changing out of her blood-soaked clothes in the tiny RV bathroom, which was a real test of flexibility. John was driving. And Adrian was pitifully sighing every two seconds in an attempt so that Peacemaker would pay attention to him and help him patch up his shoulder.

Somebody had to help the bleeding idiot out. Emilia was the only one left. Fuck. She didn't want to. She really didn't want to interact with him when she had the chance to put headphones on and disassociate until they got back to HQ. But... she couldn't let him injure himself further. He was an effective member of the team and it would be best if he didn't give himself an infection.

"Don't say a word."

She snatched the antiseptic wipe out of his hand and cleaned his wound haphazardly. Honestly, she didn't care if she was being too rough. He was fucking annoying her and, well, she wasn't afraid to show it.

"Ow, ow, ow, what the fuck?" He whined, swatting weakly at her hands but Harcourt wasn't budging. "Be careful with those man hands of yours."

If looks could kill, Adrian would've been dead so long ago. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case and, therefore, Harcourt just ignored him instead and continued her ministrations, muttering, "Shut the fuck up," which she knew was going to be ignored anyway.

After cleaning the wound up a bit, she grabbed the needle and Adrian swore he saw his life flash before his eyes. Was this the moment that Harcourt went crazy and finally sewed his mouth shut? She'd threatened to do it before. He'd pushed her so far. Shit. Shit. Oh shit. He swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself for whatever came next.

But, Harcourt just began to stitch his skin together - albeit begrudgingly - and blocked out Adrian's borderline embarrassing whimpers of pain. He was loud so it was hard to ignore. Still, he could help but stammer out, "Fuck. I wish we had a nice nurse instead of this shit. You wouldn't have to patch me up then," and, for once, the dumbass had a good point.

Leota was the best when it came to first aid, but she wasn't a nurse by any means. The group had often got into scrapes and dumbass fights, and it was rare that they got out of them without a cut or a broken bone or two. So, yeah, a 'nice nurse' would be a godsend. And, even better, Emilia had the perfect candidate in mind.

As soon as they got to HQ, Harcourt ordered everyone home so she could pace around Henenlotter Video in peace and think how she would bring the idea up with Y/N, mentally preparing the conversation in her head. It's not as if Y/N was difficult to talk to, quite the contrary actually, but Emilia knew that Y/N got out of the game so did she really want to be the one responsible for bringing her back in.

There was no harm in asking, right? All it was was a phone call. It was Y/N's choice.

"What do you want, Meeley?" was the first thing that Y/N said as she picked up the call.

Emila let out a chuckle at the nickname. Only two people in the entire world were allowed to call Harcourt anything other than her name - her father was six feet under so it was unlikely that he was going to say anything to anyone anytime soon - so it was a very exclusive club.

"What makes you think I want something? Can't I just call to check up on you?"

"Are you checking up on me?"

"Maybe."

Y/N laughed. The pair had always been able to understand each other without saying much. Their minds were wired that way, the two of them. There was little doubt in Emilia's mind that Y/N knew exactly why the call was happening, and that was only confirmed when she said, "Okay, I'll play along." The smile was evident in her tone.

"How are you?"

"A child threw up on my shoes today," Y/N answered dryly. "So I've spent most of my time since I got home from work unpuking my sneakers."

"Sounds thrilling."

"Yeah, I'm really living it up over here."

"I bet."

There was silence. It stretched on for another couple of moments, both women waiting for the other to give in to the inevitable. Neither of them wanted to be the first, but they both knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Pleasantries had never been their thing anyway, so why would they bother wasting their breath.

Finally, Y/N sighed and asked, "What's the gig?" Emilia had won.

"Medical aid on my strike team."

"When do I start?"

"How fast can you get to Charlton County?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

That was it. The job had been accepted with exceptional ease. In fact, it almost seemed like Y/N already expected she'd be pulled back into the biz at some point, so why not be pulled back in by Harcourt of all people?

Just as she said, Y/N was in Evergreen by the next day. Her time as a 'normal person' had consisted of waking up every day at 7 to work as a kindergarten teacher and she was giving that up at the drop of a hat. She'd called into work to inform them that she was leaving, which must've seemed abrupt to her employers and, if she were being honest, she felt a little shitty for doing it over the phone. Plus, she'd given them such short notice, which was a dick move.

It wasn't like she needed the reference, though. Emilia knew how she worked. Technically, one of her first jobs at the DEO (Department of Extranormal Operations) was acquired through nepotism since Emilia had been the one who put her forward for it.

Walking through the doors of the gross looking building that The 11th Street Kids used for their base, Y/N looked totally out of place. She wore comfortable jeans, a flowing button up and rounded spectacles. She looked like a kindergarten teacher, well, because she was. Had been.

"Hey lady! I think you've got the wrong place!" Chris exclaimed. It's not a super secret base if just any innocent looking woman can walk in. Henenlotter Video had stopped being a renting store more than a decade ago when all the other blockbuster type establishments did. There was no way she was looking to rent a video 2023.

Adrian had been in another room. Harcourt had gotten tired of his constant yapping and forced him to sort some of the files in the back office out, which was totally unneeded and tedious by design. As soon as he heard Peacemaker's calls, he ran in, gun in hand and ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. 'Would be a shame to shoot that face,' he thought as he took in the sight of this intruder.

"Woah, put the gun down, hot stuff," she urged, nonchalantly raising her hands to either side of her head. She nodded towards the guy in the spectacles "I'm assuming that's Vigilante."

"What?! No!"

"That's totally him," Chris shrugged casually.

Y/N slowly lowered a hand, assuring them, "Harcourt told me to," as she rifled through her back pocket to pull out a post it note that she'd hastily written all the information Emilia had given her the night before and read it, "Patch up the, uh, idiot named Vigilante."

Oh boy, being injured was going to get a lot more fun for Vigilante now. It was so cool that Harcourt had given in and given him a sexy nurse. He'd fantasised about this moment. Still, he retorted, "I'm not an idiot."

"Her words, not mine."

Emilia, with John hot on her heels, entered from her office and was rather surprised by the standoff going on before her eyes. She glanced between her three employees, a sigh leaving her lips as she shook her head. "Adrian, put the gun away."

He obeyed immediately, but didn't look happy about it and crossed his arms with a pout. Harcourt gave him a glare, almost like a mother disciplining her child when they don't greet a guest in a polite way. Adrian huffed and let his arms drop to his sides. He was adorable, Y/N realised, and immediately chastised herself as she was about to infantilize an actual serial murderer.

"Take him to the back office and redo his stitches."

Saluting her new boss, Y/N waited for Vigilante to move in their intended direction - she had no fucking clue where she was going - and followed after him once he got the memo, which was when John caught his eye and nodded his head to gesture for him to lead this newcomer to the back office.

Chris, John and Leota - who'd just walked in from their lunch run - all watched as Vigilante opened the door wide, let the pretty girl walk in before him and look over his shoulder to catch Peacemaker's eye. He was rewarded with a suggestive thumbs up from his buddy, one of which Chris was harshly slapped on the bicep by his boss for.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Stop being a pig!"

"Not for me, for him! His type! His type, not mine."

Chris was practically squealing whilst trying to defend himself to the woman he had to look so far down to observe. Harcourt is like a chihuahua, small but fierce and willing to bite if given the opportunity.

"She's nerdy-hot. He's crazy for those." Leota added as she began handing out the food. "You didn't think that part through, did you?"

No. Emilia hadn't. "He's crazy. Period."

On the other side of the door, Adrian was pretending that he couldn't hear his friends talking about him through the door - which was a situation he'd been through way too many times for his liking throughout his life - and haphazardly jumped to sit up on one of the filing cabinets, his butt creating a loud thud against the metal once he made contact. Yet, that sound was overwhelmed by what would become a very familiar one to Y/N from this point on.

Thanks to his energetic display, Adrian had managed to knock over the pile of case files that was to the right of him and were stacked in a wobbly 7ft tower. That was what he'd been doing when she'd first arrived. There were a lot of case files (most of which were classified and mostly contained lots of pages filled with redacted black blocks) and he'd barely gotten halfway into putting them back in the cabinet in alphabetical order like he'd been told to. Honestly, he often wondered why they even bothered with the files in the first place. It was an unnecessary paper trail.

A bunch of binders fell directly onto his shoulder, causing him to whine out, move way too quickly, and rip his stitches, which made another, even louder and pitiful whine come from his mouth. "Motherfucker!" he swore while clutching at his shoulder tightly.

Yes, he was in pain and that sucks. But also, it was kind of funny. Y/N had a hard time not laughing at him, which was unprofessional, but still, she let out a huff of laughter and was rewarded with a glare. "Sorry. Sorry." She calmed herself. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Go for it."

After carefully moving some of the files off his lap, she pulled some gloves on and waited for him to take his cardigan off so that she could take a look at the wound. Stupidly, he'd decided to wear a long sleeved shirt and 'unfortunately' had to take it off. 'Hot' was the one she would use to describe what she was seeing, and cut that thought short before it got more detailed.

And sure enough, there was a circular thumb sized hole in his bicep that was beginning to bleed again.

"Is it okay if I touch you? I mean, it will be pretty difficult for me to fix you up if you say no... it's nice to ask beforehand."

"Yeah, sure. Touch me all you want. I'd love you to." He paused to clarify, "As in, I'd love to not be bleeding anymore. Not that you should jerk me off or anything."

Despite how he was acting, Adrian didn't mind being alone with this woman. She was nice to look at and, so far, she seemed generally nice. No other members of the team ever asked before touching him. She didn't even get offended at his slip up. Adebayo would've called him a perv, and Harcourt probably would've swatted at him.

As she examined the wound, Y/N teased, "Well, I wouldn't want to show favouritism on my first day, would I?" and any sign of his previous grumpy mood had vanished, replacing it was a goofy, wide smile with pink blush that was far too obvious against his pale skin.

Weird. He felt the need to blurt out, "I'm Adrian. My name is Adrian, w-what's yours?"

"I'm Y/N."

"Good name." He could feel heat rising to his ears. Shit, was it noticeable? Hopefully not.

"You feeling warm?" She brought the back of her hand to his forehead due to his sudden change in hue. Her eyes darted from his bright, almost sparkling green eyes to his flushed cheeks as he gave her a slight nod. His head was definitely a little warm. "Have you been feverish at all since the injury?"

"Uh...no."

"Tell me if you do, okay? Infections are a real bastard to deal with."

"Okay."

She moved to find the first aid kit Emilia had told her they owned to find a banged up old box with huge dents and rust around the edges with a 'Medical Shit' sign hastily stuck on a diagonal along the top. Inside wasn't any better. It was only the bare essentials. Thread. Bandage. And three remaining needles. Luckily, Y/N had prepared for this as, in her experience (especially with Emilia), secret agent types are careless when it comes to first aid. They'd rather painfully limp a mile on a broken foot than take five minutes to make a splint and limp that mile less painfully.

Removing the straps of her backpack from her shoulders - which Adrian hadn't clocked until that point because the straps were the exact same colour as her shirt - she lowered it atop the scattered files to the left of where Adrian sat and unzipped it to reveal a bunch of stuff that looked very clinical to Adrian. He recognised some of it but he'd never been very good at the whole patching up thing, despite how much practise he had.

"Who's responsible for these?" She gently wiped away some blood that was about to drip off his elbow. "Was it Emilia?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Cause it's so shitty."

Not very many people knew that Emilia had a phobia of blood. It wasn't as severe these days, mostly on the account that it would be impossible to do her job if she let her fear get to her. Throughout her career, she'd gotten better at controlling herself, yet there were still moments when the sight of ichor still unnerved her.

"How's the pain? I've got some numbing drugs to make it painless, if that would help?"

Numbing? None of the others had ever offered him that before - probably because they didn't have it, but if they did and John got hurt first, Economos would definitely use up their supply on one injury. Someone offering to make his experience better without needing to? Shit. He was totally enamoured.

"Drug me up," he practically sang, only for his face to fall for a second. "Wait, it's legal drugs, right? You're not going to inject me with heroin or some shit, are you?"

What an idiot. An amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips at his concern and she shook her head. "How have you caught onto my plan of slowly drip feeding you opiates on my first day?" she joked, and to help him figure out that it was, in fact, a joke, she held up the bottle of anaesthetic so he'd be able to read the label. Sure, he didn't know what lidocaine was, but he could guess that it was the type of drug that a medical professional would use.

And by the way she warned, "Now, relax while I do this. You'll feel a small pinch, but that's it. Ready?" he could see that she definitely was used to this procedure. Maybe she'd done it hundreds of times before, maybe thousands. But, this was a type of bedside manner that he'd never experienced before. Doctors were like this, weren't they? They were like this on some of the tv shows he'd seen.

Honestly, he had no clue and just nodded dumbly. Getting checked out professionally was out of the question - mostly due to the cost, but there was also the need to hide his secret identity and explaining to a ER nurse that a drug dealer stabbed him in the shoulder whilst they were mid fight was a great way at blowing his cover - and this lack of proper care was evident by all of the jagged and wonky scars he had across his chest and shoulders that she gave a quick once over to ensure that there was nothing that was screaming 'BIG PROBLEM' that she would need to attend to immediately.

All of his DIY attempts had done the job. They weren't clean or well done but they'd worked, she concluded and started on her repair.

"You have a habit of getting hurt."

"No, I do-"

"That wasn't a question." She silenced whatever bullshit excuse he was about to try to get her to believe and gave him a look. Not one that was unkind, nor accusatory, but one that conveyed the general message of: I've read your case file, don't even try to deny what I've been briefed about. "Before these guys, did you patch yourself up?"

A small - and somewhat sad - "Yeah, still do most of the time," was what he responded in a soft whisper, making Y/N's heart crack a bit inside her. She knew Emilia could be cold and dismissive at times, but surely the rest of the group weren't the same?

"From now on, if you get hurt, you call me. Deal?"

The way she said it felt like a promise and, as he saw the determined glimmer in her eyes when she looked at him, Adrian felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. He wasn't exactly happy to admit it to himself but he couldn't shake the feeling that he liked having someone he could rely on looking out for him. Especially if that someone happened to be a pretty girl.

"Deal." He smiled, hoping that she could see the gratitude that flooded through his eyes.

Y/N returned that smile with a grin of her own and focused mostly on her stitching as he sat there watching her work. She was efficient and precise, never wasting time or effort. It wasn't rushed, nor was she sluggish. Just calm and steady and comforting, something which he appreciated a lot more than he thought he would ever. The way her fingers touched him so delicately with such expertise, as though she were performing surgery instead of doing simple patching, made him melt into a puddle and forget about all of the thoughts that had been plaguing him that day.

If he happened to make a noise, she stopped and let her eyes drift to his and wouldn't continue until he gave her a nod that he was fine and she could carry on. He was always fine. He always gazed back with a goofy dazed smile on his lips and his legs swinging right next to her hips, like a child whose favourite toy has finally arrived after weeks of longing and waiting for it. If he had any self control, he'd turn his gaze to anything but the beautiful girl, yet he couldn't bring himself to do so and his eyes were transfixed on her every move. It didn't matter if it was his stomach rumbling or the sound of their coworkers arguing in the next room - they both disappeared into the background, forgotten in the warmth of that moment.

Stitching him up took no time. She took one last look and ran her finger across it to make sure that everything was properly sewn. "Not too shabby, huh?" She glanced at him, smiling softly before reaching for a bandage and wrapping it carefully around his arm to secure it.

As soon as she was done, she ruffled his hair, cheering, "Way to go, champ," then realised what she had done and rushed to apologise, "Sorry. I've been working with children for years. I didn't realise it was demeaning until I did it."

"Oh, no no no! It's fine," he assured, "I liked it. Not in a weird way. It was funny."

"At least I didn't try to give you a sticker or a lollipop."

"You've got lollipops?"

Did she? She had said that as a joke. The only two types of people that have candy on them constantly are teachers and perverts. And, often, it's hard to tell the difference between the two. Still, she searched through her bag and found one to hand to him. Adrian walked back into the main room with a fixed arm, a lollipop and some pep in his step. The lollipop was the only part that Chris noticed and instantly complained, "Where did you get that from? I want one."

"Y/N gave it to me." It was the smuggest Adrian had ever sounded. "It was the last one she had."

Despite a jealous Peacemaker constantly asking for sweets, the rest of Y/N's first work day was a success. Emilia went over how they would proceed - for now, Y/N would assist John in the van so she could prepare her kit and be ready to fix up whoever (Adrian, most likely) needed it as soon as the field team got back - and the squad all sat around firing as many questions at the newbie as possible.

Leota was interested in Y/N's previous life as a kindergarten teacher, but she was definitely more interested in the way Vigilante was sliding his arm around the back of her chair. That boy was anything but subtle. He kept flicking glances at her from time to time and, whenever he did so, a bashful flush appeared on his cheeks before he ducked his head down and turned his attention to his feet for a few seconds in an effort to un-pinkify his being. Adebayo had never seen Adrian act so shy before.

Anytime they went out to bars, Adrian would never really act that interested in anyone of any gender (other than Peacemaker, of course) and she assumed that his flirting technique would be like his personality - loud and crude and brash. This gentler approach was something that didn't suit him at all. He seemed much more reserved and sweet than the cocky and arrogant Adrian she had come to know.

Chris, on the other hand, kept asking very personal questions that Emilia had to keep stopping him from committing multiple HR violations in one single breath. While everyone else found it amusing to hear his incessant babbling directed towards Y/N, Harcourt spent most of her time nudging him and telling him to "knock it off" or "Shut the fuck up cause I don't wanna know this shit."

That was until Emilia happened to notice what Y/N was wearing. The button up. She'd seen that before. "Hey, is that my shirt? I thought I lost that years ago," she accused, reaching her arm over to pinch at the fabric of Y/N's sleeve and pull a face at the offending item.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Meeley."

Bullshit. Y/N was a pretty good liar but the thing about sisters is that they can often tell when their sibling is lying. Emilia now knew that it had been stolen from her wardrobe all those years ago, just as a lot of her clothes did back then.

Next Chapter: BG3

#adrian chase #adrian chase x y/n #adrian chase x female reader #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante #peacemaker

[inklessletter]

For the different AU: Steddie with 50. secret dating at work AU

Well, you ask, I deliver. That's how this works. I hope you love this! This was so much fun to write. Thank you for the prompt!

TW: +18 MINORS DNI. Rated E. for oral sex, anal sex, filthy talk, semi-public intercourses.

One for the money (two for the show)

Read it on AO3

They never really meant to take it that far.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. The office had been the most stressful place during all October. There was so much work to do since two coworkers were on sick leave and another one on vacation, so little time, and the worst of all, Steve’s boss was constantly interrupting him for everything. It was a call to his desk every ten minutes to ask for an update of whatever task that was supposed to be finished, but with such an unsustainable rhythm of work it was impossible to get anything done.

It didn’t help that the computer system kept updating. Of course, it had to run that update during working hours, and that was annoying, but what kept everyone cursing was that every single time an update window popped up, something just stopped working. Sometimes it was the printer. Some other times the internet speed was so slow that it didn’t even reach the company servers. There was this other time (and that put the whole office in a riot against the IT guy) that every computer language switched to mandarin.

He could just not work like that.

Papers, and files, increasing numbers of unread messages in his inbox, and external callings kept coming all day long. It was a fucking nightmare. Steve wasn’t stressed because of how much work was coming in, he was stressed because he could not have a moment to organize what he had to do.

There was stuff on his desk he didn’t even know what it was about. 

And shit, he was good at managing tasks, he was a fucking ace at his job, but he could not work like this.

That was why he needed to stay over after his shift was over, when everyone else went home with no wish to stay a minute more than necessary in that goddamn office. And to be fair, he would rather have taken up Robin’s offer to go grab a beer at the bar down the street with some coworkers as well, just to shit in communion for a while about how much working there utterly sucked. It was Halloween after all. But if he didn’t stay over a few more hours, he would never get out of that work spiral.

Steve could just not let that happen.

It was around nine and he thought he was alone. He was making some copies in the print room when Eddie, the IT guy, came in, cursing under his breath. He startled when he saw Steve, clearly thinking he was alone in the office, too.

“Shit, Harrington, give a man a warning next time,” Eddie said.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t know you could see me,” Steve deapaned, focusing on his copies. “This is Harrington’s ghost, he died on his desk two hours ago out of stress.” Steve took his copies turning to him. “Happy Halloween. Boo.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. 

“Well, lucky him, he got to escape this hell,” Eddie said, tying his messy curls in a bun. “But you know, if you’re a ghost you don’t have to keep doing this shit.”

Steve turned at him while the copy machine kept working loudly behind him, stocking paper. “Haven’t you heard that we spirits can’t leave until we have no more unfinished business left behind?”

Eddie approached Steve with an amused grin. 

Steve almost smiled when he stared at him, so close, unapologetically. Eddie was goddamn hot, especially when his big, dark eyes roamed through his face until it landed briefly in his mouth, just to look back at Steve’s eyes while absentmindedly wetting his lips. Eddie, with his old band tee under a red flannel, messy hair, more chains around him than they were practical. 

Eddie, now inches apart from him, with a velvety, mocking voice when he said, “well, I think you’re gonna be here for a while, then.”

Steve put his hands on his hips, leaning against the copy machine while lifting a questioning eyebrow.

“Why? Are you gonna keep me here?”

Steve stiffened when Eddie responded by coming closer and putting a hand on the machine, locking him. They were so close for a second that Steve could feel his breath against his chin, but it was over too soon. Eddie had in his hands the copies that Steve was making.

The stack of paper was blank.

“The last update de-programmed the printers again.”

Steve closed his eyes, annoyed, tired, frustrated. He muttered a “fuck this shit” under his breath when he covered his face with both his hands. 

Eddie cackled for a second after Steve’s almost dramatic reaction. “It’s okay, Harrington, it’ll be two minutes.”

Steve stepped aside and let Eddie work. Steve took some deep breaths to calm himself.

“Look, why don’t you go home? Fixing this old monster is the last thing I’ve got to do. I can make these copies for you, I’ll leave them at your desk.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Steve said, anger poorly hidden in his tone. “I can make them myself.”

“You look like you’re about to snap, man.”

“That’s because I am. I’m so fucking tired, Munson. I can’t just go home and rest because I can’t stop thinking about all the work I have to do, and so I can’t sleep, and even if I do, it’s a restless one, because I keep dreaming about these fucking files I can’t just get done on time because we are so fucking short of people in the office, and Hopper is stressed, so everyone is stressed, and I can’t even have lunch outside my fucking desk (and that’s when I manage to take five to eat) and I keep spilling bagel crumbs all fucking over, oh, and I almost spilled coffee this morning over the fucking keybord, but it wouldn’t have mattered because nothing fucking works properly in this fucking piece of shit of office that feels like a fucking prison!”

Steve has raised his voice. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. 

Eddie looked at him and stood.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered.

“Don’t be. I’m stressed too. You know, I should be right now in a shitty bar in Indy making my sweetheart scream with my bandmates, you know? But I can’t leave because the fuckers above can’t sit and make a single update without breaking anything else, and that’s because half of the programming team got fired, so they’re using this office program as a guinea pig until they do it right, only they won’t because the half the team they fired were the actual ones who knew how to do this shit. And I’m alone in my department this month, so I have to keep this place running, even if I get shit from all of you when the printer stops working, because the alternative is that you’re going to lose every data since the last backup, that happened to be last Wednesday, so it would mean losing three days of work!” Eddie shouted back. “And this wouldn’t be happening if the CEOs of this shit of a company wouldn’t be greedy fuckers who would cut their mother’s fucking pay if that meant another zero added to their accounts. Fuck.”

Eddie took a deep breath and pressed a beeping button. He put the stack of blank paper back in the copier and took one of the documents Steve had in his hands. He ran a test, and gave Steve the copy and the original. 

“There. Fixed.”

Steve took the papers in silence. The air felt charged.

“Sorry if I made you feel like it was your fault. I know it’s not.”

“You didn’t. I get that you’re frustrated.”

Eddie was giddy, playing with the rings in his hand, not looking him in the eye.

“I’m beyond that, honestly. I feel like I have all this stress, all this energy that has nowhere to go, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I know, I feel the same.”

They locked gazes.

The next thing Steve felt was the wall against his back, and Eddie against his lips, copies forgotten. They didn’t even bother closing the door, since they were alone. Eddie’s tongue was too distracting to think about anything else.

Eddie Munson was addictive. He kissed Steve like a starving man, making Steve moan every time he dipped his teeth in his bottom lip, every time he sucked Steve’s tongue in his mouth, demanding. Imperative. 

Eddie kissed, licked his way down to his neck and his jaw, sucking his tender skin, hands slipping under his clothes. He whispered in Steve’s ear, like looking for absolution, how many times he had dreamt of bending Steve over his desk, full of bagel crumbs and fucking him stupid. Steve told him how much he wanted to suck him off. 

And they did it. 

Steve undressed Eddie and got on his knees for him. After swallowing him down, Eddie turned Steve around against the wall and ate him out so good he almost didn’t need any fingering before Steve begged him to fuck him senseless.

Steve never had come untouched before until Eddie.

Steve never had someone before that didn’t settle with just one orgasm (and that showed himself so excited to desecrate their workplace so deeply, as a literal fuck you).

No one had pressed all of Steve’s buttons so sweetly good, that after a couple of hours he was as lax as if he just woke up from the best dream. He felt no less than new.

And by the face that Eddie was making, eyelids barely open, lazy kisses and heavy breathing, Steve guessed that it had been, at least, equally good for him.

The second time they did it was three days later, none of them were able to get over that experience. They stayed over, waited until they were alone and they did it again. And again the day after. And again, and again.

They even had a code now.

They fucked exclusively in work, mainly because their relationship was strictly physical, and they both were on the same page about getting a release in stressful times. And since their intercourses were the way they were, they kept it a secret from everyone. Not that it was forbidden to date a coworker or anything, but they were not dating. They were fucking. And neither Steve nor Eddie had the desire of getting caught. 

They kept doing it even when everyone got back to their jobs and there was not that much work, and the whole software updates came back to normal. 

It was in December when they decided to go to a bar after work with Robin, Chrissy, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle. And Steve had a blast. Besides being a sex god, it turned out Eddie was fun as hell. He got along pretty well with his platonic soulmate, and Steve would be lying if it didn’t feel as if Eddie was the missing piece in this dysfunctional group. 

They even went to the Christmas party together.

Group hangouts became private occasional, public places hangouts. They saw a movie, or they went out to play pool or darts. Steve went to see him playing with his band (he was so relieved when he learnt that by ‘making his sweetheart scream with his bandmates’ he meant his guitar) once or twice, and then they drank enough to not overthink the fact that Eddie stayed at Steve’s that night.

The morning after it was the first time they actually fucked outside the office.

No rush, no tension to get rid off, no purpose on sex beyond making the other feel good. This time there was room for caresses, and kisses, and smiles that felt anything but secret, now.

There was room for questioning things when they were alone after that morning, wondering when their lines started to get blurry. Almost knowing that nothing was now just physical. Watching Eddie sleep between his sheets, so peacefully, his back kissed by the waking sun changed something. Not wanting to move to not disturb him while  wishing to wake him up with kisses was a beautiful contradiction.

Watching his deep coffee pupils looking for his face first thing in the morning made his heart skip a beat.

There was no room for doubt when he ran into him at work the day after that and felt his cheeks burning red because he remembered the picture of him granting him with a lazy, sleepy smile.

By June, Steve asked Eddie to be exclusive, and Eddie replied with a cheeky grin that he had exclusivity since Halloween. 

It was Eddie, though, who told him first that he loved him. It was mid August. Steve kissed him stupid, and told him he loved him back.

That night they both came with their fingers intertwined and with each other’s name in their lips sounding like a prayer, dropping soft ‘I love you’s like they were afraid the other would forget. 

A week before Halloween, they decided that it was time to stop hiding. They hadn’t fucked in the office in months. They were comfortable with people learning that they were dating. They were willing to tell them, finally.

It was in the bar, after sharing a secretive smile, when Steve told Robin, and everyone in the table, almost casually that Eddie and him were dating.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked.

Steve looked puzzled.

“What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?” Steve asked. “We’re—Robin, we’re dating. Like, in a romantic relationship.”

The table fell silent. Chrissy and Nancy shared confused looks. Jonathan looked away to hide a cackle. Argyle was nodding, with a big, approving grin. Robin was still with her gaze fixed on Steve, looking at him like he was stupid. Steve started to get nervous.

“Why are you reacting like this? You’re freaking me out,” he said.

“Wait a moment—” Eddie muttered.

“Shit, I think they don’t remember,” Nancy said, slowly, a smile forming on her lips.

“What? What the fuck?” Steve fidgeted in his seat, and he saw by the corner of his eye Eddie covering his face with both hands.

“Oh, god. I’m happy for you, but—Guys, we already sort of knew,” Chrissy said, sweetly.

“You knew? How? Did you—” Steve stuttered, “—did you catch us at work or something?”

The whole table broke in loud complaints, simultaneously “oh, man, gross!”, “at work? Like you did it at work?!?!?”, “that’s awesome, my dudes.”

“Well, how did you know, then?” Steve was losing his patience.

“Dingus, you two spent the freaking whole Christmas party sucking face in front of us,” Robin shouted, amused, now laughing. “It was disgusting, we even had to ask you to stop.”

Steve instinctively looked at Eddie, who was still covering his mouth with his hand. His face was bright red.

“I thought it was a dream,” he muttered.

“Why don’t I remember any of this?” Steve asked.

“Because you sort of drank everything,” explained Jonathan. 

Steve was mortified. So was Eddie.

“But—I mean, even if we did make out—”

“Still, gross.”

“—that could have been a one time thing. We haven’t been dating since that long ago,” Steve said.

Chrissy bit his lip and smiled tenderly. 

“I don’t think any of us thought that it was a fling,” she leaned on the table, and Steve did the same, since it felt like she was spilling a secret. “You should have seen how you looked at each other.”

“Or listen to what came out of your very much drunk mouth, man.”

After a silence, Jonathan continued. “Eddie kept telling you that he loved the way he could turn your frown into a smile with a few kisses.”

“And you kept replying that he was the only one that had managed to do so,” Nancy finished, with a grimace. “No offense taken, by the way.”

They looked at each other, sinking into the realization that maybe they didn’t develop feelings that recently.

“Well, as I said. Gross,” Robin said, taking a sip of her beer. “Anyhow, congratulations, pair of dingus, on figuring it out. It just took you a full year.”

Robin raised her bottle, and the rest of the table mimicked her. “For the dinguses.”

“For the dinguses!”

---

@mentallyundone @zerokrox-blog

#fic prompts #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #smut #but not too much #stranger things #ficlet #fic #oneshot

[unknownjpegs]

wings

Matilda pulls herself up into the bar stool and slides the paper across the marble countertop. There’s a familiar chip in the edge, one that Leo had left when they were all kids. He'd probably been running around with something heavy. Matilda can’t remember what it. Can barely picture him, remember Leo’s face, unless she looks at a picture.

She runs her thumb over the crevice.

Her mother glances from the skillet to the paper, eyes flicking over the words for just a moment before they shade over. Her mouth purses tight.

“But —”

“No.”

“Mom.”

“No, Matilda.”

Not Til. Not even Tilda.

She opens her mouth to argue, but the quick snap of blue eyes up to hers make it press shut. 

“If you think I’m letting you do that, you have another thing coming.” 

The paper is a nondescript contract application, stapled neatly with Matilda’s resume. Her professional one, printed on crisp resume paper. 

Audio Engineer - two year term. And quite a lot of money for each of those years.

“It’s temporary and it’s good money!” She tries to sound sure of herself, to keep the whiny waver out of her voice.

“No,” her mother says, and smacks her hand on the counter. Rare display of anger, of unspooled emotion. “Listen to me —”

Matilda doesn’t. She’s already in her own head. Pulling out, watching from above. 

It’s good experience, she wants to say. It won’t be that scary. I’m a grown fucking woman. I’ll have you like a shadow behind me. There will be armed guards for contractors, probably. 

Matilda isn’t even sure how a private military contractor is…structured. How it operates. Barely knows anything, besides what Isaac has told her. What she knows, vaguely, from brief internet research. They won’t let anything bad happen to the civilians that keep the place running. I’m not a kid. Skilled, educated specialists — it would be stupid if any of them got hurt, right? I’m not a kid. I can do this for myself. 

Her father had been in one, but he was never consistently around to talk about it. Isn’t now, either. And she’s not bitter about his absence, even though she feels the sting of emptiness when she watches a father-daughter relationship in a movie. Finds it hard to relate to those. She’s a big movie crier, but she can’t remember the last time a tragic paternal sacrifice had her weeping. 

Just unrealistic, she supposes.

I can figure it out. I’m not a kid.

Her mother is still going, omelettes forgotten as she waves the spatula:

“— don’t even want to know what some of those files look like. Pages and pages thick.” She points the red-tipped flat of it at Matilda’s nose across the counter. “Records so long you’d have to restock the goddamn paper, Matilda. From before they joined up.” She sucks in a breath, lips pursing slightly at the swear. She hates swearing. Makes her look uncouth, she says. Because her mother is the type of person to use the word uncouth and then lift her trousers and wades through the shit of it and still come out looking put together. 

Because she’s just as awful as them, says a voice. She ignores it. Because she’s caught up in the silences, now, not listening to what her mother is saying.

Matilda hears what she’s not verbalizing. Underneath it all: you can’t handle it. That’s a different world, and it’s not one meant for you, Til. It’s for people like her. It’s something Dr. Jacqueline Rhoades can deal with, and does, because Dr. Jack is a strong woman. She has hardened herself like a beetle. Or… has always had the sparkling carapace.

What she’s not saying: Matilda, you have delicate little fucking dragonfly wings. Ladybug wings. Weak bug wings. They crunch and twist and get holes in them, and then what will you do? Will you fly with wings that waft wind, instead of catch it? I think not.

Her mother scoffs. “No, I think fucking not.” And this time, she doens’t scowl. The swear doesn’t bother her. She’s hardened. None of it will affect her, but it will affect Matilda, and that’s where the incredulity comes from. 

Toss my precious baby to the animals? I think fucking not.

Matilda wants to harden, too. Needs to be a woman that can do things for herself. What is she, if she can’t? A child that relies on the protective swoop of her mother.

Hadn’t helped Leo, comes slicing, cruel and sharp, through her thoughts. It makes her wince. 

“Don’t pull a face with me, Til.” The spatula returns to the skillet. Liquid yolk cooked through, omelet flip, perfect little arc in the air. 

“I want this, mom,” she says. And it’s what she has said so many times in the past. Piano lessons, dance lessons, new paints and sketchbooks and a passing comment towards a pretty gold necklace at the mall.

I want this. You can give it to me. It would make me happy. It would put a smile on my face. You can make that happen. Make me smile, make me smile, make me —

Her mother sighs. Long, long breath that rises her robe-clad chest and wavers out her nose. 

Matilda smiles, because she knows that sigh.

It is an, oh, alright sigh. An oh, alright sigh means good things for Matilda. 

She always gets what she asks for after one of those.

“We need to establish some ground rules,” she begins, and Matilda slides into the chair to listen.

#writing #ua #mmr #jr #core au #tbe

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Reborn - Part 6

Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 6)

Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)

Rating: R / 18+ only

A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.

MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)

Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?

Thank you to the uber-talented @thatbritishactor for this lovely moodboard. She’s made me quite a few of them which I’ll be using for the next few chapters. Thank you again, love!

Then…

Krista was so tightly wound up that Billy could feel the anger vibrating off of her. “You need to convince Y/N to sign the divorce papers.”

“The lawyers are negotiating but she keeps shutting down every option. She won’t move out and I’m not gonna leave that fucking penthouse. It’s mine!” So what if he couldn’t remember actually working hard for it? That didn’t matter. It was his, something he earned on his goddamn own, and no salty bitch was gonna take that away from him.

Her face was so still and blank she practically looked like a statue. “Maybe it’s time to try something else.”

“Meaning?”

“I did some digging into Y/N’s history, and I found something interesting.”

“What?”

Krista peered at him silently, and he felt anxiety unfurl in his stomach. Whatever it was, he wasn’t gonna like it.

“There was an incident report filed years ago. Suspected child abuse. But nothing came out of it, she was sent back to her parents.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “The system didn’t give a shit. Same old bullshit.”

“We can use it against her.”

Billy leaned back in his chair, a slow smile dawning on his face. That was the thing about her. She came across as a perfect angel, so good and goddamn moral, but on the inside she was cunning and manipulative and he fucking revered that about her. “How?”

“Get violent with her. Scare her. See how she reacts.”

“I’m not hitting her.” It was one thing to fight a woman on the field when he was trying to defend himself, but it didn’t sit well when he was the one attacking.

Krista gave him a patronising smile, like he was a child who just threw a temper tantrum about something stupid. “If she knows you have violent tendencies, it may prompt her to leave on her own.”

“I’m not hitting her!”

Her eyes returned to his. “There is another way but it’s risky.”

“What is it?”

“I have a few long-time patients who are… connected.”

“Connected?”

“They’re people of high influence who can get things done.”

Billy stared at her, eyebrow cocked. Apparently even the mob needed a shrink. Maybe Tony Soprano started a trend.

“If I ask them for a favour, they’ll want something in return. It could be something big, or something small. But it definitely won’t be easy. And I’ll need to deliver no matter what.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “So if we use them, we’ll owe them?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s keep them out of it.” He stood up. “I’ll get rid of her.”

“You’ll attack her?”

“I’ll... scare the fuck out of her.”

“It sounds like you’re still not sure. Maybe we should go ahead with Plan B.”

He reached out to squeeze Krista’s hand. “I’m not taking that risk when it comes to you. You mean too much to me.”

Krista smiled, her expression a little too smug for his liking, and he wondered if he was just manipulated into doing something she wanted in the first place.

***

Now…

He was inside Krista, trying to focus on her, on her perfect tits, and her perfect cunt, his fingers wrapped around her throat and choking her the way she liked it, sound of pain and pleasure echoing throughout the room. Yet he still couldn’t get you out of his head.

Your eyes.

Your body.

Your smell.

When he kissed your cheeks earlier tonight, he remembered the feel of his lips on your smooth sun-kissed skin, how your breathing grew shallow, how it took every fucking bit of strength he had not to sink to his knees and eat you out right there.

He hated you, he was supposed to loathe you, but with every day that passed his need for you grew more intense and he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand it. He wanted to go back to despising you and wanting to destroy you, he wanted to only focus on Krista and being happy with her, but even now as his body reacted to Krista’s touches his mind was entirely on you.

When he finally came, it was because he let his mind convince himself that it was your fucking body he was inside, that it was you holding him, biting his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. Not Krista. You. And he let himself imagine sinking into your softness, your pussy clenching around him, your eyes glazed with pleasure, your mouth swollen from kissing him roughly.

Panting for air, he fell into bed next to Krista, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet save for the sounds of both of their labored breaths slowly returning to normal. He closed his eyes, trying to get back to how happy he once felt when Krista would wrap herself around his body after sex, how her unexpected vulnerability during these moments made him feel like he’d really earned something special. It didn’t work. When she slid on top of him and started caressing his chest, all he felt was irritation.

“You’ve never kissed me like that before,” Krista said, hovering above him.

After that intense moment in your office, he’d left Anvil and rushed right to Krista’s apartment and kissed her. He wanted to forget you, to wipe every thought of you from his brain – except it didn’t work. You’d sunk your claws into him deeper.

“What’s going on?” Krista repeated, urging his face closer so he was forced to look at her.

“I missed you,” he lied smoothly.

“You should have listened to me. I told you working at Anvil was a mistake,” she noted disapprovingly. “You should be focused on making yourself a better man, not chasing your past.”

“It’s my company. I have a responsibility towards it.”

“That was the you from before. It’s not who you are now.”

Although agitated, he kept his emotions in check. He didn’t want to give her any further ammunition to use against him. “I’m not just gonna hand Anvil over to her. It’s mine.” As expected, Krista stiffened at the mention of you. As much as she tried to manipulate him, he also knew her triggers – and you were a big one for her.

“You’re right. You started it, you made it the success that it is now. She doesn’t get to take that away from you.”

He scoffed internally. Krista may have thought of herself as a highly evolved person above petty vulnerabilities, but she had her weaknesses like everyone else.

“I think it’s time to get rid of her for good,” she stated.

Billy didn’t move a muscle. Krista was watching him carefully and he couldn’t afford to show any reaction. While his insides flooded with panic at the thought of anything happening to you, to the point he had to will himself to breathe normally so Krista wouldn’t pick up on his anxiety, he gave her a soft smile and smoothed her hair down. “That’s the plan, love. I’m working on it.”

“She keeps filing complaints with the board. They’ve been ignoring her but it’s only a matter of time before she gets through to them.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Maybe we should go with Plan B and approach my patient. He could get rid of her very easily.”

Pure terror rushed through him. The thought of something happening to you was… no, absolutely not. He wouldn’t fucking allow it, but he also needed to find a way to control the situation without making Krista suspicious. If she got the mob involved, he’d lose the upper hand and he couldn’t risk that.  

Feigning a concerned expression, he cupped her face. “I’m not taking a chance with you. Nothing is worth jeopardizing your safety.” He continued the charade by leaning closer and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “After everything she did to you, I want to be the one to put her down. For us.”  

Krista finally smiled. He should have felt relief, but he didn’t. She may have fallen for his excuses today but there was only so long he could put her off. Eventually, she was going to demand your head on a platter. Which meant he had to convince you to back off. And he knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

Holding Krista in his arms, he contemplated his next move.

***

At exactly the same time you were in Davina’s kitchen, staring down at the glass of wine she just handed you. You were still shaken, your body still aroused from your interaction with Billy from earlier. You reminded yourself it had nothing do with him. Not really. You were young, your sexual drive still thriving, and you hadn’t slept with someone in years. Sure there were the sex toys but they weren’t enough. You missed the intimacy, of having someone hold you and kiss you, the feel of someone’s body pressed against your naked one. The last time you had sex was with Billy before the accident, more than two years ago, and reacting to him today – that was muscle memory. That’s all. You didn’t like who he was now, he wasn’t your husband, he was your enemy, but your body, your senses, they reacted to his smell, his touch, his mouth on your face and the hunger in his eyes. It didn’t mean anything.

“What happened?” Davina asked, pulling up a chair next to you.

“Billy almost kissed me today.”

“Oh.”

There was that surprise. After the level of vitriol he’d directed at you over the past two years, behaviour that everyone in your close circle had witnessed first-hand, of course it was a shock.

“Just be careful,” she continued. “You’re too sweet and I worry he’ll take advantage of that.”

Her words saddened you, because it was a reminder that no one in this universe knew you, the real you. Your best friend thought you were a kind person but she had no idea about the things you’d done before, what you were capable of. Billy was the only one who saw the darkness in you and loved you for it, and now he was gone. You’d never experience that kind of intimate bond again and it broke your heart.

You gave yourself a mental shake, reminding yourself to snap out of it. Falling down the depression well was the opposite of getting over it. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not for real,” you assured. “He’s trying to manipulate me, but it didn’t work.”

“Then why are you so shaken up?”

You didn’t respond, silent for a while. “I miss having sex.” You started picking at the pattern on the wine glass. “Did I tell you I went out on a date last week? I just wanted to get laid, that’s all. I even kissed the guy to shut him up but I felt nothing. And he wasn’t a bad kisser. I’ve had way worse than him. Even then, I just…” You shrugged your shoulders. “There was nothing.” You felt queasy, your stomach coiled into tight knots. “What if I’m broken now? What if there isn’t anyone who can turn me on anymore? What if my body only gets excited for Billy?”

“That’s bullshit.” Davina’s voice was confident, there was no hesitation in her eyes when you met her gaze. “Even before Billy you didn’t enjoy one-night stands. Some women like hookups, some don’t. You’re one of those people who needs an emotional connection to enjoy sex, there’s nothing wrong with that.” She grabbed your hand. “You remember how I had to convince you to sleep with Billy?”

You snickered, remembering those moments from years ago. It was Davina who advised you to enjoy Billy for who he was – a good time – except you’d ended up falling madly in love with him. “That decision changed my life.”

“So then trust me when I say there’s nothing wrong with you.” Her eyes were filled with kindness and understanding. “Even with Billy, you dated him for a month before you actually slept with him. So apply the same logic now. Of course some rando’s not going to do it for you, you need more.”

“I can’t. I’m not ready for that.”

“You don’t have to fall in love, Y/N. Just date, and have fun, and see what’s out there. And when you connect with somebody, things will take its natural course.” Davina cast you a worried glance. “You’re not thinking about sleeping with Billy again, are you? He’s not the same guy-”

“I know that. He’s fucking with me, probably because he thinks I’m out to take Anvil from him.”

“You could have done that very easily during the divorce.”

“Try telling him that.”

“Be careful. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t need to worry. I don’t have any blinders on when it comes to Billy.”

He was a manipulative asshole, he’d always been that, but before the accident it was the two of you against the world. Now, he was your enemy and actively plotting against you. That was something you could never let yourself forget.

“What about Matt?”

Davina’s voice brought you out of your reverie. “What about Matt?”

“He’s cute, and you’re already good friends with him. You should ask him out.”

You shook your head ‘no’. “He used to go out with Karen. He’s off-limits.”

“I don’t think she cares.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still weird.”

“Maybe you’re using that as an excuse,” Davina said pointedly. “The two of you are usually flirting with each other anyway.”

“That’s not true!”

“Okay fine, maybe I’m exaggerating, but it’s not a bad idea. You should think about it.”

“I don’t know… he just seems like a really nice guy. Too nice, you know?”

“I don’t think he’s that nice. Foggy says he gets around.”

“Last time you encouraged me to go out with a male slut I ended up marrying him.”

“And you had an amazing sex life after following my advice. So you should listen to me, you know?”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. No matter what happened, Davina was always in your corner and you were grateful for that. “Okay, fine. I’ll think about it.”

Davina smiled, pouring you another glass of wine.

***

And that’s how you ended up in Matt’s apartment, admiring how he looked in his snug white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Bathed in a blinding yellow light projected from a display from the building across, he looked adorable. “Can I kiss you?” you asked nervously.

Matt was wearing his shades and you desperately wished you could see his eyes. You wanted to gauge his reaction, to see if he was disgusted by your question. You hoped he wouldn’t be. He seemed to enjoy your company, but you also weren’t typically pretty. Guys usually needed to get to know you first before they started to find you attractive – but maybe Matt was different. Maybe looks didn’t matter to him. Then again, you knew from Karen that he dated a lot of women, attractive women, so maybe you were just fooling yourself. Maybe he was like every other guy out there, sight or no sight, and you’d just made a gigantic fool of yourself. “Forget-”

“-Yes.”

Both of you spoke at the same moment.

Your heart started pounding in your chest. “Really?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

He gifted you a smile, a charming one, the same smile that probably drove all the women crazy. “I haven’t.”

“Good. But first, can I ask why?”

“Why do I want to kiss you?” You laughed to alleviate the nervousness. “I mean, you’re hot. You know that.”

He chuckled, sipping his drink. “Why now? Why tonight?”

You bit down on your lip, contemplating the right words. “I just… I guess…” You sighed, realizing there was no point in lying to him. You didn’t want to anyway. “I need to know that I can still feel even though Billy’s gone.”

The smile on his face disappeared. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. It breaks you apart, brings your whole world crumbling down.”

Guilt flooded over you. You came here, demanding things from Matt without any consideration for him. He was your friend yet you’d intended to use him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here. It was a mistake.”

“You don’t want to kiss me anymore?”

You swallowed audibly. “No, I still do. But it’s not fair to you. You’re obviously still getting over your ex-”

He dragged your chair closer, catching you by surprise, only stopping when you were directly in front of him.

“I’d like to kiss you too,” he murmured, his breath carrying the subtle scent of bourbon that he’d been drinking.

Your hands trembled, your body reacting to his close proximity. You reached out to pull off his glasses, noting how his beautiful eyes were lowered. He may have been blind but it was your fingers slowly tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every pore. There were old bruises on his face, making you wonder if he was prone to accidents, but the thought quickly fizzled when your fingers trailed down to his lips. You followed the shape of his pout, mesmerized by the sight. “You’re beautiful.”

“I think that’s my line.”

You smiled, nuzzling his nose with yours, before your lips closed over his.  

After so long of only kissing one man, it was strange to feel someone else’s mouth on yours.

But the initial awkwardness faded right away, and suddenly you were enthralled with his lips, the way his tongue probed the contours of your mouth, kissing you, touching you.

It had been so long since you’d been kissed so thoroughly, so languidly. There was all the time in the world and Matt was using every minute to drive you insane with his mouth.

When he pulled away finally, you found yourself on his lap and clinging to him. His stubble pricked at your skin, a sensation you didn’t even realize you missed. Your body was pressed against his muscular frame, and you ached to stroke every ridge and ab, to see if he felt as good as he looked. His rugged hands caressed your back, as if offering you comfort when it’s the last thing you wanted. You didn’t want reassurance or solace. You wanted him.

Breath ragged, he gave you a lopsided smile; butterflies fluttered in your stomach.  

“Feel anything?” he asked with a sly grin.

You didn’t respond, closing your mouth over his again.

To be continued...

Tag List:

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh@maralisa124@tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur@nemesis729 @lysawayne@kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda@advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer@dontjinx-it@darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting–heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings @jad3djay @batshitbarnes @kashimayuki @secretsthathauntus @odetostep @awesome-eccia @mackaywhore @stories-you-wont-hear @vvsdiamond28 @supernaturalcat7 @arieltwvdtohamflash @iknownoqueenbutthequeeninme    @devs-stufff @ticosas @moodacheeks @myakai13 @carlywhomever @fvckthisbxtchup @its-evita-here @papapapadumb @talesfrommycell @bat-luna-cat @fific7 @elluvians @dailydoseofchoices @everythinghappens-love @papapapadumb @mylife-love-and-other-things @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @ancientbeing10 @natty2245 @stuckysavedmylive @kasslucilfer @simp-for-ben-barners @originaldeputycalzoneegg @bdffkierenwalker @kimoranelson03 @sadbi-hours @haushinka27  @haushinka27    @caylaxwrites   @extraneousred   @agentmstark   @crazywitchkitty   @its-an-idea-not-a-blog  @partypoison00    @fictional-hooman   @hoglady   @helnicks    @luckyfreakfishpeach   @chiquitita18   @rachlovesactors  @icecream50055  @doloreschanal   @lupinsfavslytherin    @swthxrry    @wanderlusting-about-life   @dreamer7black  @leahnicole1219 @superawesomegeek @weallhaveadestiny   @toxicenough @tiiffanym  @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @cap-just-said-language  @edithsvoice   @natashasilverfox   @ohsorandomlyme @lupoliatova  @alltheloztboys  @bl0ckedurl @nothingbettertosay81 @antideppresants @clarissahunter  @profoundme444 @shazianazir05  @zos-things @my-day6  @thelightinmyshadows  @lincerad  @ramadiiiisme  @blanchedelioncourt  @wondergal2001  @aunicornmademedoit @sarcasm-n-insomnia   @outlawadvocate  @loki-yoursaviourishere@littlebobree  @daybleedsintonightfa11  @fire-treasure-iii  @binooo98  @ilsalicechepiangeva  @lilypad-55449  @arimistery @evanscavillstan  @theblogofb  @iamgettingalife  @eginv-blog  @profoundme444 @derangedcupcake  @ just-a-harmless-patato

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #the punisher #ben barnes #daredevil #Matt Murdock #a woman reborn #a woman scorned

[voidmadisonrecs]

chris evans recs

these are more for me then anyone else but here are my fav chris evans (and co.) fics, blurbs, headcanons, etc.

feel free to message or comment with suggestions that i should read and make sure to check out these writers other works because they are all amazing <3

Chris Evans

butterflies - @chanelfaerie

chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?

pop the questions - @angelkurenai

you are costars and in a relationship with Chris and while on the set of ‘Gifted’, you are very clingy. when Chris sees you interact with your youngest costar, he realizes you would make a great mother

white - @agentofbarnes

chris can’t seem to function while seeing you in a white dress

ask me properly - @twittytelly

while spending time with his family, chris realizes that it's the perfect time to put his 'plan' into action

red carpet w/ chris - @avenging-fandoms

your chris’s costar with Chris and you’re both tipsy in a red carpet interview and giggling together, making no sense but just being all happy and sparking dating rumours

happy goddamn new year - @fluffymisha97

the morning after your new year with the evans’ which doesn’t go all that smooth

sweet creature - @buckyhoney

domestic shit

ass man headcanon - @agentofbarnes

chris evans sure does love ass

and then he came along - @teebarnes

you haven't had the best record when it comes to relationships, you thought you couldn't be loved. until one day as you sat on the beach shivering, everything changed when chris came along

granola bar and lots of love - @planetofawe

with the kids away, you and chris have more than enough time to practice some aftercare (smut)

claim - @cloudystevie

your husband puts a baby in you (smut)

beer gut - @violetlilysunshine

chris gets self conscious after gaining a little bit of weight and not working out as hard as he used to during his Marvel days (smut)

dumb - @agentofbarnes

chris evans makes you dumb and you are a little touchstarved (smut)

red, white, blue’s in the sky, summer’s in the air, baby heaven’s in your eyes - @cloudystevie

sunday’s are for football games and attention (smut)

the big 4-0 - @rocketrhap3000

chris being insecure for his 40th bday but reader makes sure he knows just how much she loves him (smut)

my girl - @punani

chris loves calling you his girl (smut)

the fluffer (masterlist) - @punani

it’s the 70′s and the erotic videos industry is experiencing another boom after the risen popularity in the previous decade. the studio’s are hot, gemini flanagan is a brand, and you’re a newly hired assistant at shaggin’ studios. chris takes a liking to you, altering your job description so that you get to work more closely with him. is this all just physical, or is there something more? (smut)

wedding shenanigans - @flowerbouquet

in which you and chris have a sneaky fuck in the bathroom during your best friends wedding (smut)

grocery run - @bucksfucks

innocently wearing chris’ shirt leads to you finding out just how much he can’t resist you (smut)

chain - @bucksfucks

chris tells you to bite down on his chain (smut)

home late (part 2) - @violetlilysunshine

smuttttttt

severance - @punani

the divorce process with chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. you had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. however, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember (smut/baby fever/ex!reader)

so beautiful to me - @uprootbasic

despite being broken up and coparenting, chris still want to show you how much he loves you (smut/baby fever)

sundress season - @jurassicbarnes

in which all it takes is a pretty little dress to break his resolve (ex!reader/smut/baby fever)

mwah - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

ur little bubba is obsessed with kissys and keeps leaning in to kiss you (baby fever)

long hair lover - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

chris comes back from filming red sea diving resort and his baby daughter is crazy in love with his long hair (baby fever)

slobbery kisses - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho 

chris wakes up to sloppy kisses by his baby (baby fever)

baby rose - @fluffymisha97

reader and chris had a little baby girl. but not everything is going that well, you're both trying to navigate life as new parents (baby fever)

eve - @kiwisomething

you drop your son off with his father and he invites you in (baby fever/ex!chris)

parenting is hard blurb - @lokiscu

chris and the reader have just had a baby and the lack of sleep mixed with lack of physical affection and time they have with one another gets to both of them and they end up fighting because of the stress (baby fever)

isla - @uprootbasic

the reader is a famous singer and always sings to her little girl. one night, chris and the reader decides to have this little jamming session with their baby. chris plays the piano while the reader sings I wanna hold your hand by the Beatles (baby fever)

the neighbours lights - @lokiscu

it’s your first Christmas with a baby (baby fever)

paparazzi - @ozarkthedog

chris evans and reader are both famous and one day they are out with their daughter when paparazzi start to follow them (baby fever)

thunder - @worksby-d

your daughter is scared of the thunder (baby fever)

she’s the one - @worksby-d

chris x singlemom!reader masterlist (baby fever)

protective stepdad chris x single!reader - @worksby-d

masterlist (baby fever)

truth be told - @kthynes

chris finds out he has a 6 month old baby because his partner didn’t have the chance to tell him that she is pregnant because they broke up (angsty??/baby fever)

not her - @agentofbarnes

chris wants a family and you just aren’t ready yet, but that doesn’t mean he wants you any less (angsty?)

the love we have - @kthynes

the reader is chris's ex wife and she's about to be married again to a guy she doesn't really love. so in the night of her bachelorette party she's really drunk and she ended up going to his apartment and tell him that she still loves him and that she wants to hate him because he was the one who file for divorce but she can't, then she leaves. on the day of the ceremony their 10 year old kid tells Chris that he should go after her before is too late (angsty??)

Frank Adler

i ruined our sweet tune - @rodrikstark

the last person you’d expect to see in florida is the hot professor from your undergrad philosophy class 

buttons - @rodrikstark

buttoning franks shirt headcanon 

waffles - @amylillian22

the morning after their usual saturday date night, y/n runs into mary unexpectedly. frank wakes up to find them making waffles

remember - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

frank wakes you up at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am and will not even tell you why

breeding kink - @stargazingfangirl18

as the hot single dad everyone wants to get with, frank turns a few heads at back to school night, and well, you may get a little possessive (smut) 

magic demeanor - @bloodiedskirtts

after moving back to Florida in the middle of a heat wave, things seem to be getting worse and worse. the only thing to make her days any better is her neighbour, Frank. with neither of them willing to admit that they can’t get enough of each other, a pesky shower malfunction may be the only way for them to tell each other how they feel (smut)  

Ransom Drysdale

2:27 am - @cloudystevie

it’s 2:27 in the morning when ransom shows up at your doorstep, and he wishes he could tell you why 

cold (third part of his return) - @kiwisomething

hugh is cold sleeping on the couch by himself 

new man - @worksby-d

ransom loves to pretend he’s not whipped for you, but here he is letting you do your skin care routine on him

morning dew - @agentofbarnes

it was only supposed to be one night, but ransom can’t seem to get you out of his head (smut) 

Andy Barber

the proposal - @fairyevans

andy takes the reader on a gorgeous vacation but everything goes wrong except the proposal 

consequences - @stargazingfangirl18

life after your breakup with ransom (smut)

yes, mrs barber - @jurassicbarnes

in which you’re down on your knees, about to suck his dick within an inch of his life because it was the only way to shut him up (smut) 

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut #chris evans fic recs #chris evans reader insert #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #frank adler x reader #frank adler imagine #frank adler fic #frank adler fanfiction #andy barber imagine #andy barber x reader #andy barber fic #andy barber fanfiction

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

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[babbushka]

Mrs Z! Thank you for doing a Flip special!

What about throwing Flip a big surprise party with lots of people and he’s not happy about it. You make it up to him by letting him have his way with you before you cut the cake. Maybe he’s too into and gets carried away with being loud and noisy or gets caught somehow and that’s his birthday party, is his guests cheering his bedroom antics or roasting him.

2.6k; humor & NSFW (blowjobs/face fucking, hair pulling, come swallowing)

“I don’t remember you forgetting anything here.” Flip frowns, as he pulls the Chevy into his usual parking spot at the CSPD.

It’s his birthday, and he hadn’t taken the day off of work to avoid drawing any suspicion, so he’s a little irritated that when he gets all the fuckin’ way back home to you, finishes having the delicious dinner you cook for him, and he’s just about to ask if you want to engage in a little birthday love-makin’, that you groan and announce that it’s urgent he take you back to the station.

He already gets sour enough on his birthday as it is, but he had hoped that he could enjoy a quiet -- or maybe not so quiet -- evening in bed with his wife, just the two of you tucked up against one another to distract him from the passing of time.

“It was my Pyrex, I left it in the breakroom, it should be in the sink unless someone moved it.” You’re too determined to get the damn thing back, and Flip loves you, so Flip drove you in his truck that he parks, eyeing his work.

“And you want me to go in and get it?” He complains, deep voice too gravely for it to be a true whine, “Can’t I wait in the car?”

“You’re going to abandon your most beloved wife in her hour of need?” Your eyes are wide and clear and he hates how he gets lost in them, how he meant it when he said he’d do anything for you. He hates how you know it.

“That’s not fair.” Jabbing a finger in your direction, you only lean forward enough to cup his cheeks in your hands, sweetly pressing chaste kisses to his lips, your lashes brushing against his cheek as you draw him in with the smell of your perfume.

“Please?” Your voice is breathy in the way that makes Flip go weak in the knees, and even though he knows he’s being manipulated, he’s not mad about it.

“Fuck, alright fine.” He gives in, making you brighten up immediately as he turns the car off so the engine doesn’t idle, being sure to keep the windows cracked even though Colorado in May is a balmy sixty-five degrees. “You just, I don’t know, sit here and keep being pretty.”

“Yes sir.” You wink, and Flip isn’t so sure he likes the twinkle that he sees in your eye.

Walking through the CSPD lobby, he notices it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

No one is calling in emergencies, no one is typing away at their desks, no one is chatting by the water fountain. Something must be very very wrong, and Flip halfway wonders if there was some kind of national announcement, if Ford was making a speech somewhere.

His suspicion only grows, when he turns the corner to the break room, and opens the door frowning to himself and muttering, “Why are all the fuckin’ lights turned off?”

When he flicks the light switch, he’s so startled that he takes a step backwards, as seemingly the entire station jumps up to shout in his face a big loud, “Surprise!!”

“What the fuck -- ”

“Happy birthday Zimmerman!” All his friends and co-workers are there, the guys from the narcotics division, the folks down at homicide, all the higher ups, secretaries, rookies and seasoned pros alike.

Everyone gathered in this room that is way too small for them, organized by someone to give him a goddamn heart attack. A hand gently rubs at his back, and Flip whirls around to see you there.

“Is this your way of saying you want a divorce?” He jokes dryly, making the entire room chuckle, because really only Flip would have this sort of reaction.

“For the record this was not my idea.” You say, not wanting him to think the blood is on your hands, “Ron insisted. I tried to tell him.”

Ron steps forward then and hands Flip a card, one that he’s not going to open now because he’s sure he’d die from the embarrassment of floundering with the envelope in front of all these people, but he does bring Ron in for a hug.

“It’s signed by all of us here.” Ron gestures with one of those big handsome smiles of his, the kind that shows off all his teeth, and Flip doesn’t have the heart to be angry about all this attention to his face.

“Thank you.” He says instead, feeling so fucking out of his depth, completely out of his element, palms sweating as he reaches for you with a quiet pleading, “Ketsl?”

“I’m right here.” You whisper as you take his hand, grounding him in the present.

Everyone is looking at him, and it reminds him of when he had to give presentations in school. He doesn’t know what to say, the tips of his ears going crimson red.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this.” Flip pulls you tight against his side, his arm stretching across your shoulders. Maybe if he just holds you close enough, he can use you as a human shield for conversation, he thinks.

“We had no idea it was your birthday! No one ever can figure it out -- but don’t worry, we’ve put it in your file so we know for next year!” One of the older secretaries, Ms. Rosie, cheerfully pipes up, making dread creep up Flip’s spine.

He looks down at you, and you give him a sheepish smile. He wants to complain like the grouch that he was, but then his attention shifts to the big table of food and drinks that is spread out on the table against the wall of the break room.

“...Is that chocolate cake?” He tries not to sound too hopeful, and the break room laughs again, because even the strongest most stoic man truly can be lured in by cake.

“I made it for you special. We’ll do candles after everyone’s had a bite to eat!” You announce to the room, patting Flip’s back as the crowd begins to murmur excitedly amongst themselves, a queue forming for the hot fresh pizza. You lean up to whisper in Flip’s ear, “If you can play nice, I’ll give you one of your presents before we get to cut the cake.”

Raising his eyebrows at you, he blinks a little. The surprises just kept comin’, didn’t they?

“Can’t I get it now?” Flip tries, but you only chuckle and shake your head.

“Go say hello to everyone, and then meet me in the back of the file room.” Patting his back once again, you slip away, an incentive for him to get this over with as soon as possible.

Flip doesn’t think he’s ever shaken so many goddamn hands, or kissed so many cheeks in his life. On the one hand, it felt nice somewhere deep down inside, to know that so many of his co-workers decided to take part of this party. He felt valued and appreciated, even if he would have rathered this never happen in the first place, would have rathered to be in bed with you right now...which brings him to the other hand; he’s achingly hard in his fucking jeans, thinking about what’s waiting for him in the file room.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer though, because soon the last person has been spoken to and thanked, and he’s excusing himself to go to the “bathroom,” heading in the complete opposite direction of the bathroom.

“Ketsl, honey?” Flip prompts softly, looking around for you in the low light of the room, “You back here?”

“Took you long enough.” Your voice sounds from around the corner, and like a glass of cool water on a hot day, there you are, arms reaching out for him.

“Would’ve been sooner if you hadn’t invited so many fuckin’ people.” Flip lets himself be wrapped up in your embrace, his palms smoothing around your sides to caress your back, one of them dropping down to give your ass a firm squeeze.

“Ron did, not me. Like I said, he insisted.” You remind him, kissing your husband deeply, licking into his mouth, voice soft and breathy, “Let me make it up to you?”

The hair on the back of Flip’s neck stands up when you sink down to your knees, not breaking eye contact. He holds his breath, his cock twitching at the implications of that motion, pulse already starting to pound a little harder.

You rest your cheek against his strong thigh, popping open the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down tantalizingly slow, making a real show of it. Flip hums, pets at your hair, smooths his palm against your cheek as he watches your eyelids grow heavy. You nuzzle against the palm there, suckling on his fingers just a little bit, teasingly, playfully.

“Oh fuck yes.” He quirks a little smile at you.

When you finally pull his dick out, you’re licking your lips, wetting them, drooling over yourself. He’s just as affected, pre-come already leaking out of the tip of his cock, and he groans when you swipe it up with your tongue. Time is of the essence here, and as much as you would like to drag this out, you can’t, so you cut right to the chase.

“Shit -- your moth’s so hot.” He grunts as your mouth opens wide wide wide for him, tongue flattening as you suck the head of his cock between your lips, careful of your teeth.

One of your hands braces yourself on his thigh, while the other holds the base of his cock, keeps him steady. Flip has a tendency to buck and choke you when he’s too wound up just like he is now, so the grip holds him in place as you swallow him down inch by inch.

Fuck, your husband’s dick is big! It’s not just long but thick too, the girth of it always something that has your jaw aching. You open your mouth wider to take him, relaxing your throat so that he can slip deeper and deeper, breathing through your nose. Never once looking away from him, you can see how antsy, how impatient Flip is getting, and if you could smile, you would.

But you can’t, because your mouth is filled to the absolute brim, so you tap the side of his thigh to signal that he can start moving.

“Yes!” He says maybe a little too loudly, “That’s it, oh fuck that’s it.”

And oh, does he fucking move. The second you’ve given him permission, he’s gripping your hair and thrusting hard. Moans and grunts pour out of his chest as he holds your head in both of his hands, keeps you snug against his groin. Your nose is nestled in his dark thatch of hair, and you can’t deny the way the musky smell gets you flustered, gets you wet. He’s not going to have time to fuck you properly here, but that’s okay -- this was only the preview of the evening to come.

“God you feel so fuckin’ good, my good girl, fuck -- ” Breathing hard and fast, Flip fucks your face hard, keeping you steady so that you don’t accidentally take him down at a wrong angle and splutter and cough.

Relaxing for him, you let yourself be used, the salty sweaty taste of his cock running over your tongue, plunging down your throat soothing and familiar in a fucked up way that only over a decade of marriage can bring.

“Fuck!” He snarls when your tongue wriggles against the veins that throb along his shaft, sucking down hard everything that you can, one of your hands moving to cup and roll his balls, “Oh baby that’s it, just like that, keep doin’ that, oh god your tight fuckin’ throat feels good.”

Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes when it becomes so much that your jaw aches, and you squirm, wanting to be touched, wanting to be fucked even though you know you can’t have it yet. Right now is about him, about the pleasure he gets from the way you suck him down, and then you’re swallowing hard, and the friction has him cursing loud loud loud, coming down your throat.

“Damn, ketsl!” he pushes his cock all the way down your throat one last time, before pulling away to watch his come shoot all over your tongue, your lips, your chin. Painting your face with it, he grunts, pulling your hair to angle your face up some more, a better view. You stick your tongue out for him, and another pulse of come bursts out of his cock from the sight, his filthy fucking whore of a wife, love of his life, on your knees like his own personal pornstar.

You fucking look like one anyway, and you sure as shit sound like one with the way you’re moaning and breathing hard, nipples so hard that he can see the way your blouse peaks out from over them.

Wiping away the come on your face and licking it off your fingers, swallowing every drop of evidence that you can, you and Flip grin at one another, his orgasm having him in a much more pleasant mood.

“We should get back out there, huh.” He gives you a hand and hoists you off your knees, pulls you close and kisses the taste of his come off your lips.

“People are gonna wonder where you went.” You smile, giving him your lovey-dovey eyes, glad that he’s enjoyed at least one part of this surprise. “You can’t disappear at your own party. How do I look?”

“Too beautiful for your own good.” Pinching your nose and giving you face a little shake, the two of you leave the records room behind.

“Well well well, if it ain’t the lovebirds!” Sergeant Trapp announces the second that you and Flip walk back into the main lobby of the station where everyone has spread out with their food and drinks.

“You two really can’t go two seconds without goin’ at it like rabbits, can you?” Ron laughs, teasing in a way that has Flip’s scowl coming back after all your hard work.

“Mrs. Z I gotta admit I’m impressed you’re still standin’, that sounded like quite the time.” Jimmy winks at you, and you slap a hand to your face. You hadn’t even thought about the noise that you must’ve made -- all the shelves moving, the grunts and groans, the cursing.

“Watch your mouth Jim, or I’ll be forced to do something about it.” Flip warns, but there’s something warm in the threat, playful. You’re fuckin’ glad for that, the last thing you needed on Flip’s birthday was him getting fired for beating the shit out of his friend.

“Oh yeah like what? I’m surprised you’ve got the energy for threats, old man.” Jimmy only eggs him on, all eyes on the two of them.

“That’s it -- ” Flip lunges immediately, making you rush forward and grab him by the scruff of his neck, preventing a wrestling match, even if a friendly one.

“Boys please, have some cake and maybe you’ll calm down.” You roll your eyes.

“You know,” Flip says later, when you lead him through to the breakroom where someone’s lit a fuckton of candles in an attempt to guess how old he is, and you’re curled up on the couch next to him as he licks the frosting off of his fork, “I’m starting to think there never was any Pyrex.”

And it’s all that you can do to just kiss him and shut him up, letting him get away with being an idiot because he’s your birthday boy.

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

Tagging some Flip friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #adam driver fanfic #adcu #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman smut

[river-bottom-nightmare]

zatanna said the word anchor point, and that's where she lost dick. anchor points and multiversal constants and universal stability. galaxies shattering into pieces behind his eyelids before swirling together tighter and more whole, before dick would inevitably wake, the lights from that goddamn recurring dream still flashing in his mind.

constantine was looking at him with sympathy, pity. dick wanted to wipe that look off his face with bleach. with acid. he normally wouldn't consider fighting john constantine, since he's always been able to sense the sheer power bubbling under the man's drunken and sloppy exterior. though, apparently, that ability to sense was what could possibly give him the edge in the fight he was imagining, but would never happen.

there were only a few people in the room, but someone would rip him off the man. maybe clark, whose features were painted with worry and concern. that, and the lights from the galaxies outside the watchtower windows, the eternity of the galaxy covering the entire room in a gentle wash that dick had been able to ignore for all of his life, excluding the past couple of hours. maybe diana, who was starting to look at dick with a bit of fear. not of him, but for him, and for everybody else. dick couldn't blame her. she had more than enough experience with powerful men who made themselves god. the only difference was that dick would rather let himself burn up from the flame that was inside of him before becoming whatever they said he was.

it's not about becoming, raven whispered in his mind. her presence was gentle, familiar. it took a certain length of self control for dick not to latch onto her, about the length of rope needed to make a noose. you already are. there are no new powers or abilities or anything that will happen to you. you always were a nexus being, and you always will be. it's just a part of you.

"just a part of him." just a part of him? like how wally's slowly failing heart had just been a part of him? or how jason's pit-induced fits of rage were just a part of him? or how cass' assassin training she fell back on no matter how hard she tried to override it was just a part of her?

bruce hadn't said anything. actually, zatanna had stopped talking, not that dick had been fully listening in the first place, and everyone was lost in their own quiet thoughts. but bruce's silence had been the most stomach-churning, the most horrific.

dick knew bruce didn't like metas. knew it because of the sighs he used to make due to the league's foolishness back when dick was robin, running a hand through dick's ruffled hair and telling him he was so glad you're not like them, dick, they're exhausting. he knew it because of bruce's fury every time someone powerful fought in gotham and destroyed the city, rubble on the ground as they went off, completely unconcerned of the damage they left behind. he knew it because of the extensive files in the batcomputer detailing each league-affiliated and known meta's weakness, or how their strength could be flipped like a playing card, until dick was almost convinced being a meta made one weaker. (according to bruce, it did.)

bruce didn't like metas. and dick wasn't a meta, but no one knew what he was anyway. no one but the magic users, whose vague explanations told them they weren't really sure what he was either.

"you're connected to the universe, dick," zatanna sighed. "the multiverse comes together in you. and as much as i don't like it, we need you."

all eyes were on him. dick was looking at his feet, but he could still feel them. that was one of his new "powers," right? knowledge of the multiverse? a gross misuse and bitter accusation, dick knew. but he couldn't get the fear out of his mind, and fear left unchecked grew fuzzy with mold until it disintegrated into anger.

"you need me?" dick said hoarsely. "the multiverse, what, comes together in me? you do realize what utter bullshit that sounds like?"

"i know it don't seem all that good, but trust me," constantine said. "it's a thing. it's real. you are one."

"you said these people are supposed to be beings of power," dick argued back. "so why aren't you a nexus being? or raven? or fucking ra's al ghul. i'm sure as hell not a being of power. i'm human."

"i suppose that's exactly what makes you one," diana murmured. "i have met many powerful men in my life. i've found the ones that i respected the most were the ones that were most in touch with their humanity."

this was crazy. this was crazy. dick felt like the particles that came together to make him were blowing away in confusion until he was one big cloud of unrecognizable light, before he was scattered in every direction. how the hell was he supposed to be one of the things that kept the universe together when he couldn't even keep his own damn self together?

avoiding bruce wasn't working. dick just felt like he was about to fray at the edges. so, gathering up his courage, dick turned to face the man and quietly, in a voice more delicate than china, said, "b?"

batman didn't look at him. batman didn't even look up. but batman did speak.

"alternate universe superman. he called you the multiversal constant. the one thing he could depend on."

out of the corner of his eye, dick could see clark nodding a little.

bruce continued. "you named yourself after a mythological figure who was known as the catalyst of change. or the great rebuilder. and kryptonians we've met have said how well you embody the role."

"it's...it's just a name, bruce."

"you, of all people, know it's not," clark said.

"so what am i supposed to do, huh?" dick whirled around. "fight this battle zee's recruiting me for that's entirely above my skill level. become some sort of, what did you say, universal anchor? i don't know the first thing about this shit, and i don't know what it'll do to me!"

"you're scared," bruce said, always willing to cut right to the chase with everyone but himself.

dick didn't answer.

"raven, establish a mental link between me and nightwing."

raven nodded, then with a flutter of her hands, dick felt a presence inside his head. it scared him to realize how easily he accepted it, how easily he had always accepted it. he never understood how unusual that was until now.

of course i'm scared, dick whispered into the mind link. i've gone my entire life knowing exactly who i was, what i could do, what i strive to be. and in the span of one day, that's all gone.

then what do you plan to do about it? bruce asked.

he said it so simply, so easily. like discovering something this monumental about himself was just another tricky case or difficult puzzle to solve. dick would have an easier time plucking each and every star in the galaxy and making a mosiac out of them.

raven's hood was lowered, but dick could still feel her eyes on him. constantine's features were still dripping in pity, zee looked imploring. diana was looking at him with hesitating acceptance, bruce was unreadable as always.

but clark. clark was looking at him with steady eyes and and a kind smile. he looked knowing, quietly vindicated. it was as if he'd known there was something...off about dick. something two hopscotches and a backbend away from "special," but close enough. something that had led to clark giving dick a piece of his people's legacy, and trusting him to fulfill it to the best of his ability.

clark wasn't scared of him at all. but clark couldn't make up for bruce.

"will you help?" zatanna asked.

everything inside dick was itching to say yes. jumping at the chance to help his friends, aching to be useful. it was a response he'd carefully cultivated years ago, and pushing it down was an almost physical ache.

but the stardust behind his eyes wasn't so easily forgotten. the hook behind his navel that seemed to drag him into the fabric of a universe that dick couldn't comprehend still dug into him. the world was spinning and the stars were turning and the earth was tumbling over itself, all of them in an effort to stop their twisting and turning and to right themselves once and for all. but dick wasn't moving. dick was completely, utterly still.

"i don't know," he said.

Dick Grayson Anniversary Week ‘21, Day 6: Universal Constant

"i don't know," the author says, because she truly has no idea what the fuck she just wrote. i started imagining nexus dick grayson and this just spilled out onto the page. it makes absolutely no sense, but there are some nice sentences in there that i don't want to get rid of, so hopefully yall can somewhat make sense of this ramen soup of a fic.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @bikoncon @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @dickgraysonweek

#scribbles from the swamp #dickgraysonweek2021 #dick grayson #nightwing #nexus beings #nexus dick grayson #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fic #nightwing headcanon #nightwing fic #nexus beings headcanon #nexus beings fic #nexus dick grayson headcanon #nexus dick grayson fic #dc #dc headcanon #dc fic

[mithrilwren]

I really, really wanted to contribute something to Essek Week​, but unfortunately with two essays and a novel chapter due by Monday, I didn’t have the time or mental energy to write anything new. Cue me remembering that I’d actually started working on an Essek-centric shadowgast Pirate!AU last summer, that never saw the light of day! Though I did a whole bunch of research for it, summer ended before I could get farther than the first couple chapters. Still, I’m very fond of the premise, and I’d like to finish it one day. I can’t guarantee I will (life’s too busy to commit myself to another Big Fic Project atm) but in the meantime, here’s a little taste in the form of the first chapter.

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

For @essek-week Day 7: AU

Courts of Silk (Chapter 1)

Essek startled from his trance to the crackle of blistering thunder overhead.

Mind bled of all drowsiness in an instant, he unfolded his legs and slid off the berth, drifting to the center of the room and tilting his ear towards the boards above. 

A storm…  but the skies were meant to be clear for days, and he trusted Avus to know it. Could the weather have turned so–

Boom.

Essek’s eyebrows flew up as the deck visibly lurched below his feet. 

Not thunder.

Cannon fire.

More sounds now, hurried ones – an erratic tempo of feet pounding through the corridor outside his little room, the floorboards creaking dully under the weight of the crew scrambling over the deck above. He flinched as a louder noise pierced through the commotion: the rattling of a heavy fist falling against the door of his cabin, hard enough to shake the wooden frame. 

“We’ve been boarded!” Zel’ra’s guttural shout startled him out of his confused stupor, and he flew to the door and flung it open. The quartermaster stood outside, her snarling jaw dripping with whitish battle foam, the kind that bugbears of Rosohna so seldom have occasion to sport within city walls. “Come on, magic boy, time for you to earn your– Shit!”

Then she was gone, and Essek was left staring dumbly at the empty corridor, as Zel’ra raced back the way she came. A moment later, there was a yelp, and the grisly crack of metal hitting bone. Then there was no sound at all, save the rocking of the ocean’s pulse against the hull, and the thump of confident, unfamiliar footsteps, coming closer and closer to his open door.

He had only a few moments to make his decision. The fight might still be going on above deck, but if intruders had already made it below, there was little hope of a favorable outcome for the crew of the Barren Bow. He hadn’t thought the Empire would be brazen enough to attack a diplomatic ship in open waters, but there were soldiers of all ilks on the open sea, and no government to hold them to account so far from land. He would not put it past a Dwendalian crew to sight a Dynasty flag on the horizon and decide to take the matter of revenge in their own hands. If so, there was no telling what treatment they might expect at the hands of their attackers. Rage was rarely tamed by abstract rules of engagement, and he doubted anyone would care to ask what the nature of their mission was, once the killing began.

But perhaps…

Quickly, Essek drew aside his sleeve and materialized the leather–bound contents of his wristpocket into his hands. His spellbook lay beside precious components in their embroidered fold, and there, at the bottom of the pile: the folio. He whispered a quiet word and the paper folded apart, revealing its damning – and perhaps, in the right hands, lifesaving – contents. 

The letters. 

If the tides were so unfavorable that he could not fight, perhaps that might be enough to–

He vanished the whole affair back into the ether as two shadows fell across the door. 

From the darkness of the hallway, two figures stepped over the threshold. In front was a young woman: human, with swarthy skin made darker still by the weathering burn of long days at sea. Her hands were tucked beneath bare arms and her hip turned out to an unconcerned jaunt, adorned by a sash of deep blue. Behind her, and looming so tall that she had to hunch to fit through the frame of the door, was a giant of a woman. Taller even than Zel’ra, her bare shoulders glistening with rippling muscles and sweat, pale as moonlight – or as the steely glint of the broadsword at her back. The younger woman swept him over with piercing eyes, her confident grin not quite masking the focused gaze beneath. Though she bore no weapons, Essek could feel the stain of threat in every taut sinew of her body. He held still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Her eyes finally paused, centered on the floor beneath his feet, and her grin dropped into something more like a startled ‘oh’. Too late, he realized his mistake – that his levitation, as natural and instinctive as standing on his own two feet, had just given him away. 

“Mage!” she sputtered, and her hand was gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back before he even realized she’d moved. Essek dropped the levitation spell, hoping to get enough leverage from the sudden height difference to slip out of her grasp, but before he could so much as shuffle to the left, the taller woman was at his right, clutching his other arm with a grip strong enough to break bone. 

“Shit,” the first woman spat as she stepped back, allowing the second to take both of his arms into custody. “Who the fuck did we just board?”

Essek kept silent, staring at her, searching for any sign of weakness and finding less than nothing. If he had just had his hands free for a moment longer… but that didn’t matter now. There weren’t many spells without a somatic component at his disposal, and cantrips wouldn’t save his neck, should the giantess move quicker to snap it than he could speak. 

Without a means of immediate escape, he looked next for any way to identify his captors. They were human, but their loose, subdued dress – for the younger woman, a vest of blue cotton, the other, a braided grey tunic, and frayed ribbons in both their hair – was nothing like the silver and crimson finery of the Righteous Brand. 

If not from the Empire, who were these people? Hired thugs? Mercenaries?

“Are there more of you skulking down here?” 

He didn’t ask the woman to clarify, though he wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking. More drow? Yes, but he was not about to reveal the nature of the delegation travelling under his protection to her. More mages? No. As always, he had convinced the Bright Queen that his effort alone would be sufficient. For the first time in a very long time, he wished he’d been a little more conservative in estimating his own skills. Given the current situation, someone else’s power at his back might actually be welcome, rather than distracting. 

Her burning gaze made it clear that he had to say something, and soon, but for once, the right words did not come. The truth did not matter: he knew that any unfavorable answer would be taken as a lie.

Still, Essek would not panic. The only way to regain control of the situation was by carefully gathering information, finding something that he could use to shift the balance of power at a more advantageous moment. That was his particular specialty. 

“I do not know,” he answered coolly. “For I do not know who is above and below deck at all hours of the day. I can only speak for myself.”

“Beau! Fjor– fuck– Captain Tusktooth wants you on deck!” A new voice, its timbre high and grating, like glass against cold iron, echoed from around the corner. The woman – Beau, he filed away – turned her head and shouted back out the door. 

“Just a second, we’ve got one more!” Then, “Tell him to get Caleb over here, we’ve got a goddamn mage to deal with!” 

The giantess at his back leaned down, so close that her dreaded locks nestled amidst the silver chains that hung from tip to base of his pointed ear. “You aren’t going to give us any trouble, are you?” she murmured, and despite every ounce of training he’d undergone for exactly this sort of intimidation, he still couldn’t help the way he shivered at her dark tone. There was a deep quality to her voice that sung of violence, for violence’s sake, and though he wasn’t yet truly afraid, he had no wish to provoke her.

“How could I?” Essek gently flexed his arms in her grasp: not enough to challenge, but enough to reassure her of his helplessness.

Her lips curled back, and… yes. There was a little fear gathering there, in the back of his throat. A good kind of fear – the prudent kind. It would keep him alert, and focused, and ready to strike back when the moment was right. 

When she started pushing him forward, he followed her lead willingly, and the two of them shadowed Beau into the corridor and up the steps that led back above deck. Essek winced as the bright noonday sun slipped into view, already anticipating the stinging burn that was sure to follow. He’d managed to avoid the deck for most of the voyage, much to the chagrin of the Assarian crew. He was not born into a body made for manning rigging, and certainly not under an unrepentant sky determined to scorch his face and hands and neck and leave him itching and miserable for days without relief. His better use was below deck, planning for the engagement ahead, and his hours of fresh air better taken in the evening, when the gentler light of the moons was merely a prickle beneath his skin, rather than a flame. 

Everywhere he looked, he saw mismatched bodies. Though Essek hadn’t met the entire complement of the Barren Bow’s crew, he had to assume most of the scattered orcs, goblins, and bugbears belonged to their side. Most of the ones on their feet were being held in the shallow recess at the centre of the deck, where great cannons might have been lodged on a more modern ship. A handful of unremarkable humans, each equipped with a rapier – or, in one man’s case, a salt-encrusted retort – stood above them, keeping watch. Amidst all that humanity stood a wild–eyed goblin in a blaring yellow dress, hefting a crossbow composed of whirring gears and levers of an intricate make that rivaled Waccoh’s own craftsmanship. She was currently in the process of shouting threats down across the heads of his cowed compatriots. Some were clutching broken arms or wiping blood from contusions and burnt welts. Lying at the center of the group was an unconscious Zel’ra, the goose egg at the back of her skull already angry and red. 

Finally, he spied the remainder of the drow contingent clustered by the ship’s rail. Diplomats, all of them, bound for a parley at sea and not trained for conflict beyond what it took to hold a dagger right-way up. He was the only one among them battle-tested, and even then, his means leaned more towards subterfuge than outright combat. Theoretically, the Assarian crew was meant to be their main line of defence in case of attack. Clearly they had not proven up to the task. 

Essek would be filing a very unfavorable report with their commanders upon his return, if any of them survived the day. 

“Captain!” Beau shouted, and a tall half-orc stepped away from the railing, his wide-brimmed hat only partially disguising the many scars that littered his face. 

“Weather’s turning,” he said, casting his eyes towards the – as far as Essek could tell – clear horizon. Those same yellow eyes flickered up, above Essek’s head, and for a moment seemed to narrow before turning back to Beau. “You finished clearing the hold yet?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Beau jerked her head, and Essek was thrust into the sunlight all at once. The glare was blinding, and apparently not just to him. The giantess’s hands jerked around his arms, like they wanted to fly up and shield her eyes as well. That was all the opportunity he needed. 

With one quick motion, he jerked his arms from her grasp and drew his hands together, tracing familiar glyphs out of nothing but muscle memory as his mouth uttered an incantation, and the world exploded around him. The giantess was flung back against the doorframe, wood splintering beneath her weight, and both Beau and the half-orc slammed into the deck and began to hurtle towards the side of the boat. Forcing his eyes to stay focused amidst the chaos and the harsh light, Essek caught the glitter of a cutlass skittering along the boards as he took stock of his position on the newly reborn battlefield.

Nearly all of the boarders were in a concentrated area in front of him, and the rest of the Assarian crew were protected by the lip of the recess in the deck. The terrain could not be more advantageous. Essek allowed himself a small smirk as he raised his hand and prepared a vacuum blast that would level the whole of the upper deck, and deliver them all to safety in one swift stroke. 

How arrogant, that this petty group of mercenaries thought they could capture–

“Counterspell.”

The magic sizzled and died in his hand, and Essek whirled, searching for whoever had spoken behind him. Thugs he could handle, but it was always best to deal with a mage first, when they could do such infuriating things as what had just occurred. But once he turned, he found himself facing an empty doorway, and an empty deck above that. No trace of whoever had cast the counterspell. 

The giantess was gone as well.

He heard the click before he could parse what cold and heavy thing was tugging on his wrist, but he was horribly aware of what was happening by the time his other wrist was wrenched behind his back and small hands clasped the second iron band shut. A stomach-churning wave of exhaustion passed through him from scalp to toe, and he staggered, only barely holding on to consciousness. Head lolling towards the floor, he saw two soft-soled boots landing lightly on the deck in front of him.

With great effort, he managed to drag his head up from his chest, and found himself staring into blue eyes and dusty freckles, lips pressed into a thin line, all framed by tangles of copper-red hair. 

“Good work, Nott,” the man said. His accent was one Essek had only heard once before, though through the mire of exhaustion he could not remember where.

Behind Essek, the half-orc groaned and pushed himself up off the deck. “Next time you have a brilliant plan for subduing the prisoner, maybe let’s try not putting us all in the line of fire, hm?” 

The man ignored the sarcasm, still looking all too carefully at Essek.

“Are you finished?” he murmured, and though his body was lithe, his soft voice sung of as much violence as the giantess’s darker growl. 

With a sigh, Essek let his shoulders drop. He could still feel the pulses of magic coursing through the iron bands around his wrists. Even if he got his arms free again, the cuffs would not be easily slipped, or broken. These people, whoever they were, came equipped to handle wizards like himself. Was that what they were, then? Assassins in disguise? Privateers? The blunt instrument of some government or another?

Not that it made much difference now. Whoever they were, he was at their mercy. 

“Spin him around.”

Essek felt himself being maneuvered away from the man’s incisive gaze. Through bleary eyes he caught the looks of frustrated disbelief from the four drow delegates, lamenting their crushed hope in silent, huddled unity. He was meant to be their protection. Now that Essek was taken, what else could save them? Not one of them was brave enough to attempt it themselves. A shiver of disgust ran through Essek, as heady as the self-recrimination it concealed at having allowed himself to be captured so easily.

The half-orc strode up to Essek, the sword in his hand now replaced, though Essek hadn’t seen the man move to retrieve it. It was a silver cutlass, fine enough to cleave a person clean through and leave one half still propped up on the other. Too rich a prize by far for a simple mercenary – he must have come by it dishonestly, or been given it as boon or bribe. Neither prospect boded well. 

The hand that gripped the sword told an equally foreboding story, for only the thumb was composed of green flesh. The rest of the fingers were severed at the third knuckle, and replaced by metal imitations fixed to the wrist by a harness of leather cords. Still, he held the hilt with all the confidence of a trained fighter, and the surety of his grasp left Essek little doubt as to its effectiveness, mechanical augmentation or no.

“My name,” said the half-orc, “is Captain Tusktooth.” A hint of bright teeth flashed from below the wide brim of the hat. “And this ship is mine now. Its cargo, mine too.”

The answer about the identity of his captors, at last, became clear, for what little good it did him.

Pirates.

“By whose authority?” Essek shot a harsh look at the foolish dignitary who had chosen this moment to find their courage, but Tusktooth only grinned harder.

“By my own.” Behind Essek’s back, Nott and Beau slipped back through the splintered doorframe and down into the depths of the ship once more. “Now, my crew is going to finish taking a look through your cargo. I trust that your captain has been honest about the contents of your hold. Are there any other surprises I should be warning my people of? Anybody else looking to make trouble?”

Would that there were. “You will find little of value to take. We travelled light.” He spoke the truth, having no more useful lie at his disposal. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and another wave of exhaustion teased at the edges of his mind. He fought it with all the strength he had – which was growing less and less by the minute.

“So your captain told me. But that wasn’t my question.” Tusktooth’s voice grew as keen as the blade in his hand as he lifted it and placed the edge to the shallow of Essek’s throat. “Are there others like you aboard?”

He did not flinch. Torment and torture were old friends: his own cherished instruments. He did not fear what this man would do to him, any more than he feared death itself. At least, that is what he told his errant heart, as sweat began to bead at the nape of his neck.

“No.”

Tusktooth stared him down for a minute longer, and Essek held his gaze as best he could with the sun still searing his eyes. But at last, the sword withdrew, and Essek’s breath came a little easier. “Then let’s call this an exercise in… mutual trust.” He smiled once more, and Essek returned the expression with a vague twitch of lips.

The tense exchange was followed by ten excruciating minutes of silence, during which Essek did his best not to fidget in his heavy robes, even when his exposed skin grew so heated he felt liable to burst into flames. As they waited, the redheaded man pulled Tusktooth aside for a private conversation, and Essek sweated, and watched, and tried to formulate a plan.

The pirates would find nothing of value to steal. The Barren Bow had provisions for the voyage, but anything else aboard was the purview of the Assarian crew, who had planned to head back towards the shores of Igrathad as soon as the parley concluded. There were no scheduled stops for trade, and thus, no trade goods in their hold. There weren’t even guns to offer. Essek would never dare to admit it aloud, but the Dynasty lagged sorely behind the rest of Wildemount in outfitting its fleet with the relatively new technology of cannonry, at least of the type that lacked a magical component. Firearms had only entered the sphere of weaponmaking some thirty years prior, and with Xhorhas primarily landlocked, the navy hadn’t been high on the priority list for refurbishment. 

His best hope was that some of the crew had hidden stashes of coin in their quarters. Otherwise, there would be nothing for the pirates to take, and without anything to satisfy them, well… he did not want to be in manacles when that news was delivered to a man who’d already put a sword to his throat. 

If only to convince himself he was not totally beaten yet, Essek watched Tusktooth and the redhead carefully, seeing what he could glean from body language alone. Their conversation was hushed but tense, and every few moments the redhead would turn his eyes towards the drow delegation, and then to Essek himself. He made sure to drop his own eyes before they could meet again, not wanting to spark another confrontation by appearing insolent. As for the pirate captain… there was confidence, yes, but the unwavering edge of confidence seemed to drop away from his shoulders as he spoke to the other man. His arms moved more wildly; his words were more rapid, and at a higher pitch. Perhaps his earlier confidence was not so unshakeable as it at first appeared.

At last, Beau and the goblin re-emerged from the staircase. “We got shit all,” Beau said, tossing down a half-empty sack by Essek’s feet. He winced as a few bruised tubers rolled out across the warped deck.

“...Shit.” Tusktooth ran a hand over his mouth. “Shit. Nothing?”

“Nott and I checked every inch of that hold, the crew quarters, everything. No money, no timber, no – fuck, I don’t know – fine silks or–”

“No cannons,” Nott added mournfully. “No black powder.”

“We went through all this for nothing?”

“Maybe someone’s holding out on us,” Nott said, brandishing her crossbow. “I could make ‘em talk for you, Captain. Make them squeal–”

“Oh–kay, Nott,” Tusktooth said, “let’s take it down a notch.” But despite his placating tone, his look was thoughtful. Again, he turned to Essek. “You never never did say what you all were doing out here, so far from home. You don’t look like a sailor to me.”

“Yes, friend,” said the redhead, stepping up to Essek from Tusktooth’s other side, alarmingly calm, and placing altogether too much emphasis on the second word to be trusted, “what is it you do here?” Essek took a half-step back, not liking the feeling of being pressed in from all angles, and walked himself straight into the chest of the giantess. 

Nowhere to hide. And with his hands bound behind his back, no way to levitate up to a level where he didn’t feel every inch of height his captors had over him. Which, at his firmly average height for a drow, was many.

Focus, Thelyss. Focus.

“Why should I answer your questions,” he sneered, “when you have not done me the same courtesy? Who are you, to board a vessel commissioned lawfully by the Bright Queen herself?” It was a dangerous ploy, but a considered one – a hastily calculated risk. If the pirates could not be convinced there was nothing of value to be found, they might decide to punish the crew for concealing their rightful prize, and when even a beating couldn’t drive his compatriots to forfeit non-existent gold, the pirates might well scuttle the ship and leave them all to drown at sea. He doubted simple brigands would care much for the particulars of a diplomatic mission if there was no treasure involved, so there was little harm in broaching a subject that might be far more dangerous to discuss with more educated captors.

But apparently, some aspect of Essek’s logic had failed him again, because the redhead immediately shot a wide-eyed look at Tusktooth, before looking back to Essek. “The Bright Queen?”

Essek gave a little bow. His head swam as he dipped back up – the handcuffs, no doubt, though it could just as easily be the beginnings of heatstroke – and he had to swallow twice to find the fortitude to speak without slurring. “Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty and ambassador of the realm.” The last part was an… embellishment, and if he chanced a glance over at the true ambassadors, he imagined there would be many offended looks. But thankfully, all attention was solely focused on him. “I assure you, you won’t find the prize you’re looking for on a diplomatic vessel, gentleman. Your friends have already given you proof – we carry nothing beyond our own provision. Unless you have a particular taste for the delicacies of Xhorhasian fashion, I’m afraid we have little to offer you.”

Nott snarled, but the redhead put up a hand. “Captain,” he said slowly, looking at Tusktooth. “Might I… make a suggestion?” 

“You may.”

“It’s not something I’d usually propose, but times being what they are…” Tusktooth nodded grimly.

“We haven’t got many options left.”

“Precisely. I believe that our friend Mr. Thelyss here has lied to us.” He could laugh for the irony of it all; this was the most truthful Essek had been in years. “There is indeed something very valuable aboard this ship.” His blue eyes pierced through Essek, and it was only his determination to keep the – now violently pitching – contents of his stomach where they belonged, that stopped him from speaking up in his own defense.

“And that is...?”

“Himself.”

#critical role #essek thelyss #shadowgast #essek week #my writing #also since plank king essek is a... thing??? now #the timing seems appropriate lol #this fic is not that but it is still (eventual) pirate!Essek #and who doesn't love that

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

#ultimate note #whomst #wu xie #dmbj #the lost tomb #pingxie #iron triangle

[psycheshorror]

“Shut Up”

pairing: MCU!Brock Rumlow x reader

summary: smutty smut smut with tons of cursing. rough sex.

authors note: I’m new to the whole writing scene, critiques appreciated!

part two

God, Brock was so pretty when he finally shut the fuck up.

It started off small. Working as an assistant for Maria Hill meant you had to schedule debriefing meetings, hunt down agents for completed mission reports, and occasionally make small talk with the big guys - Captain Rogers and you were on first name basis and sometimes he even brought you coffee when turning in his reports. Neatly written, filled out properly, never a second late and somehow the coffee always tasted like it was just brewed.

But Brock Rumlow was something else.

Always wearing a shit-eating grin when he saw you, brown eyes full of amusement as he watched you disdainfully pluck the report out of his large hands. Messy as fuck handwriting as per usual, and no matter how many times you told him to remember to be thorough, there was always a detail missing that didn’t line up with the rest of his teammates. And no matter how small it was, it meant the process had to start all over again.

You tried to remain professional, but you were at your wits end. You wanted to be like Maria. Maria never gets her feathers ruffled, and sure as hell doesn’t over paperwork, but goddamn if it didn’t require a miracle for Brock’s report to be correct the first time around.

“Hey honey,” he said, mouth curling up into a catlike grin.

“Rumlow,” you acknowledged, trying desperately to keep your eyes fixated on your computer screen, almost effectively ignoring the flutter in your chest at the pet name. You reached for your coffee mug and frowned when the now-cold liquid hit your lips.

Licking your bottom lip when a stray drop threatened to dribble down your chin, you swore you heard the 6”4 man purr.

A shuffle in your peripheral vision and your desk creaking, you couldn’t help but to now look into the eyes of the absolute brick house of a man.

Both large hands placed flat against the edges of your desk, leaning down, he was only a few inches away from your face now. You could feel his breath on your lips and much to your embarrassment, felt a familiar stirring in your core.

“Do you wanna fuck?”

“Wh- what-“

All of a sudden he was chuckling, head bowing down to look at the floor and you could almost see a shyness you’ve never seen the agent express - ever. But then when he looked back at you, pupils blown wide and a different kind of smirk, you knew at that moment you were a goner.

Brock Rumlow was a wolf and you were a sitting duck, waiting to be eaten.

And eaten you were.

Brock currently had his face in between your legs, tongue mercilessly working your clit as his large fingers pumped into you. Threading your fingers in his hair, you cried out as the coil in your core wrapped so tight that you thought you were gonna die. Just a few more seconds and -

Brock’s head popped up and his fingers slid out to slap your pussy and you almost sobbed. “Brock!!” you whined, embarrassed at the desperation in your voice.

“Did I fucking say you could cum?” he gritted out, hands on your hips and fingers digging so hard in the flesh you knew there would be bruises the next day.

“You motherfucker-“ you yelped when you were suddenly face down into the mattress. Brock’s strength was insane on the field - you knew from

his bio that he built a reputation as being a huge asset to S.H.I.E.L.D., but you never expected it to creep into bed with him as well.

Well, you never expected to be in bed with him in general, but life is full of happy surprises, isn’t it?

You could feel Brock rutting against your ass, cock hard in his tactical pants. One hand firmly placed on the small of your back to hold you down, the other finding it’s way in your hair, tugging firmly. Nothing could have prepared you for how goddamn hot that was.

“Name calling ain’t nice, sweetheart,” he said, breath quickening as his hips rolled into your ass at a brutish pace.

“You’re gonna have to pay the price,” he whispered in your ear before licking the shell of it. You shivered, arousal completely dominating your mind and body. Fuck, you shouldn’t be wet for Brock Rumlow. You felt a tinge of guilt for Steve. You should be in bed with the guy that brought you coffee, not the one who couldn’t file a report properly because he simply didn’t care to.

A harsh slap on your bare ass brought you back to the situation at hand. You moaned as the hand in your hair switched to pinching your right nipple. Twisting hard, your eyes fluttered shut at the new feeling. You’ve never had it rough like this, but damn you were missing out.

You could feel your core starting to coil once more, on the precipice of orgasm just from Brock manhandling you and his covered cock rubbing against your cheeks.

“You like it rough, you little slut?” Another harsh slap from his right hand almost sent you over the edge. You moaned as his cock twitched in his pants, and knew how desperate he was for his own orgasm.

“I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he grunted, hands leaving your body to undo his belt and zipper. Your pussy quaked with the promise of being thoroughly fucked.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Now shut the fuck up and fuck me, Rumlow.”

You could feel the smile against your neck before he bit you, the full length of his cock slipping in until he completely buried himself in your core. You both almost keeled from pleasure.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good around my cock,” he groaned, dark eyelashes fluttering closed as he experimentally thrusted into you, almost savoring the sensation.

“Gotta let me fuck you all the time, I don’t know if I can get enough.” Finally slamming into you, you knew what true pleasure felt like.

“Rumlow,” you cried, tears prickling out the corners of your eyes as you angled yourself against him to feel his cock hit that perfect, magic spot in your pussy that made you see stars. He was merciless with his pace, his large hands digging into your hips once more, forcing you to take his full length and force at once.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours should have made you feel embarrassed. You weren’t supposed to be playing hanky panky with any of your coworkers, nonetheless an agent, but how were you supposed to resist his advances with his pretty brown eyes and that sultry smile?

And now with his cock buried so deeply inside of you, how could you ever stop?

He angled his hips upwards and you felt the underside of his shaft brush against your clit thrice and you were sent into one of the most powerful orgasms you have ever had.

Brock moaned feeling your walls close in on his cock and tugged your hair as you rode the waves of your orgasm. You cried when he slapped your ass, hard, and kept thrusting into you like his life depended on it. Your hands were shaking and you could barely keep your legs open, your orgasm turning you into a throbbing, helpless mess.

He came after a minute of reckless thrusting, the kind that said “I’m drunk off of sex” without anyone explicitly having to say it out loud. Spilling hot cum inside of you, you could feel him moan and a wave of pride washed over you. You could get used to hearing this more often.

Brock sighed and he gently kissed the dark marks he left on your neck, caressing your back and hushing your whimpers when he pulled out of your aching pussy.

Lips barely ghosting the angry red marks his hands left on your ass, he gingerly massaged your hips where he could see the bruises already forming.

After soft touches and tender kisses, he flipped you over, this time slowly as if you were the most valuable thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

You could feel your heart swelling with affection when you saw his eyes were now full of pure satisfaction. Hush now, feelings.

It was just good, rough sex. No need to make it anything other than that.

“Gotta say, honey,” he said, voice still coated with lust as he tucked his body against yours, pulling the sheets over both of you.

“I’m glad I can finally stop fucking up mission reports.”

“You bastard!” you exclaimed, laughing wildly as he curled a forearm around your waist. “I can’t count how many times I’ve had to make you redo your reports.”

“Well, I tried to get your attention, but you were all business,” he chuckled, nose nuzzling in your hair.

“So I figured, I’m just gonna ask. And I didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” you yawned, feeling the fatigue of the wild sex start to creep into your bones. Eyes almost fluttering closed, you basked in the warmth of the big, muscly body behind you.

“Well, since you mentioned it... can I get an extension on this next report?”

“Not a chance.” You grinned, just before dozing off.

#brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow fanfiction #brock rumlow / reader #fanfic #marvel

[alltooreid]

All Too Well

Spencer must go to him and Y/N’s once shared apartment to clean out his things and leave her life forever. While there he can’t help but look back on his actions, the ones that made him lose the love of his life forever

A/N: Hi!! This is my first fanfic ever published on here and I’m excited to share it with you all! It’s inspired by one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs All Too Well, but although I utilized some of the lyrical genius and imagery from it, the story is not the same as the story in the song. This is a very angsty fic, and there is not a happy ending. Although there are some cute fluffy elements, including a Reid’s purple scarf origin story, I would in no way call this happy. Additionally, because of a reason you may later realize, the content warnings are very vague. If anything even slightly mentioned in them may affect you, I advise you to maybe stay clear. On a lighter note, if anyone wants to request anything, whether it’s another song inspired fic or a general plot line you would like to see please do so!! Also sorry this is kinda short, I’m still learning but I’m really proud of this one :))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Type: Very Angsty, Not a Happy Ending, (Y/N and Spencer do not end up together)

Word Count: 2.4k

Content Warnings(try to ignore if you would prefer to stay surprised): slight cursing, discussions of death and gore, discussion of car crash

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments :) let me know what you think!

“But you keep my old scarf from that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can't get rid of it 'Cause you remember it all too well”

Spencer was packing up his things, finally getting the chance to clear out and move from the apartment he and Y/N once shared.  Their relationship was rocky and unconventional but he loved her all the same. Even though he left her broken-hearted and destroyed his most cherished relationship. Even though Y/N’s parents now hated him because of what he did to her. Even though hope of repairing what they once had was long gone and there was nothing else he could do about it. Even though he had torn up the masterpiece they once had together. He still loved her so much.

But the magic was gone and so was she. 

Now Spencer was left with memories, and since the apartment they lived in was hers instead of his, filed entirely under hers and her parents name. In his excessive knowledge and wisdom, Spencer Reid struggled to understand how the kitchen where Y/N told him she loved him for the first time as he lit the candle on the collapsing confetti cake he had attempted to bake for her birthday was in no way legally tied to him. 

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Y/N! Happy birthday to you!” Spencer sang as he lit the single pink birthday candle he found after rummaging through his desk drawers for longer than he cared to admit. He knew it was in there somewhere, but at the same time there was a whole lot in there. 

As he looked at her face, eyes welling up with tears as she took in the sad, homemade excuse for a birthday party Spencer had thrown together after they got back from a case hours before, he couldn’t help but feel he should have done more. He wanted to take her to New York, where they would’ve enjoyed fine dining and one of those incredibly detailed floral frosting cakes he knew Y/N was infatuated with. 

However, the case in Oregon ran long. They had only returned to their apartment 2 hours ago, hours past their 7pm dinner reservations. Although Y/N tried to hide her disappointment, you don’t need to be a profiler to know that someone wants to celebrate their own birthday. So although they had agreed to go to bed and play everything by ear tomorrow, the young genius had, what he would still argue to be, his most brilliant idea when he saw Y/N asleep once he got out of the shower.

It was still her birthday.

And Spencer had just under 2 hours to throw you a party. 

So sure, Y/N deserved more than a cake that was definitely not cool enough to frost, but was frosted anyway due to time constraints. And she definitely deserved more than present hastily wrapped in his printed out articles and newspaper clippings. Spencer wished that he had time to go buy new candles, instead of lighting a green sparkly number 7 because it was all he could find.

But it was almost midnight, and that meant he only had 18 minutes before it wasn’t Y/N’s birthday anymore.

So instead of dwelling on it, he headed to their bedroom, shook her awake and watched her roll over to face him. He watched the smile overtake her face as she said the stupid party hat he was wearing, made out of a pom pom and a wedding invitation.

“Hey birthday girl,” he said softly, “you do realize you’re sleeping through your party right?”

She looked so happy that night, even as she saw the way too messy kitchen and her birthday cake that was melting by the second. She laughed as Spencer fumbled with the lighter. 

And as he finished singing her eyes started releasing tears. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I wish we could’ve done more for the first birthday we get to spend together. “

“No, no, no” she said as she wiped her tears away, “It’s not that at all.”

She smiled and looked up at him “I just love you so goddamn much Spencer.”

Although at one point, all Spencer knew was logic and logically Y/N had never ever known him when she filed her paperwork, the genius still struggled to grasp the concept. That even before the ending of it all, you had no legal, definite connection to her at all. 

How was nothing about this place, his? 

  All that he knew was that he had today to pack all his shit and leave. All he knew is that Y/N’s father had made it very clear none of their family wanted to see him again. 

He wished he could talk to Y/N about it. However all of his calls went to voicemail immediately. 

Logically, Spencer knew why, he had completely fucked up. 

But still, he called every single day, as there was nothing his heart wished for more than to speak to Y/N again. To apologize, to beg for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

As the cold air from the open windows blew into the apartment, Spencer couldn’t help but feel he was leaving his home behind. Everything left of her was going to be here, and he wouldn’t get to experience any part of the life you and him had once shared together anymore.

But then he saw it. 

The royal purple scarf Y/N bought the day of their first date. 

“You like this color right?” she asked as they stopped by a booth at the street festival she had taken him to. Spencer was too distracted as he watched the other couples on dates, as they walked hand and hand down the streets. He sometimes wished he could forget things like the number of germs and bacteria that lived on her hands. He at least wished he could forget long enough to gather enough courage to hold Y/N’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Hmm?” he said, looking back at her, then the scarf she was now wearing. “Oh, yeah! I love that color, it um- looks great on you.”

She smiled, then turned to the weird old guy running the stand. “How much for the scarf?” she asked.

He looked at her, then looked at Spencer, “depends which one of you is paying.”

Before Spencer could say anything, let alone pull out his wallet, Y/N already had hers out. 

“Well, for a pretty lady like you, it’s 2 dollars,” the man said.

She handed him five and turned to Spencer. “You hear that? I’m so pretty I get 80% off! Wonder what you would’ve paid huh pretty boy? He would probably owe you money.” The man handed her her change and whispered something Spence couldn’t quite catch. 

“Gross,” Y/N said as they exited the booth, “he wrote his number on my change.”

Spencer chuckled, “Did you really just buy that scarf because I like the color of it?”

She smiled, “Don’t get so cocky now Einstein, I like purple too you know? And maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you borrow it.”

At that moment Spencer felt just okay enough to wrap his arm around Y/N’s, and she felt just right enough to wrap the new scarf around them both. 

The one she left next to her front door, after making the last minute decision to leave it at home the night of their final outing.

No one would notice if he….. Right?

Sure maybe Y/N would but what would she do about it? Hunt him down just to get a scarf she paid less than five dollars for? Definitely not. 

He wrapped it around his neck and closed his eyes, even days later he could perfectly picture Y/N singing in his car, fascinated by the autumn leaves falling around her. He felt the wind in his hair, but instead of the cold, dreary air from the open apartment window, he swore he could remember the warm air from that October night. 

“Spencer I know you hate it but please, please, please. I’m so tired.”

“Sweetheart you’re not tired, you’re drunk. Of course I have to drive you home.”

“Oh, whatever.”

A phone call broke him away from his memories, it was Hotch. Spencer was angry, how effortlessly cruel of him to call him during such an emotional time. Hotch knew how much Spencer loved Y/N, the whole team did. 

So he didn’t pick up.

Instead he walked over to the coffee table they used to put their feet on when they binged watched Doctor Who together. Letting the ringtone play out in the background, Spencer picked up an old photo album Y/N’s parents must have brought out. Of course he remembered it, it was the same one they flipped through when he met Y/N’s parents for the first time. He didn’t realize she had brought it home with her.

His eyes welled up with tears as he flipped through the old school pictures, remembering how embarrassed Y/N was of her big glasses. He saw her old athlete pictures from when she used to play tee ball, and flipped through more pictures until he reached the end of your softball career, in college. 

He remembered how hard Y/N blushed when she showed him her childhood bedroom. Her twin sized bed was full of stuffed animals and her walls covered in boy band posters. 

“You know what Spencer? I don’t want to hear it. I loved and still love the BackStreet Boys and I am not ashamed of that.”

He laughed, “You know, before we started dating I always thought you were so cool and unattainable. I imagined that you had always been this chic, beautifully brilliant badass. It’s oddly comforting to know that you wore tortoiseshell glasses and had a fruitless infatuation with Nick Carter.”

She gasped, before tossing her tabby cat stuffed toy at him, “You’re about to get it!”

Once again he was called out of the memory by his phone. 

And once again he let it ring.

Spencer went into their shared bedroom, most of his things were already put into boxes for him. Honestly he was surprised that they hadn’t been set on fire or thrown away after what he did. 

Soon it was time for him to take his things down to his car.

Except it wasn’t even his car. It was Morgan’s.

“Spencer, you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life. I am infatuated with you, I want us to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“You sure that isn’t the alcohol talking Y/N”

“Look at me Spencer, no, no really look at me.”

He couldn’t imagine ever using his old car again after what had happened in it.

“You are my future.”

Not that he could use it again.

“You are my everything.”

It was pretty much destroyed, after that accident on that little town street.

“I want nothing more in my life, than for you to be in it.”

When he was so enamored by Y/N, so in love that he couldn’t take his eyes off her, that he ran a red light.

And the truck waiting to go didn’t stop either.

“SPENCER! SPENCER CAN YOU HEAR ME? I NEED YOU TO CALL 911!” she screamed, her voice filled with agony, her limbs mangled in a sea of crushed mental and snapped backwards by the emergency airbag she didn’t realize she was resting her feet on.

Spencer had already called 911. That was the sickest thing about it. Spencer was, physically, perfectly fine. Spencer would get to leave the hospital after just a few days. Spencer could’ve probably gotten out of the car if he tried to. But he stayed, he stayed with Y/N, as she wasn’t fine. As Spencer looked down on her broken body, and tried desperately to find just one piece of skin that wasn’t coated in blood, her blood, that is when he realized. That not only could Y/N not walk out of the hospital with him, but she probably wouldn’t even make it there.

So he sobbed, he struggled to breathe, not because of the ways Y/N did, but because he had caused all the reasons she couldn’t.

“Hey, Spencer, look at me.”

So he did, and he reached for her hands and held them so tightly, and wanted one last time to feel her squeeze back. And she did, just ever so softly. 

“Spencer, I meant everything I said to you. I want you to spend the rest of my life with me. Please.”

“I love you so much Y/N”

“I love you too.”

Spencer was drawn away from his memories once again as he got another phone call. 

But it wasn’t Hotch this time. It was Mr. Y/L/N, so he answered it. He owed him that.

“Are you out of her house yet? You’ve had hours. I want you gone Spencer.”

Spencer sighed, “I’m leaving now sir, I’m just putting the last of my things in the trunk and then I’ll be gone.”

“Good, I never want to see you again Spencer, you hear me?” Mr. Y/L/N said. “And you better not have anything of hers either. All that stuff in your car better belong to you and you only. If Y/N paid for even a dime of it it better still be in that house.”

Spencer looked down at this scarf he was wearing, the one that still smelled like her perfume. The one that he couldn’t bring himself to take off because he reminded him of so much innocence and beauty.

“Yes sir, I didn’t take anything.”

“Good. And Spencer do me a favor.”

“Anything sir.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Mr. Y/L/N said, and then hung up. Spencer sighed, he expected that and fully deserved it.

How else should a father react when you kill his daughter?

“'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid taylor swift #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds reid #reid x reader #reid fanfic

[mxgilray]

Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

#loki spoilers #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #sylvie laufeydottir #lokius #sylki #tva loki #time variance authority #marvel #mcu

[moki-dokie]

so like. ok.

work is always kinda crazy this time of year. we run a damn good sale and usually the games we host run sales and people like to gift servers for the holiday. genuinely the busiest time of the year, right? we’ve got that established yeah?

so then enter minecraft. it releases 1.18 a week ago. one of the biggest updates its had in a while, completely changing how it does worldgen. so we got that going on as well and the clusterfuck of trying to figure out how to optimize it because its a beast compared to older versions and is eating ALL the ram.

two very big things causing higher than normal traffic. you’re still following yeah?

then theres my little slice of responsibilities of juggling contract dates with particular providers. i’ve got a handful expiring this month and that means having to migrate customers off of these devices and deprovisioning them, which is a multi-day ordeal that takes the whole department coordinating to make sure customers get migrated by a particular deadline.

theres a never-ending stream of modpacks we have to keep updated. like so many that every person gets assigned a few to get done throughout the week. not hard to do, but it’s still a process that requires your attention. you don’t want to package the wrong files or forget to test it before setting it live, yknow.

also, we have two very new people whomst we are still heavily training.

so presently, we have five rather sizeable situations keeping us busier than we’ve ever been before. we are already stretched as thin as we can be. there are only 6 of us to divvy up a shitload of work.

all of this, by the way, is secondary to our main job. which is manning the support chat. which is popping off right now. which means most of us are trying to handle 3 conversations at once and troubleshooting very different problems all at once.

enter in our ceo.

who fucking bait and switches us so goddamn hard we can’t even react.

who told us WEEKS ago that we absolutely would NOT be taking on the customers from another host closing down. 

who then turns around at the last goddamn minute and changes his mind and oh, by the way support team here’s hundreds of new customers you manually have to migrate from their old host to us. also theres no process in place about how to do this because we didn’t give a shit to think that far in advance. also didn’t bother to hire any of the other host’s support staff even temporarily to help with this very sudden load as an extra fuck you. teehee you have a week to get it done.

you might now be able to imagine just a hint of the raw anger we feel as a collective whole right now. like, i filed a formal complaint on him for this and a number of other shitty things he’s pulled like this. my manager got a write up for bitching him out on our behalf. our two new people are not enjoying the job they thought would be amazing - and normally would be. 

this is a shit hit the fan at the shitshow during a shitstorm kind of ordeal.

and when its all over me and hr are having some hard fucking words with the ceo else he’s losing his whole support department and realizing just how vital we are to keeping this whole company running.

#personal #today is the first day #i've been able to even fuckin breathe #shits ridiculous and i'm tired #and fed up with the sheer amount of disrespect #he specifically shows to us #hell hath no fury like a moki scorned #yall aint even know

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steve haines; american money

It's a Thursday and it's raining. The raindrops are heavy and loud on impact, running down his windshield like tears. He's on his way to the set and he prays that it'll clear up soon.

"This show will kill you", Warren sits on his bed, sheets lazily draped over his legs. Steve can see where his pubic hair begins and his mouth waters. Warren takes a long drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke into the air.

"It fucking won't, nothing can", Steve's leaning against the door frame, coffee in hand.

"Fuck yes, it can. And it will, lurking around at Forum Drive all day and for what? Two minutes of frightening pictures that will make Karens all over LS go buck wild."

"Who's Karen?"

"Forget about it. Let me suck your dick, Haines, c'mere."

As he arrives near the recreational center and pulls into one of the lots it has indeed stopped raining. The streets are still wet but the sun's coming out again and the air is already mushy with the reblooming heat. There's a lanky man with a dog and he's yelling into his phone - the man that is, not the dog.

He knows who the guy is, even though he most likely doesn't know him, probably he doesn't even know that Steve exists. He's an associate of Franklin Clinton and the Bureau keeps a close eye on him, due to the nature of Clinton being so close with Townley and Philips.

Steve watches Lamar, leaning against the hood of his car, the remaining rain wetting his thigh through the denim.

"Man Frank, you just ain't around no more, homie. That's all I'm saying. Yeah - Yeah, sure whatever, dog - Yeah, fuck yourself too, homie."

He hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. The dog looks at him. "Man, you get the fool more than I do, Chop. Wassup with him, can you tell me? He always been that fool, but something ain't right there."

Steve knows what ain't right there. Franklin must've picked up by now, or maybe Townley told him, what they were up to that one afternoon at the warehouse. And for what he knows about Clinton and what the intel tells him, the young man probably isn't much of a big fan of government-approved interrogation techniques.

And he probably also won't like what Steve has next in stock. Warren was a little careless the last time around, tongue loosend by sweet kisses and a hand around his dick, when he spoke about a securicar delivering important IAA files soon. It won't hurt 14 but it would definitely aid Steve an awful lot, so he decided to send the boys on the road again, maybe on Tuesday.

The production team's van rolls up next to him and they swarm around him like a stock of bees buzzes around their queen and then there's sound and light checks being run and a woman applies powder to his face. Lamar Davis has not moved a single step. Their eyes meet.

"What are you idiots doing here?", he hollers. Steve wonders if he could be of use.

"We're shooting a show", he replies, while the attach a little microphone to his collar, "The Underbelly of Paradise, you surely have already seen an episode or two."

"You're that Haines-guy then?", something in Lamar's voice makes his skin crawl, his files told Steve that he too is a gangster after all, killing and robbing are some of Davis' favourites. The look he shoots him isn't much friendlier.

"In the flesh", Steve dusts of the sleeves of his polo shirt.

"Yeah, aight. Fuck you then, man. C'mon Chop, we best be leavin', homie. Imma take you back to Frank's crib", oh, there is something in Lamar's voice that Steve definitely doesn't like at all but he just smiles politely at the man, until he's around the corner and out of sight. Steve's smile drops.

"Can we hurry this up a little, people? I don't got all day!" The bees start buzzing again.

_

The raid on the Humane goes by easier than expected. They are in Warren's living room, as the news inform about the incident. Steve is just pouring himself another glass of wine and Warren looks at him.

He knows, that the other one knows. It's a cover story the IAA will buy, but not Warren. Pain shoots through his legs as he slowly makes his way towards the sofa.

Warren mouths a few words at him. Be careful. Steve nods and leans over, places a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Learned from the best", he whispers and Warren jerks.

"What?", there's panic in his voice.

"The Rashkovsky Job? The breakout and then his research goes missing?"

Warren blinks at him in disbelief.

"So, did he let you know if he likes it in South America?"

They laugh and Steve feels light, his fingertips tingle with it.

_

Steve's on his balcony. There's a saxophonist a few meters down the road, playing some Sinatra pieces and the music wraps itself around him like a blanket. The musician's interpretation reaks of melancholy and reminds Steve of the golden days of Vinewood cinema, noir films and cigarette smoke. Musicians playing at street corners isn't something foreign in a city where everyone has dreams of being the next big national superstar, but Steve usually hates him with his guts. This one's different. It touches him and he finds himself enjoying the dark, warm tunes that float through the cool air. It will be autumn soon and Steve's glad that the heat will be gone.

Warren watches him from the inside, leaning against the kitchen counter, lips curled in a smile.

_

Steve has always hated Michael's bloated and ugly, fat face and now he even gets to point a gun at it. It feels like his birthday and christmas fall on the same day.

"They know or they think they know that I'm the one that was behind the incident."

They stare each other into the ground, guns raised. Steve's ready to fire, has been from the minute Townley walked onto the plaza for the first time.

"Put the weapons down, boys. Fun time's over!", Steve wants to sigh. This is not happening. And then they are suddendly surrounded by their own man Sanchez has sent and then fucking Merryweather's there, too. This is not fucking happening. And so he does the only thing he's always been good at.

"We all know you Agency boys are balls deep in a plot to drive up your fundings by any means necessary", he shouldn't have said that. Warren trusted him with that info, even showed him the intel. He sees something moving behind Agent ULP's eyes, it's fear. He's got him.

Suddendly there's a loud pop and then pain shooting through his left leg. "Same goddamn leg", he blurts out as hell starts to break loose around him. Sanchez blood sprays the concrete in a bright red as the bullet pierces his skull. Steve wishes it would've been Michael instead.

He runs until he can't take the pain no more, then cowers on the ground, slowly robbing behind cover, as Dave and Michael pick up the gun fight. He's bleeding heavily, red liquid rushing out of the wound and drenching his cargos. It seems like the bullet is stuck and maybe has wounded some arteries. He figures that he probably hasn't that much time left. He strips himself out of his shirt and wraps it around his leg, adding pressure on his thigh, just above the bullet wound.

He thinks about Warren. Oh dear God, don't let me die today.

_

"What did you do?", it's Warren, he's sitting at Steve's kitchen table.

"Did you let yourself in, pretty boy?"

"What happend?", he sounds furious now, gets up and his eyes bore into Steve's. He's dizzy with it, with what Warren's gaze tells him, let's him know without saying a word.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"You got shot!"

"Yeah, the same leg."

"That's - you're-"

Steve wraps his arms around him and presses him close and Warren releases a surprised noise. "I'm still here", he says and it's more for and to himself, than for Warren but the other doesn't seem to care, burying his face in Steve's neck.

The world's a little brighter and warmer and Steve doesn't feel that threatend anymore. He has to make a phone call, but that can wait a few more minutes.

_

He has a team on the way to the plant, it will be alright. They'll be gone for good, just another casualty. He sighs, takes a deep breath and throws the script on the seat across from him.

"Are the cameras rolling? Yes? How do I look, the chin's sharp?"

Warren looks at him, eyes still a little hazy from his last orgasm and Steve turns his head and looks at him. He's so pretty and Steve's heart misses a beat.

"I-", his voice breaks and Warren blinks.

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Warren laughs. It's deep and dripping with amusement, running down Steve's body like hot honey. He rolls himself over, on top of Warren, who's still laughing deep in his chest, burying a hand in Steve's blond hair.

"No. No, you don't."

They look at each other and their gazes turn soft. "Sometimes I do", Steve's voice is quiet, honesty seeping through his words, "But sometimes I-, I would burn the world down to protect you."

Warren's hand caresses his neck. "My life would be so very boring without you, Haines. It nearly makes me forget that I just really want to skin you alive, sometimes."

It's not really an I love you - I love you too, but it's as close as they can get without hurting their egos. The kiss is soft and sweet and a promise.

"Hi, I'm Steve Haines. I've tracked down killers, attacked incompetence and taken down terrorist cells, and tonight -"

The gunshot rips through the night and the camera man throws himself back, lands unpleasently on his back.

"My god! The guy! What's-his-name! Fuck, shit, they shot him!", he stares down at the dead man, blood rushing out of the bullet wound in the back of his head. The impact had torn some skin and skull apart and there's a nasty opening, his brain leaks out of it. The camera man vomits out of the gondola as sirens erupt in the night.

_

Warren has his feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly zapping through the programs. It's all shallow and boring and he hopes that Steve will be home soon. Home.

His stomach does a funny little flip and Warren smiles to himself, wraps the blanket around him tighter. It smells of him, his perfume. He closes his eyes and he can practically feel Steve's hand creeping around his neck, resting on his shoulder, heavy and warm. It's always like that, when he comes in on Warren sitting on the sofa. He will lean down and place a feather light kiss on the back of his head, maybe rest his nose there for a moment, taking the other man's scent in for a few seconds, before getting up again and ranting about Norton or another colleague. A fuzzy warmth spreads in his stomach and Warren sighs. A sudden noise interrupts his daydreaming and he lazily opens an eye at the TV. It's a Weazle Broadcast.

"We interrupt our nightly program for an important message. We just recieved notice that FIB Special Agent Steve Haines has been shot on duty at the Del Pierro Pier. Agent Haines died a hero, doing what he loved, which was presenting a TV show. He helped combine the chaos of anti-terrorism and the mindlessness of network television into one highly successful career. Mr. Haines, who was not married, leaves behind his mother."

The world goes silent.

_

He's not moving. Has not in hours, maybe it's even a full day at this point. He has not eaten, has not showered, has not moved at all.

Warren feels like a dead man. The thought makes a bitter laugh splutter over his lips and then has him break out in tears immediately after.

It's a scary thought that people continue to live their lives, acknowledging that an agent passed away last night but they are now out and about, at their jobs, maybe seeing friends or family. A lover, even. They are busy living their life's while Warren's just dissolved in a matter of seconds.

It's a scary thought being ripped off of something so dear so abruptly, it's scary how it ripped a hole it Warren's chest that is now filled with a black, emotionless but equally painful void that nags, tears and claws at him.

It's a scary thought that he's alone again.

His body, his throat gives in and he's rolling on his side, screaming and tearing at the blanket, fingers grabbing at the fabric, as his knuckles turn white. He's screaming and screaming and screaming until his throat is sore and his eyes burn and the only noises that leave his mouth are little pathetic whines of exhaustion and the gasping for air. The pain in his chest takes his breath away, chokes him and makes him want to curl up, bore a knife into it, twist and turn it until it goes away. He feels like vomiting.

_

It's Sunday. It's been a little over 30 hours. Warren is tired, but everytime he tries to close his eyes he sees him, hears his laughter ring in his ears. It hurts. It hurts so much, he has hardly any words left to describe the agony he is going through.

His head hurts too, so does his throat and his stomach, with the constant throwing up and the lack of hydration. But he can't bring himself to get up, to grab a glass of water and drown some pain killers and go to bed. His legs are heavy and he just doesn't have the energy.

Warren feels like dying but he's also so painfully alive.

_

He's wide awake. He'll need to find a solution for how he's going to be able to go to work tomorrow.

But for now he's wrapping himself in Steve's blanket, the one he sleeps in when he's been over, inhaling the fading scent.

_

"Agent 14?"

His eyes are red, bloodshot and his fingers are trembling, seconds away from shaking. He had powder this morning to just make it somehow and it's slowly wearing off. He hasn't been on coke since college and it sent him on a murder high, blood pumping like a race horse only to now let him dive head-first into a killer hole.

It's been three days since Steve left his life both, quiet and eardrum-tearing loudly, and it feels like a nightmare, eternal and burning hot. He's empty inside but there's also just so much pain, it feels like he's breaking into pieces. His stomach clenches and his heartbeat is heavy, vibrates thickly in his chest and he just wants to die, too.

"Mrs. Rackham", his voice is rough, it doesn't bother to hide that Warren had been crying and screaming his lungs out every night since Steve's brain had been splattered onto the ferris wheel.

"I need to talk to you."

This is about Avon and Clifford, he's sure. His hand shakes and coffee spills on his desk. He curses under his breath and reaches for a tissue but Mrs. Rackham grabs his hand with force. They look at each other. Warren blinks.

"You are not in a good condition. I don't need explanations or lies, 14. I want to offer you my sincere condolences on your loss, Mister Jones. "

Warren takes a deep breath but he can't keep his eyes from tearing up.

"Take the week off, Agent", as he's not moving, shocked and dumbfounded, she starts to pick his jacket up, "Go now, I'll cover you up."

He gets on his feet, knees weak and body shaking, takes his jacket from her hands.

"Thank you, Phoenicia", he means it.

She looks at him. "I'm sorry", and she means it, too, "The IAA could've done some-"

"Don't."

She nods sharply and then looks at him once more, eyes piercing.

"I lost my husband in service as well, Iraq in 2004."

And then they're hugging, Warren is burrying his face into her neck and wailing like a little child.

_

It's a weird feeling and it fucks with his head as his gaze falls on the door of his apartment. He could've sworn that he heard the key turning the lock. He stares and stares and stares and it feels like his brain is readying for Steve to come through the door anytime.

He doesn't.

_

It's midnight and he had five more moments like the door-lock one earlier. He feels like he may go insane.

Warren fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and opens up Eyefind, types his thoughts into the searchbar.

At the end of his research he's left with two possibilities: it's either a stage of grief (denial they call it - dying's more fitting, Warren thinks) or the sideeffects of the coke slowly wearing off.

_

It's raining. It's like the heavens above are pissing down on him. Warren's crying while the rain relentlessly pounds on his umbrella.

He's standing a few meters away from the funeral party. Steve's mother bails her eyes out and he would like to go over to her and wrap her im his arms but he would just be a stranger to her.

There's a saxophonist in front of the cementry. He's playing Sinatra's Summer Wind, sounding sad but warm nonetheless. Steve's family probably thinks of that as a weird coincidence but Warren has spent two full nights finding the man again, who has played down at Steve's street corner all those months ago. It was difficult and time consuming, but not impossible.

There's a new wave of tears making their way out of Warren's eyes and he has to clasp a hand on his mouth to stop the painful noises from making their way into the soft air of spring. He feels like he's breaking apart, torn into two pieces.

He cries and cries and cries until the funeral party is long gone any the sun sets. The saxophonist is still playing.

_

When Warren comes home the sun's gone for some while and it's dark out. There's a light burning in his kitchen. For a moment, just a split second, it feels like Steve will swing around the corner. But he doesn't.

He walks into the kitchen to find a bouquet of white lillies sitting on the countertop. He checks the card attached to them.

Sorry about your loss.

He doesn't recognize the handwriting, it looks like it could've been written by someone who's older than Warren, male maybe, but his last Hand Writing and Letter Indentification Course was two years ago. He figures his cleaner, a nice elderly lady, had put them there. He thinks about her seeing the bouquet on the door step and carefully carrying them inside, placing them in the only vase Warren has at home. It makes him both sad and glad, glad that at least she's still around.

_

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

14 would've liked to ask Robert Frost if he was just stupid or naive or both.

_

Two days later he's so angry at the world that he grabs the vase and throws it across the room, where it collides with the wall and breaks in a thousand little pieces.

_

The anger keeps on coming, rage that boils hot and white in his stomach, makes him lash out at colleagues and scream his lungs out, throwing things and fits like it's nothing.

He finds himself beating into walls and furniture until his knuckles bleed.

Mrs. Rackham puts him onto another break, Temporarily Suspended Until Further Notice the record reads.

_

Warren's awake, restless but exhausted, again. It's three in the morning. His head hurts, his bones hurts, his whole body feels heavy.

"I should've stopped you from going", he whispers into the night and his mind conjurs up Steve's voice, consoling him.

"No, really. I should have been more persistent. If you just would've stayed with me that night."

Steve answers him again, but it sounds washed out in Warren's ear.

Oh, please don't let me forget his voice.

_

He's not moving again. Hasn't done so in two days.

Mrs. Rackham continues to call him, but he won't pick up. He can't handle her, can't handle her sorrow and her advices. He doesn't want to hear it. She would probably also bug him about not showing up for work again and that's just something he really doesn't want to hear right now.

It's phone rings again and he picks it up to throw it against the wall with all the force he can possibly muster, so it would just shut up, but it's not Phoenicia calling this time. It's Lester.

"14? This is Crest." He doesn't sound good. Warren doesn't know what to say.

"I am, ehrm, calling to see how you're doing?" Odd. He can't bring himself to say anything back. "You know I, err, saw you didn't clock in to work for a few days? Are you doing, ehrm, well?"

"Yeah", it sounds as broken as he feels. There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, maybe even for a full minute. He hears Lester's inhaler.

"I, well I err heard about Haines."

It should send him into a rage, a fit, maybe even crying manically but there's just nothing. Just the casual numbness that hangs above him like thick clouds these days.

"Yeah, a shame, isn't it?"

There's coughing, then deep breaths being taken. "You're not doing too well, Crest?"

"Can we meet up, 14? I", another cough, "I know a place."

_

The sun's out and it burns in Warren's eyes, on his skin, even though he's wearing both, a jacket and sunglasses. Crest sits across from him at the table, not touching his iced coffee. So isn't Warren, he is neither thirsty nor hungry.

They are at a bean machine on Vinewood Boulevard. It's one of the stores Steve used to buy his coffee at. There should be stining pain at the thought but there's just sadness, blackness wandering through Warren's mind.

"You don't look too good", Crest says.

"You neither", Warren says and to mask the shaking of his voice he takes a sip from the coffee. It tastes like nothing, like liquid paper.

"I don't feel to good either. But you also don't, so what's the matter, 14."

Warren just shrugs. Lester looks at him, a steady and stern gaze, as if he's looking for answers in Warren's eyes, in his fucking soul.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just looking after a, err, friend."

"We're not friends, Crest."

"Associates then, maybe?", the look on his face is a little sad, offended. Warren can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Any lead, yet?"

Warren lifts his eyebrows in suprise. "A lead?"

"Yeah, you know", Crest clears his throat and leans in a little, "Who did it, you know."

Maybe Warren's mind is playing tricks on him again, but Crest looks a little concerned.

"No, none. Nothing."

Crest nods and leans back. Lester doesn't offer his help, so Warren decides that he then won't ask for it. Still confused and mouth already opened he wants to know why, as Lester's lungs throw a fit, his body cramping and being thrown forward and then back again by his dry coughs. Warren's up on his feet in a matter of seconds, his heartbeat picking up a fast rate he hasn't feeled in weeks, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He grabs Lester by his shoulders and holds him up, while he coughs coughs coughs. At the end of it there's blood on his chin.

"You're not planing on dying as well, are you?"

The look Lester shoots him, slumped in his chair with other guests on the terrace staring at them in shock, makes Warren's skin crawl.

_

He hasn't been at an attorney's office ever. It's a weird experience.

The people are nice and calm and so is Mister Allan, who has Steve's testament laying in front of him.

"So, Mister Jones, shall we get started then?"

Warren nods. It still confuses him. He wonders what Steve's mother thought, when she heard that she won't inherit everything. Warren doesn't want money, money won't replace anything.

He must've said that out loud, because Allan chuckles.

"Mister Haines hasn't left you money. No need to worry, Mister Jones."

He leaves the office with a black box tucked safely under his arm. He doesn't open it, not in the office, not on the way out in the elevator, not at home. He tucks it away in his closet, deep down where he keeps a ski puffer, that he never wears anyways.

_

He finds himself talking to Steve, or what his mind conjurs up of his memories, more often. It helps him, or so he hopes.

He misses him and the soliloquy is a good substitute, at least for now.

_

They are at a clinic just above the hills and behind the Vinewood sign, far away from the city, the air is dry and crisp nonetheless. Lester sits in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket and stares at the fountain in the middle the perfectly trimmed meadow. Warren sits next to him, craving a cigarette, but not lighting one. He'll have to wait a couple more minutes, until the nurse will bring Lester back into the clinic.

"Thank you for stopping by", Crest means it.

"Am I the only one?"

"No, oh no. There's, ehrm, Franklin's coming over too, once or twice a week."

He looks better, rested. Warren doesn't know who Franklin is, but he nods politely anyways.

"That's nice."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." A crook then.

"Are they treating you well up here?"

"It's fine, I- argh, fuck it. The dinner's horrible but the doctor's are good enough. Won't make a difference anyways."

"That's what they're saying then?", Warren looks into the setting sun. From up here Los Santos seems peaceful, quiet, a big, glorious and shining city. It's a hell hole full of shit, Warren knows that now, but he can't leave. Not yet.

"Yeah. No. They don't say it, but they mean it. It's in their eyes." Lester takes a sip of his water.

"Don't say that, Crest."

Lester looks at him. He doesn't say it, but the look on his face says it all. You've been through enough, I won't tell you that I'm dying soon.

"Yeah, well, it was nice seeing you. Getting better and such", Warren gets up, the wicker creaking, his phone in hand and sunglasses back on. They look at each other for a long, quiet moment and then Warren nods, turns around to leave. A surprisingly strong hand grabs his arm.

"I have a project, it's happening right now, Warren."

He stops in his tracks. From somewhere behind the fountain laughter sweeps up the hill. There's an old lady on the meadow with their grandchildren and they're playing ball. She has a bandage around her head.

"A project?", Warren doesn't turn around.

"Yeah, I'd like you to take over. You need something to do."

"I still have a job, Crest."

"That reminds you of him." It's like a kick into his guts and there's sudden rage boiling inside of him, but there's also something else. A certain calmness, that wraps itself around his shoulders like a white blanket. T feels a lot like clarity.

"That it does, yeah."

"I'll have Paige bring you the details."

"Sure. Good night, Crest."

He walks over the little path out of bark mulch, that is overgrown by trees, back to his car. He feels oddly content.

_

See, life does goes on. It's a weird thought that strikes him out of nowhere. He's afraid of forgetting everything that was, since forgetting always seemed easy. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week but who knows what will be in a year? Maybe he'll catch himself sooner or later, not thinking about Steve for a few weeks, months, years.

He's afraid of that, sincerely so.

_

The air in the bunker is cold and damp. Some of his people are moving out the old equipment. He doesn't know Crest's newest associate, it's most likely no one from the Hertz/Clifford-Incident.

I'm sorry I called him a buffoon, if I had only known back then.

He thinks of Phoenicia's concerned face and suddendly he finds himself smiling.

"Oh, he was a buffoon, you weren't wrong, Ma'am", he says to himself and hears a quiet chuckle errupting from his chest. There's sadness floading him, but it's warm and sweet and feels like an old friend.

There's no time for tears as the door of the bunker suddendly beeps loudly, informing him of a visitor arriving.

_

"So, you're getting along, then?", Crest sounds better. Warren lets go a breath, he doesn't even know he held in the first place.

"Yeah. They are quiet, but I appreciate the effort they are putting into it."

"I told you, they're are reliable."

"So you did."

There's a long pause, silence.

"Listen, Crest. I gotta go, speak to you soon."

As he hangs up, he's confronted with his lie, standing alone in his quiet living room.

_

The next time Lester invites him over, he says yes. He lives in a bigger, cleaner house now and Warren can only guess, that he was indeed involved in the robbery at the Casino his team is trying to solve right now. He'll offer them a false trace. Maybe they'll pick that one up.

"Georgina's not home, you just missed her", Lester wobbles down the stairs to the living room, crutch in hand.

"Who?"

"Georgina, he lives with her", Warren looks up, from where he is securing Lester's arm with his own hand and looks into the face of a young man. He looks younger than himself and wears expensive street style clothing.

"Who are you?"

"That's Franklin, Warren. Franklin, that's the friend I've been telling you about."

"Pleasure", Warren's voice still on the edge, while the man's handshake is firm.

"You lost your man, dog? Lest been telling me."

"I did, eight months ago."

There's something moving behind Franklin's face but he's quick to cover it up. Warren wonders: what and why.

"Shame man, I'm sorry to hear that, homie. My girl left me, too."

"He didn't leave me. He died."

Franklin looks at Lester, confused and a little reproachful, too. Then, it seems to click, as Franklin looks at him again. He now looks a little terrified, actually.

"Franklin was just leaving anways, weren't you?", Crest sits down in a beige armchair. Warren notices that he has new glasses.

"Yeah, shit. I mean of course, I was on my way out. Nice meeting you man, I hope you're, you know, doing better soon. See you around."

"Thank you", Warren recieves an awkward pat on his shoulder and then Franklin's steps distance themselves, until the front door falls shut.

_

He didn't leave me. He died.

His own words echo in his skull but they don't throw him into a manic tantrum, he's not crying, not screaming. He's oddly calm.

Is this how it feels, when one comes to terms with something, he wonders. Maybe, it is.

He died.

That he did and it must've been fucking ugly. Blood and soupy brain everywhere. Warren wishes he could've held him during these moments, when the body is slowling shutting down, when something mysterious, unknown happens to the human consciousness.

He died.

And Warren had missed him every single day since then. He leans himself against the closed bedroom door of his apartment and then makes his way to his closet.

The box is still where he has left it.

He died. He died. He died.

"I miss you, Steve", he whispers into the silence of his flat and then he smiles, it's small and sad, and he sinks onto the ground, box clutched in his hands, "Fuck, I wish you were still here."

There's silence but Warren likes to think that something of Steve's mind, his soul is still left on this earth, stayed with him. It's a nice thought, even if it's unrealistic. It's still consoling.

Steve's gone for good, but just because his body doesn't walk the dirty streets of LS anymore doesn't mean that he left Warren's life completely - he still existed, left his footprints behind. And Warren's ready, willing even, to take carefully aligned pictures of them and hang them on his wall. He's ready to look at them every day that may come and maybe he'll stop crying at some point. Or maybe he won't. He'll be fine.

It's an odd feeling. His life still feels empty, incomplete since Steve passed and so does Warren. He feels empty, shallow and sad, but it will pass and he will take the time. It doesn't mean forgetting him, quite the contrary maybe.

He flips the lid, puts it aside carefully with a quiet thump on the carpet below. He takes a look inside and bursts out laughing.

_

"Did he leave you something?", he hasn't seen her in years, since college. She used to be his flat mate.

"Yeah", he smiles to himself.

"What is it?", she looks moved and Warren would love to tell her, but he can't. He really can't. Not all of it, anyways.

"A letter."

"A letter?"

"Yeah, a fucking love letter."

"Warren! Don't say that! It's very heartwarming!"

It's been a year. He still misses him. "He wasn't the type for it, that's all."

He thinks of the envelope he keeps in his safe. It's a document, FIB header and logo, completely official.

Reference: Counter Espionage, Crimes Against National Safety, A Report By Steve Haines to be handed to Misses Phoenicia Rackham In Relation "To Agent 14", Mister Warren Jones

"Oh, was he not, you know, a little a romantic?"

"No, it must've taken a lot for him to write a love letter." It was really sweet and it went well with the attempt to put Warren in a High Security Penitentiary.

"Really?", she looks a little concerned, but she doesn't get Steve, their relationship as it was, like Warren does.

He looks up from his coffee cup and lights a cigarette. He hasn't had a smoke in a long time but at least he stopped with the cocaine.

"Yeah. Sometimes", there's a smile tugging at his lips, "Sometimes I think he would've rather seen me locked away."

#i'm sorry but i had to #my writing #steve/14 tag #steve haines/agent 14 #agent steve haines #agent 14 #gta v #gta online

[beomglocks]

soob become human ; c.sb

pairing: android!soobin x police detective!y/n

plot: your job is fairly simple, find out the cause of the recent surges of deviancy in androids. the only problem is that you hate androids, but it’s ok because you have a newly appointed partner and- oh wait he’s an android. 

w/c: 6.3K (this took me longer than it should have)

warnings & other:  enemies(?) to lovers(?), enemies (?) to less hated enemies, based off detroit become human, lots of swearing, android!soobin, human!y/n, blood, dead people, a crime scene is described but not in too much detail, soobin is definetly not a deviant, y/n hates soobin and pretty much all androids, y/n is kinda an ass to soobin, semi slow burn, open ended

you were seething with rage though you somehow managed to contain it. you wanted to hold it in long enough to really explode when you walked into your boss's office. you tramp past the receptionist in the lobby and don't even smile at her. you never do since she's not even a human. you hate how she's programmed to sit idly with an eerie smile on her face and welcome guests.

"hey y/n!" you hear your friend, hueningkai, shout at you. you wonder how he can be so loud and full of energy after 5 hours of working at his desk but you keep marching on, not acknowledging his greeting.

you have your eyes set out on your boss's office and the fire in your eyes is set alight when you notice him sitting at his desk peacefully. thank god, for the see-through box offices cyberlife installed last year.

he notices your figure striding up angrily towards his office and you see him sigh. good, at least he knows what's he's in for! you march up the stairs with your head held high because you were really about to give him a piece of your mind right now.

you stop just at the edge of his desk and rummage through your crossbody bag for something. it takes you a while which is embarrassing since he just sits there looking at you expectantly. "ah," you pull out a crumpled up piece of paper, which you yourself crumbled up out of anger, and slam it harshly on his desk.

"excuse me but what the fuck is this?"

he glances down at the paper and back up at you with a bored expression. "that's a piece of paper y/n." you chuckle bitterly and place your hands on your hips. "i'm talking about the contents of the paper sir."

you watch him open up the paper gingerly and skim over the words printed. "oh yeah," he crumbles the paper again tossing it into the bin. he sighs heavily getting in his serious work position with his hands crossed in front of him. he's a big burly kind of guy so it always somewhat intimidates you when he does this.

"we're getting weekly reports of androids going haywire. everyday i've gotta deal with a new report. i'm not talking the usual malfunction and spilling coffee. this is homicides and assaults. just last night a woman was murdered in cold blood by her android. this isn't cyberlife's problem anymore, these are criminals now."

you stay quiet, taking in what he's saying. "regarding the contents of the paper, i want you to investigate them." you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him. "why me?" you burst after a moment of letting your anger rise again. you realize you sound like a child whose just gotten told they have to dishes while their sibling goofs off but you don't care.

"i'm the least qualified person to handle these cases plus i've got other shit to worry about! i don't want to deal with those pieces of junk!"

the chief office stands up, eyeing you sternly. now you've done it. "y/n don't piss me off. you know you're the most qualified so don't start with that bullshit. i don't wanna hear any complaints out of you." he doesn't raise his voice and that kind of alarms you but you press on.

"no! you know that no one else in this goddamn precinct wants to deal with these androids so of course, you left me to pick up the dog shit!"

"watch your tone detective," he seethes. he sighs heavily trying to regain himself before he really bursts a vessel. he cozies back into his desk chair and rubs his temples. you, on the other hand, are breathing heavily and pacing back and forth. you can't believe he would put you on an android case of all things.

you were seriously being relieved of all other duties to investigate a bunch of ones and zeros. but that wasn't even the best part.

"i'm assigning you a partner to assist you in the investigation."

you stop in your tracks, eyes widening. "hell fucking no!" you rage. you march back up to his desk and lean over the edge. "chief i always ride solo. ever since i joined i've always been alone and have been doing just fine! i don't need help!"

"y/n i think i've had enough of your bitching and whining. i don't care that you're the best worker in this fucking precinct. if you don't like the circumstances you can hand in your badge right this instant. otherwise, shut your fucking mouth and get back to work," he says through gritted teeth.

you scoff in his face and as you walk out of his office you flip him off. "that's going on your track record detective!" he says matter of factly.

"shove it up yo-"

you sigh as you enter your office. "fuuuuuuuck," you groan. you look around and notice that there's a tiny replica of your desk on the other side of your office. you can only assume it's meant for your partner. the sudden urge to destroy it and throw everything across the room crosses your mind but you decide against it.

having a partner assigned to you was a jab at your pride. everyone knew you as the detective who never needed one, the lone wolf if you will. if anyone saw you being assisted they would immediately think that the position of "best officer" was up for grabs, when it wasn't.

you didn't wanna be that person but of course, you held that title over everyone's head.

you huff, throwing yourself onto your chair which causes it to spin around. you don't even know this supposed partner of yours. most likely for a good reason too. you can only imagine your reaction if the chief had presented your new partner right then and there. a firm knock on your door startles you, "come in," you mumble. you're really not in the mood to entertain any of your work friends so you hope this is quick.

you look at the figure standing idly by the frame of the door. he's tall with a three-piece suit on. he's oddly handsome with little to no flaws which is suspicious to you. his hair is dark with hints of blue peeking out and it's pushed back to show his forehead. the stark contrast of his dark hair and fair skin makes him look very pale and almost sick. he has some files in his hands and his face is stoic, almost emotionless but not stern. he looks boyish.

what you don't notice is the ring of light located on his temple since it blends in so well with his skin. "how many times do i have to tell people that complaints are sent next door to hueningkai, god i really need to get a sign or some shit," you groan rubbing your face in frustration. you lower your hands and the person is still there.

"hello, my name is choi soobin. i'm the android sent by cyberlife to assist you with your detective duties," he states monotonously as if he's reading from a script.

the gears in your head churn for a while but once the words process you groan once again and roll your eyes to the back of your head, "why am i not surprised that chief would fuck me over even more like this. of course my partner is a fucking andriod." soobin steps completely into your office shutting the door behind him. "are you y/n?" he asks politely.

"un-fucking-fortunately."

"nice to meet you!" he seemingly ignores your sarcastic comment and your wonder if he even knows what sarcasm is. "i hope we can be good partners. i have already received the files on our first case together, here they are," he places the files on your desk and you can only look up at him in disgust.

"well you're a well-trained dog arent you?" you mumble. "y/n with all due respect i am not a dog. im an android designed by cyberlife to merely assist with certain tasks and finish my mission. i'm one of the most advanced of my kind." you look at the tag on his suit: KR900. you sigh, nodding, "got it got it, now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my daily nap so scram."

you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. man, if soobin was gonna be your partner you'd have to extend nap time by at least 30 minutes. you wonder if you can get away with adding another hour to your naptime.

you hear someone clearing their throat beside you. you hope that if you keep your eyes closed they'll get the hint to leave you alone. after about a minute the person speaks up, "y/n we should probably start with the case as soon as possible." great, soobin.

you open your eyes to glare at him. "listen, soobin? was it? go fuck yourself ok?" you close your eyes again and fold your arms over your chest. god, soobin's already being a nuisance. you're not sure if whatever this is is going to work out.

he stays silent for a moment and you wonder if he can feel the feeling of frustration. you hope he can because he might be able to get a sense of how you felt towards this whole situation. you start to drift when you feel an odd warmth radiating on the side of your face.

"with all due respect detective. i've been assigned to this mission and i intend to carry it out and complete it to the very end. i'm not going to sit around and wait for you to simply 'feel like it'."

your eyes fly open and you stare at him bewilderedly. he's very close to your face and his expression is stony but of course, he still has that boyish look.

you stand up, frowning at him. "let's get one thing very straight, tin can." you shove your finger into his chest which strangely doesn't feel too much like hard metal. "i call the shots around here so i won't be taking orders from a walking computer. i don't give a damn if you're leagues smarter than me, piss me off one more time and i won't hesitate to deactivate you myself."

you step away from him and he doesn't seem affected. he simply brushes his suit off. you scoff, grabbing your keys from your desk. "by the way i already know where the crime scene is so try to catch up next time, puppy."

when you both arrive at the crime scene there's already a plethora of police with their hound dogs and the yellow barricade tape is being set up. this must've been a pretty brutal scene for there to be this many people dispatched to this location. you're not surprised that there's people here and there trying to get a sneak peek at what might've happened.

"y/n! y/n!" you hear someone frantically yelling out your name.

you look around and see yeonjun, another police detective who's not from your unit, running up to you. he engulfs you into a bear hug, letting his trenchcoat pick up from the wind. you smile for what feels like the first time today, "hey yeonjun." once upon a time you liked choi yeonjun, you still do in a way. he was always on top of his game which you admired and you two would always compete when it came to cases. he was unbelievably smart so he probably knew about your little crush on him. if he did, he never addressed it and still treated you like a close friend.

"it's weird seeing you at the scene so early, we're just finishing setting up the yellow tape," he smiles at you but you can see his confusion. you were known to be late to these scenes but somehow still did well and always cracked the case. you didn't like to be around all the other police and detectives when you were in the zone.

"chief assigned me a new partner who insisted i arrive accordingly," you roll your eyes playfully to mask the annoyance. you don't bother to introduce soobin, who had been standing behind you silently this whole time, because he introduces himself. "hello, my name is choi soobin. i'm the android sent by cyberlife to assist y/n with their detective duties," he says monotonously.

yeonjun stares at soobin with an impressed look, "woah, chief got you a robot? he must love you" he jokes. "love me? this is a shit way of showing it," you mumble.

"y/n ever the comedian," yeonjun laughs deeply. you smile shyly at him. "i guess..anyways what's the scene looking like?" yeonjun leans back on the barricade looking back at the house you have yet to enter.

"looks like another case of deviancy to me," he sucks his teeth in thought. "man these androids are really going haywire these days, killing their owners, assaulting them, or just simply running off. seems like some kind of uprising? the machines seem to be rebelling," he glances at soobin who is already looking at him.

yeonjun chuckles lowly and leans down towards your ear subtly. "be careful ok?" he leans back up and stretches his arms. "trust me i know," you mutter. you both smile at each other and he winks at you. "well i'm off to do my own sleuthing! let me know if you find anything, you always do after all."

you watch him jog off and sigh to yourself. you turn to soobin, "right, let's get on with it." before he can take another step forward you stop him in his tracks. "and don't get in my way." soobin nods but stays silent. "i'm gonna need a verbal answer," you really don't care if he answers you or not you just want to annoy him. "i will do what i need to, to complete my mission," he looks at you with a weird glint in his eye and you kinda hate him even more now.

you roll your eyes and walk through the door of the house you're meant to be investigating. the smell of booze and musk smacks you in the face and you have to physically hold back the bile rising up your throat. "

"man whoever lived here was a pig!" you gag. you look back at soobin who has a neutral but curious face. "right you can't actually smell things," you mumble. you grab the collar of your jacket and cover the bottom half of your face with it.

as you walk deeper into the house you start to really see what went down. glass covers pretty much the entirety of the floor from a window near the tv. the tv is busted and there's writings on the wall. you look around the living room and that's actually when you discover the body.

it seems to have been there for a couple of days now since there's maggots hovering over it. the man's face is beaten badly and blood runs down it onto his tattered shirt. he's slumped over and there's blood on the wall that states 'we are alive'.

"jesus christ," you mumble to no one in particular. you watch soobin hunch over the body and dip his finger into the blood on the wall near it. he's about to bring it near his mouth but you stop him. "god what the fuck are you doing!" you think the bile you were holding back is really about to come out and you're scared you'll ruin the crime scene.

he looks back at you with an unreadable expression. "im analyzing the blood." he turns his back to you again takes a lap of the blood. "you're fucking gross," you chastise.

"the blood is from the victim," he finalizes. "damn his android must've really wanted to make a statement here. 'we are alive'? what do you think that means?" you ask him.

soobin stands up straight again, looking around the flat, "deviancy of course. judging by the looks of it, this wasn't a very habitable place. the android must've gotten fed up and rebelled against its owner." he thinks to himself. "this shouldn't be happening, it must be some kind of virus because androids were only meant to serve, they shouldn't have to capability to harm much less kill."

you sigh, already hating where this case and the mission overall is going. "let's just look around for clues. i doubt the android could've gotten far, it must feel guilty or something."

soobin shakes his head, "androids don't feel y/n." you raise your brow at his statement, "one does not simply kill another being without feeling. an emotion or feeling of some sort is triggered which causes someone to act out in this way."

you walk away to the kitchen to look for clues there but soobin just stands there watching you. he frowns but joins you minutes later.

after about a half hour of looking for any clues, you've managed to gain a lot of evidence with soobin's help. there had been a struggle in the kitchen which led to the living room where the place of death was determined. soobin described the altercation as very brutal for both parties.

"so where's the android?" you ask after his explanation. "it's near," he mumbles. he surveys the room once again and spots something. you watch him do the same procedure he had done with the victim's blood. "there's nothing there," you say skeptically.

"it's android blood, or blue blood as you humans call it. not visible to the human eye but any android can spot it from a mile away."

when he's done he looks around once again and follows a sort of trail. he stops near the attic door and sighs. he pulls it open with caution and you can only wonder what he's up to.

he peeks in then hoists himself up into it. "wha-" "stay here," he demands. "hey what did i sa-"

before you can scold him he's already in the attic and slammed the door in your face. "didn't know androids had a prick feature," you mutter.

after 5 minutes you start to hear noises of struggling and things falling over. "soobin?" you shout. "what's going on up there?" you don't actually care if he's ok or not but one scratch on him and you'll be paying the damages.

he doesn't answer, instead, the struggling comes to a halt. you jump as he slams open the attic door. you give him a once over and it doesn't look like he has any scratches on him so you sigh to yourself gratefully. looking down you see an android wriggling in handcuffs, you assume it's the murderer. "i got him," soobin huffs.

"y/n? you in h- woah," yeonjun breathes out. he looks over the both of you then at the android on the ground near soobin. "damn." you nod, agreeing with his one-word statement. soobin folds his arms looking down at the android. the android is rightfully glaring back up at him. "he was hiding up there, probably thought no one would find him. well, no human would've at least."

"we should take it back to the station for questioning. the more info we get out of it, the closer we are to figuring out the cause of this 'deviancy'," yeonjun concludes. you nod, turning to soobin, "good job puppy." he makes a face but accepts your praise either way.

after finalizing your first deviant case, you decided to ask yeonjun out for burgers two days later as a celebratory measure. he had told you he was going to be busy filing some other cases so you opted for going alone. alone is not entirely true since soobin was required to be around you at pretty much all times.

"stay in the car," you ordered. "not happening. im required to assist you at all times," he states matter of factly. you lean your head on the steering wheel. "god you are so up my ass it's annoying."

"listen if i say do something you do it. you're an android so you follow my orders got that?" you narrow your eyes at him as if to challenge him. he simply looks back at you with that boyish curious look and says nothing.

you hate how he looks like a puppy who knows you're hiding a treat behind your back.

you sigh, getting out of the already parked car. you slam the door roughly in what you hope to be soobin's face to make a point but you hear a door close right after yours. you turn around to see soobin standing outside of the passenger's side where he was seated.

"oh fuck off!" you shout exasperatedly.

you stomp over to the burger cart and shove past someone who's already there. "hey watch it!" they shout. "shut up im a cop," you bite back. you don't even bother turning around to the person because you could care less but their voice comes back. "y/n?"

you perk up at your name and turn around, "oh shit frankie!" your smile grows and you hold your hand out for a handshake but frankie goes in for an uncomfortable hug that you weren't expecting. you laugh nervously as he hugs you for longer than intended. he reeks of red dust, a newly manufactured drug in town. the only recognize it is because, well, you've tried it.

"hahah ooook franks," you try to wriggle from his tight hold on you but he doesn't budge. "i slipped a little something for you sweet cheeks," he murmurs into your ear. you shiver from the sudden close proximity but nod nonetheless.

"is there a problem here?" soobin states. he easily towers over frankie since taking drugs for a long time has ruined frankie's growth spurt. he's by no means short however soobin is winning in height by a long shot.

frankie chuckles lowly, "we're fine robocop." he rolls his eyes at soobin and turns back to you, "so anyw-"

"y/n we should be on our way," soobin narrows his eyes at you and you don't take it as a question. you're not scared of soobin however he's pretty much unmatched when it comes down to it.

"right," you say slowly. you glance between frankie and soobin and they both seem to be in a bit of a staring contest. "come on puppy," you nudge him.

"have a nice day," soobin says firmly. "whatever, damn androids," you hear frankie mumble. you sigh as you both reach a stray table near the truck. you open the wrapper, uninterested in everything else at the moment until soobin clears his throat.

"drugs?"

"what about them?" you mumble through a mouthful of burger. "you just got drugs from that guy," soobin leans on the table staring at you directly in the eye. you sigh dramatically, throwing your hamburger back into the wrapper. "leave me alone ok? if you're gonna lecture me i can assure you, i don't want it."

you pick your burger up again hoping that soobin will just shut the fuck up for the rest of the day. he really has a way of putting you in a sour mood. you wonder for a moment how long you'll have to be working with him. if you can just figure out the cause of deviancy then this little arrangement will be over before you know it.

from that point on, soobin simply watches you eat. it's a bit uncomfortable, to say the least, but at least he's silent. you want to question him as to why he's watching you so intently but you also don't feel like chatting with him. "did you ever expect to be living among androids y/n?" soobin speaks up after a while. you smirk at his question, "you're living among us, ok? and no, i never saw it coming." you feel bitter about his question.

of course, you never expected it. you never thought you'd see the day where an android is running the hotdog stand down the street. you never expected a robot to be doing your job. "you fucking androids are a curse," you mumble. soobin says nothing at that.

the ringing of your phone cuts through your little moment. you sigh, rummaging through your pocket for it. groaning, you reluctantly answer the call. "what's up boss."

after a couple minutes of briefing, you hang up. soobin looks at you expectantly while you throw out your trash. "we got another one, pretty close to where we are. no one else is on duty near us so we'll be on our own for this one."

you brush past him, walking back to the car, "think you can handle it puppy?" you don't expect him to answer but you're surprised when he retorts with his own witty remark.

"i'm practically designed too."

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head, "alright alright let's go."

once you arrive at the apartment complex where the deviant is supposedly located, you stop soobin right at the door. you stare up at him with a stern look in your eye, "remember what i said, no getting in my way and no telling me what to do. remember that i'm also your superior."

a part of you feels like you don't necessarily have to tell him these things since he probably stored that information from the first case. however, you want to feel power over him. you don't care if soobin is an android, you'd be damned if he felt like he was superior to you just because you were a human and he was a robot.

"i will do what is needed for me to complete my mission," he states. you roll your eyes at the answer he opts for but nonetheless continue onward. "we gotta be careful here, we don't actually know if the deviant is armed."

"you got sent any info on the guy?" you ask. soobin sighs, "the only thing we know about him is that he's a deviant. the people living on the floor below claimed they were hearing strange noises but supposedly no one has lived here for years."

you chuckle to yourself, "yeah it sure looks like it." you look around, taking in the beat-up state of the hallway. it's dimly lit and the walls are tattered and torn. there are boarded-up doors and the floor almost looked like it would give in with anymore added weight. yeah, there definitely hadn't been anyone inhabiting this floor in a while.

you lean on the door frame as you watch soobin knock on the door as a normal would but no one answers. "is anyone in there?" he shouts. you both wait for a moment but again no one answers. you sigh, shaking your head. "move."

soobin steps out of your way hastily and moves to stand behind you. you swiftly take your gun from it's holster on your hip and shoot the door handle. the handle flies off and just like that the door creeks open. you'll admit there might've been a more suave way of doing it that didn't involve much noise, however you wanted to get this over with.

you motion for soobin to trail after you into the apartment. you both slowly inch into the flat and you peek your head in to check if anyone is inside. when you confirm there's no one in the apartment you both walk in cautiously. the place is completely torn apart. there are bird feathers all over the place and the walls have odd writings on them. you sigh walking up to one of the walls, "we are alive."

soobin shakes his head but says nothing. "let's check the other rooms in this place," you propose. you both split up to look for clues about the deviant which gives you time to think.

soobin goes to snoop around in the closet while you head to the bathroom of the apartment. the sink is riddled with bird feathers and bird shit. you hold your breath as you look around the small room. the place definitely hasn't been kept up by anyone in a long time. "ra9?" you mumble. you lean closer to the wall to inspect the odd writing. it's not just written once or twice, it's scattered all over the wall. "what the fuck does that even mean."

before you can even begin to infer, soobin walks into the bathroom. "i think i found something." you sigh looking up at him, "what is it."

he leads you back into the living room and points to a birdcage on the floor. "this must be what caused that noise that the people on the other floor sent complaints about." he paces around the room for a moment. "i should be able to reconstruct what may have happened, that way we can know where the deviant went."

you watch silently as he walks back to the birdcage. he stays still for a moment then proceeds to look around the room in all directions. "see anything?" you ask.

he doesn't answer, much like last time he simply stands up and walks towards an opening in the roof. soobin slowly reaches his hand up to it but someone jumps out at him.

soobin is effectively knocked to the ground and you stand there shocked. you were really not expecting anyone to be up there. you shout in alarm and the deviant is alerted instantly. before you can reach your gun, the deviant haphazardly pulls a gun of its own from is pocket.

it's clearly not skilled in holding a gun since androids aren't allowed to bear arms. you can tell it's not sure where to shoot and it's scared. you can feel the cold metal of your gun graze your fingers but you stay still as you hear a gunshot pierce the air.

your eyes widen as they follow the deviant run out of the apartment. "SOOBIN GO," you shout. you're not sure why you're telling him to chase after it when you can do it yourself but you feel like you can't move. you suddenly feel yourself collapse on the ground, letting out a strangled yell. "FUCK!"

"Y/N?" you hear soobin shout. for some reason everything is hazy and all you're hearing is white noise. you think you yell at soobin to chase after the deviant again but even in your hazy state, you can't quite tell. after a couple more seconds of struggling to comprehend what's going on, you finally pass out.

you shift around, looking for a comfortable position on the couch. you're not sure why you're on a couch but you're not complaining. it feels like forever since you've felt like you've had a chance to rest for a moment. you're starting to really get sick and tired of androids. before all of this, all you did was either sit on your ass all day or go around helping the elderly or bust your local neighborhood scum. you seriously couldn't believe how much your life could change in just the span of a couple of days.

speaking of change, soobin was going to have to go. he's a pretty capable partner however, you both clashed too much. granted you haven't given him much of a chance. you just hated the concept of having a partner, much less an android partner.

you suddenly feel something cold press onto your leg. you hiss out in pain but when you try to move your leg the pain gets worse. "you shouldn't move," you hear a voice say. you furrow your brows because you're sure you live alone.

you peel your eyes open and see what looks to be soobin standing over you. "soobin?" after the name registers in your head your eyes widen and you try to sit up but the pain in your leg keeps you in place, "what the fuck are you doing in my house?"

soobin calmly takes a seat on the seat opposite from you. you study his body language and face. if you didn't know any better you say he seems a bit distressed. you want to laugh at yourself for thinking that because there's no way an android can know what distress feels like. he seriously looks like he's racking his brain to figure out what to say first.

"you got shot," he opts for. your mouth falls open, looking down at your leg. almost as if on cue, you start to feel immense pain shoot through your body. "fuck fuck fuck!" you yell. soobin rushes up to press the ice pack down on the bandaged wound.

"don't fucking touch me!" you yell at him. he flinches back but you don't notice because you're too busy trying to dissolve the pain. you breathe in and out. you wouldn't say you've never gotten shot before but no bullet has ever successfully hit you. you've only been grazed here and there but it was rare since no one is allowed to really carry guns besides cops.

after doing your breathing exercise for a couple of minutes, you finally bite back the pain. "what happened to the android?" you grit out. you hope getting shot was worth it, you hope the bastard that shot you in rusting in his cell. soobin sighs, "we lost it. it's completely my fault. i should've chased after it."

"you didn't chase after it?" you're not sure if you sound surprised or angry but soobin looks up at you like a scolded puppy. the alarms in your brain are blaring right now. why did soobin ignore the mission? he was supposedly always supposed to complete his mission no matter what. surely he didn't ignore the mission simply because you collapsed from a leg shot. you think about the subtle warning yeonjun gave you back when you had your first deviant case.

"seems like some kind of uprising? the machines seem to be rebelling."

soobin isn't- he's not a deviant is he? you can't really remember if he's been defective this whole time or if he's the best actor you ever met. you look up at him suspiciously and he shifts his gaze subtly when you make eye contact.

"it's been 4 days since your injury. yeonjun came by a couple of times to check up on you," you see his fists tighten at that. something may have happened between them while you were out. you know yeonjun can be a bit overprotective over you at times, even when he knew the job was dangerous.

"the chief says its best to lay low for a couple of days until you get better so that's what we're doing," he continues. you stay quiet. you're not exactly sure what to say. you don't know if calling him out will anger him or something.

you both stay quiet for so long that you start to think soobin may have gone into hibernation mode or something but when you look up at him he's staring directly at you. you sigh, "what is it this time puppy."

he stares at you for a little while longer before answering, "why don't you like androids?" you should've known this question would come up but damn why'd he have to ask it right now. why do you hate androids? one just shot at you a couple of days ago and left you unable to work.

"it's' because you're all nuisances," you mumble. he looks down at his hands and you have to remind yourself that if you're right, he somehow has feelings now.

you groan, "you all are supposed to be perfect! better versions of us humans! i guess you just fail when we put too much trust in you." you sigh, you don't expect soobin to understand since you're being too vague.

he sits, waiting patiently for you to continue. "someone close to me passed away a long time ago. i don't really expect you to understand what grief is," you chuckle bitterly. you look around the room in silence. you don't really want to cry right now so you take a deep breath.

"the doctor was out, probably fucking around i don't know. they had an android do the job. they didn't make it because the android failed to do it's task." you shake your head. "yeonjun was there for me at the time, which im grateful for. i probably would've singlehandedly destroyed all androids myself if he wasn't there."

soobin looks at you with that same curious boyish look and it makes you want to hit him. he's so annoying even when he's not doing anything. "y/n im sorry," he says.

"yeah you should be. the deviant got away because of you," you mumble. you both sit in silence again until you decide to speak up again. something in you wants to thank him for not leaving you behind but you also don't want to break character.

this is too new to you. you've never really had a partner, only ever going out into the field with yeonjun. even then, whenever either of you got hurt it was never as awkward as this. you sigh, "at least you didn't leave me behind." is the best you can come up with.

soobin looks up at you again with a hopeful look in his eyes and it makes you hate how alive he looks. if he was really a deviant you'd have to tread lightly with him. you're not sure if he's plotting against you or what his goal is but you've gotta start being more careful around him.

"y/n i look forward to working with you more," he says lightly.

for now though, for now, this will have to do.

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