#but lee and others like her just wear splashes of red

[sqlmn]

I NEVER SHARED MY LITTLE GREMLIN GAL HERE.

She is one of Katale's trusted lil lackeys AND has the privilege of being The Lookout. In her words, she's "the receptionist". She sees who goes in and who goes out and she will in fact be just fine in a fight.

She normally just has her hair loose and down around base but if she knows she's going to have to go somewhere and have to be using a little force, she puts her hair up in various ways because she doesn't want to get TOO much blood in her hair. sometimes some falls loose but she tried at least.

Her full name is [redacted] but when she's asked about her name by the mentor who she has developed banter with she says "you can call me Lee!" and they immediately clock it as "so not your actual name". Which it isn't. Lee is simply a way of shortening her name that no one uses but hey "you don't even tell your lil bestie agent your real name. lose that attitude, buddy" and mentor doesn't push further cause fair enough.

#two crime bosses and a very good boy #also the criminal organization has a very red theme in decor and schemes #so rud and kitty constantly have lots of read on since they are In Charge #but lee and others like her just wear splashes of red #like gloves or ties or necklaces or earrings .... just lil splashes of red #she loves being in charge of being the receptionist #so much to the point kitty stopped calling her role anything else #if lee wants to be the receptionist for a crime syndicate then why stand in way ! let her live her weird dreams #mentor looks at her and is like gd what a fuckin npc of a human being wow #and then promptly begins to get used to seeing her there and dull and whatever and then #someone with her hair back is there and the mentor is like woah where the fuck is the usual girl #and shes like wow dude you are an ass lmao its me homie chill out #and they are just baffled at the absolute difference in appearance simply by puttering her hair up #so i casually love their lil friendship that is mostly just sassing each other at the entrance ways to places

[imaginedreamwrite]

For day 5 of halloween visting a hainted house; ice princess loves, LOVES, Halloween and volunteered herself to help with the costume designs for the campus haunted house. Once the house is ready for opening, she drags her alpha Ari with her to see what she and the other students did.

Day 5 — Visit a haunted house

The decorum set up on the staircase of the location of the haunted house had an eerie glow as the steps had been just illuminated enough to make out the design of the steps leading to the entrance. Tonight had been the first pre-run for the haunted house before it had officially opened to the public, to the fee of $10 that would, in turn, be a donation for the local food banks and children’s hospital. It had been weeks of preparation and gruelling hours aiding the art and theatre departments who had volunteered themselves for the duration of the haunted house.

You had also volunteered your time to help design and create costumes for those who were working at the haunted house, choosing to spend as much free time as you had sewing and hand-dying the pieces the actors would be wearing. From using compressed beat juice to dye cotton red to look like blood-stained rags to using coffee filters and old tea bags to age what needed to be, you were as creative as possible to add your spin on things. Now that you were done, you were eager for Ari to see the haunted house and experience it before it had officially opened.

It was well known that you loved Halloween, almost as much as you loved Christmas, and Ari was more than happy to have you drag him across campus to experience this.

“Johnny, Colin and Lee are gonna piss themselves.” You had kept a tight hand on Ari, eagerly and excitedly chirping as you dragged him toward the entrance of the haunted house, barely giving him enough time to slip a twenty into the pay box.

Ari had slipped past a black curtain set to be transformed to the first area of the haunted house that had appeared to be the administration building for an asylum, and had been busied with a nurse dressed in blood stained scrubs with a splash of dirt and blood on her cheeks.

“Is that all you live for?” Ari asked, studying and reflecting on your eager statement. “Making those three lives’ hell?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, smiling adorably at him.

“Gotta sign wavers.” The scare actor had immediately handed you and Ari waivers to sign with a simple black pen, attached to the top of the clipboard. “Standard.”

“If you need to hold my hand because you’re scared…” you had teased Ari while filling out the waiver, squeaking sharply when a flying decoration had pinched from its hold.

“Don’t worry, omega.” Ari handed the clipboard back with a husky laugh, securing his arms around your waist. “You can hold my hand if you’re scared.”

“Ha ha,” you huffed and playfully jabbed his chest with your finger, “funny…”

“We gotta tell everyone but…” the actor looked at you with a half-smirk. “…don’t have sex in the haunted house, there’s cameras.”

[hello-nichya-here]

Hello, Nichya :) Guess who? I'm a liiittle tipsy this time, but not really. I've had a few glasses of wine lol. It's been a while since I wrote you anything in your inbox :) For some reason, I've been struggling with creativity but tonight I was thinking about Zuko & Azula as each other's first kiss as kids re-enacting Love Amongst the Dragons (the only part of the comics I consider canon). Also, I came up with this scene that is super canon compliant & now canon in my heart ;)

---

Mai and Ty Lee were asleep. They'd gone to bed hours ago. Lo, and Li's beach house was so quiet that Zuko could hear the waves crashing outside. The place was dark, with just the starlight pouring through the windows. Zuko wandered to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

Zuko gazed outside, watching the waves splash against the sand, gorgeous beneath the starry sky. That was when he spotted a lone figure, walking down the sandy beach outside. Zuko and Azula had been loudly insulting the Ember Island Players' production of 'Love Amongst the Dragons' earlier. Also, they'd yet to face repercussions for destroying Chan's house the previous night. So, Zuko was on edge as he peered outside, fearing a potential revenge seeker. The person walking was familiar though. Her dark hair was pulled into a partial topknot and fell past her shoulder blades. She was wearing just her nightgown, a soft, short, dark red number.

A moment later, Zuko was walking topless and barefoot in just his slacks down the sandy beach. He reached her and waited for her to look up. When she didn't, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hello, Zuko."

Zuko smiled. "Hello, Azula. Having trouble sleeping?"

Azula sighed, looking down. Her expression was far away. It made something in Zuko's chest stir. "I was just remembering how much fun we used to have, seeing 'Love Amongst the Dragons' as kids." She smiled, but it was a bitter smile. "We used to love it."

Zuko didn't understand why she said it in the past tense - like there was no hope - like it meant nothing how they'd grabbed one another's hands and arms and nudged one another during the show tonight. All of his confused feelings about being back in the Fire Nation, about returning to his father, were swelling to the surface again. He wanted to yell or hit something. But Azula looked so sad.

Zuko wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close against him. It felt right. He never wanted to let go. "We still love it," he said. "I mean - that production was a mess." They both laughed, and for a moment, it was like nothing was wrong. "But yeah, it was really fun when we would re-enact it as kids."

Azula smiled, twisting toward Zuko without letting his arm slide from her shoulders. "I really missed you when you were gone, Zuko." She cleared her throat, giving him an intense look. Their faces were very close. "Though I was trapped in the body of a mortal, you willingly gave me your heart. I cannot help but give you mine in return."

There was a long pause as they made eye contact. Zuko's heart was pounding for some reason that he couldn't quite explain. He didn't know what to say. Theatre had always been a nice way to counteract that though. Reciting lines was easier than coming up with anything original.

"Only with your glory hidden in false form could you finally recognize my devotion."

Zuko knew what was coming before it happened. They weren't tiny children, playing an innocent game anymore. The games they were playing now were much more dangerous. A thousand emotions washed over Zuko as Azula pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back, wrapping both arms around her shoulders, digging his hands into her hair. She touched his chest, crushing her lips to his as her tongue slid into his mouth, brushing his. Zuko never wanted the kiss to end, and he was determined to throw her off all at once. So it was with conflicted uncertainty that he drew away. They were both panting.

"We should go to bed," Azula said. Her voice was almost steady - almost the certain, commanding voice that Zuko associated with his perfect sister. There was a slight shake to it though. That sent a rush of warmth to his center.

Zuko nodded. "I'll walk you to your room."

God, this was perfect! You know how to pull at my heart strings, dear friend.

Also Azula better ask him to spend the night with her, even if all they do is cuddle.

#asks #zucest #tipsy anon

[laincylees]

─ lainey lee . thirty-five y/o . librarian . downtown

intro.

name: Lainey Xiahé Lee gender & pronouns: Cis woman & She, Her, Hers age & d.o.b: Thirty-five & July 19th, 1988 time in providence: Twenty-two years (on and off) faceclaim: Yang Mi

TRIGGER WARNING(S): Cancer, Child Abandonment, Death, Defamation, Drugs, & Grief

Born in Kaili City, People's Republic of China under the country's one-child policy

The product of a rushed affair between her biological mother Elena Huang and father (unnamed), Xiahé was then taken back to the Kaili countryside to be raised by her Elena and grandparents

A couple months after her birth, Elena vanished, whether it was voluntarily or not is unknown

Adopted by the Harper and Paul Lee, a loving couple from the States and raised in Providence Peak, Colorado

The couple subsequently adopted four other children, making her the eldest of three sisters and one brother

Graduated high school with high honours, though Lainey was not top of her class since she liked to skip her courses and read, she was accepted to the local college in Prov to be close to her family

At the age of twenty, she applied for a scholarship to study abroad in China and was granted such, preparing the move abroad

Her father was then diagnosed with cancer when she was twenty and passed when she was twenty-two

Laine lived and worked in the entertainment industry in China for a number of years; modelling, acting in music videos, etc. before she split her time with the States and relocated to New York

Writing was what she wanted to do, so she attempted to make a living at it by being a ghostwriter and freelancer

Had a brief fling (Nadia Morgan), and started to ghostwrite for a well-known author that was more of a celebrity personality than writing anything of substance

Said author stole her ideas and works, and screwed her out of their contract, so Lainey took to the internet and was almost sued for defamation

Moved back to Providence, four, close to five years ago, at the age of thirty, when she lost one of her best friends and resided with her mother whilst she studied for her master's degree

During that time she worked writing obituaries for the Peak Times and as a part-time receptionist at the Claret Public Library

Has a three-bedroom apartment downtown, and works the night shift at the university

facts.

Has a fat Chartreux cat named Doraemon and an Italian Greyhound named Shinchan

Likes to get high and read

Has a massive anthology of manhua and manga; one of her favourite series is Scissor Seven

Will squeeze herself into some small spaces just to shut out the world for a while and read (pls check all cupboards)

An avid crocheter and likes to do cardigans and sweaters

Enjoys milk tea more than coffee

Trying to learn the drums (sorry her mum’s neighbours but she has soundproofed the garage)

Wears a lot of black, white, and grey tones, red if she needs a splash of colour

Works part-time @ the Claret Public Library on some of her off days

Idek this was awful to write yolo

#providence.intro #i spent so much time on this graphic & i am still not happy w/ my colouring oh well asdfghjkl #the graphic cred goes to the amazing & neat @notoriousaesthetics <3

[itsnunoclock]

I and My Annabel Lee | Rated G | Nat / Shauna | Part 3 of Odds and Ends series | Word count: 2,458 Tags: One Shot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Natalie Scatorccio, Pre-Plane Crash (Yellowjackets), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends --- “My mommy and daddy told me girls can be firefighters or pirates or anything they wanna be when they grow up!” “Anything?” “Mhm! So you gotta pick the coolest pirate name ever, just like mine!”

Ahoy! Captain Natalie's sixth birthday brings an unexpected treasure - her first crew member with a pirate-perfect name, Shauna Shipman. ---

It was many and many a year ago,

   In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

   By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

Annabel Lee

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

The sunshine, like a playful puppy, bounced through the curtains, waking Natalie much earlier than usual. Six! Today was her sixth birthday, and the excitement wiggled through her faster than a puppy’s tail.

Out of bed she sprung, unable to hold back a giant grin. Today was for adventures, birthday cake, and maybe even a bit of pirate treasure! As soon as Daddy left for work, Mom helped Natalie into her favorite dress. It was pink, fluffy, and proclaimed to be the official “birthday dress” despite getting a little snug around the middle. Birthday magic, after all, could make anything fit just right.

With Mom braiding her hair into two neat pigtails, Natalie hatched a secret plan. Under her bed, hidden like buried pirate gold, lay a special marker. Just in case any scallywags or grumpy sea monsters crossed her path, she’d be ready. With Mom’s back turned, Natalie slipped it into her trusty boots. (Thankfully, Mom let her wear these instead of the fancy shoes Nonna gave her last year, which surely wouldn’t fit anymore by now anyway.)

Out the door they went, Natalie bouncing with questions about their surprise destination. But Mom kept her lips sealed, just a smile and secret in her eyes. Soon, a giant yellow bus lumbered up, its brakes squeaking like a friendly monster. Holding Mom’s hand tight, Natalie climbed aboard and raced for the best window seat.  She watched with wonder as the trees, then the houses rolled on by, trying to guess where they could be headed.

Then, a splash of red appeared in the distance - “Friendly,” it announced in big, curvy letters. Natalie knew instantly this was it! The perfect place, with the perfect name, to make new friends on her special day. As the bus stopped, she pressed her nose against the window, taking it all in with big round eyes. The building was so bright and welcoming, with sundaes and popsicles on display in the windows. Grabbing Mom’s hand, Natalie tugged with all her might. “Come on, come on!” she squealed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Mom led Natalie to a cozy corner booth by the window. The birthday girl bounced on the plush red seat, her bright eyes flitting around like butterflies, taking in everything at once. Then, a flash of pink in a tall, frosty glass caught her attention - it matched her dress perfectly!

“Oh please, Mom, please!” Natalie pleaded. With one word of permission, she practically vibrated with joy. The nice lady in a red uniform called it a strawberry free ball with a wink, and Natalie giggled at the silly name.

When the cold, sweet drink arrived, Natalie initially wrinkled her nose after the first sip. But soon, a wide grin spread across her face as the delicious taste took over. A basket of fries appeared too, but since Mom hadn’t eaten breakfast, she knew those were off-limits.

As Natalie happily slurped on her shake, a friendly-looking man stopped by their table. He laughed, saying, “My, how you’ve grown, Natalie!” His crinkly eyes reminded her of her Nonno, but soon, the grown-up conversation started to sound like a mumble jumble in her ears.

Letting her gaze wander across the busy diner, Natalie spied a group of girls who looked to be her age, playing with dolls and tiny figures. All except one. A girl with brown hair sat slightly apart, gently rolling a bright red toy truck back and forth on the table, seemingly lost in her own world.

Before Natalie could look away, the truck girl suddenly glanced up and caught her peeking! Their eyes locked, but instead of hiding, the girl gave a big, toothy grin and yelled out a playful “Vroom vroom!” in a funny voice. Delighted, Natalie couldn’t help but grin back just as wide. Her heart thumped excitedly, and a fun idea popped into her head.

With a gentle but insistent tug on her mother’s sleeve, Natalie interrupted the boring grown-up talk. “Can I pleeease go play with the girls, Mom?” she begged, hopeful as can be. Mom, slightly distracted, gave a quick, absentminded nod without fully looking at Natalie. That was all the permission she needed!

She scooted out of the booth like a rocket and skipped towards the other table, light as a fairy. Butterflies fluttered in her tummy at the thought of making new friends. But before she reached them, Natalie remembered something special hidden in her boot - her trusty marker!

Sneaking out of sight, she discreetly pulled the marker out and carefully drew a twirly mustache above her lip. Then with her tongue peeking out in concentration, she added a connecting line between her eyebrows for good measure.

Giggling naughtily to herself, Natalie tucked the marker back into her boot for safekeeping. Then, with her secret identity in place, she skipped the rest of the way over to the table.

“Hello!” said little Natalie.

“Hello,” the doll girls greeted back, eyeing her up and down. “What’s that on your face?” asked the tall girl, stifling a giggle behind her hand.

“It’s my secret pirate disguise for my birthday,” Natalie declared, puffing out her chest a little.

“Pirates are for boys,” sneered another girl, her doll’s fancy gown flowing to the table. The other girls tittered and Natalie felt a heat rise to her cheeks.

Just then, the truck girl caught her eye, flashing Natalie a warm smile. Oblivious to the teasing, she happily scooted her toy truck closer to Natalie in a friendly invitation.

Natalie felt suddenly self-conscious under the mix of stares all around. “Um . . . wanna play over there?” she asked the friendly girl softly. The girl nodded eagerly, eyes big and brown as she took Natalie’s hand. Laughing, the two girls hurried off together to a vacant table just emptied out for them.

“I’m Natalie!” she introduced herself, settling down opposite the friendly girl in the comfy booth.

“I’m Shauna Shipman! See? My first and last name both start with S!” Shauna exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

Natalie’s eyes lit up at this interesting fact. “Oh wow, that sounds like a pirate’s name!” She pictured Shauna with a majestic pirate hat and an eyepatch, captain of the biggest ship she’d ever seen.

Shauna giggled, her nose crinkling. “Silly! Do you have a pirate name, Captain Natalie?” she asked, rolling the red fire truck towards Natalie across the table.

Natalie, heart swelling at the unexpected title, felt a blush creep up her cheeks, spreading a warmth across her face that mirrored the joy in her eyes. But the smile faltered the moment she glanced back at the girls with dolls, their giggles suddenly sounding harsh. “I, um, well . . . ” she mumbled, fiddling with her dress strap, “they said girls can’t be pirates.”

But her new friend Shauna made a loud, dismissive ‘pfft’ sound, waving her small hand through the air. She leaned forward with an eager twinkle in her eye. “My mommy and daddy told me girls can be firefighters or pirates or anything they wanna be when they grow up!”

Natalie’s eyes had gone big at this wonderful news and she bounced a little in her seat. “Anything?” Maybe she could be a pirate after all!

Shauna bounced too and nodded firmly, beaming with joy. “Mhm! So you gotta pick the coolest pirate name ever, just like mine!”

A big smile lit up Natalie’s face. She tapped her chin like the pirates do in thought. “Okay!” she said, her voice extra loud and important. “My pirate name is . . . Captain Blackboots! Because, well, look!” she exclaimed, lifting one leg high to show off her black boot.

Shauna giggled, her cheeks turning pink.  “I like your name better! Can I call you Captain Nat-Nat?”

Natalie laughed at the silly nickname. It wasn’t quite as cool as Captain Blackboots, but it did sound friendly. “Okay,” she agreed, nodding with a grin.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Nat-Nat!” Shauna said with a smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Fire Chief Shauna!”

“Fire Chief Shauna?” Natalie repeated, her eyes wide. “That’s awesome!” She shook Shauna’s outstretched hand and the grin on their faces grew even wider. “Hey, do you wanna be on my pirate ship?”

“Hmm, can I drive the ship?”

“Sure, you can be captain too! We can take turns! Yo ho ho!” Natalie laughed, trying to sound like a pirate, just like her Nonno used to. “Do you know how to talk like a pirate, Fire Chief Shauna?”

Shauna shook her head.

“I’ll teach you! When the captain says something, you say ‘Aye, aye, Captain!’”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Shauna exclaimed, mimicking Natalie with a wide grin.

Suddenly, Natalie stood up on the booth, her arms stretched out for balance. “Look, Chief Shauna, I’m walking the plank!” she yelled, pretending to stumble across the wobbly seat. “Watch out for the scary sharks!”

Seeing Natalie pretend to fall into the water, Shauna burst into giggles. Soon, both girls were laughing so hard their bellies hurt and Natalie’s cheeks felt like they might burst from smiling so much. Who cared what those silly girls thought anyway? Today was her birthday, and on her birthday, she could be anything her heart desired, anything at all!

The more they played, the more Natalie realized Shauna wasn’t like other kids. Normally, kids poked fun at her mismatched clothes or teased her cardboard-sword battles against sea monsters. But Shauna, even when faced with the silly, mustached Natalie, greeted her with a warm smile.

Shauna was funny, too, in her own special way. Instead of telling mean jokes like other kids do, Shauna brought her toys to life with silly voices and crazy stories. The leftover fries on their table weren’t just fries anymore - they were a bunch of scared sailors clinging to a tiny raft. Suddenly, Shauna’s red fire truck would come zooming in, siren wailing with her best fire truck noises, to save the day. “Rescue mission!” she’d shout, scooping up the survivor fries into the truck bed with a grin.

But the fun didn’t stop there. Shauna would grab a straw and turn it into a helicopter, making a funny whirring sound with her mouth. The straw-copter would swoop down to whisk the remaining fries away to safety, and Natalie would laugh and laugh. Shauna’s imagination turned ordinary things into amazing adventures, and Natalie loved every minute of it.

Sharing also came easy to Shauna. The minute Natalie looked at the fire truck, Shauna pushed it over to her quickly, like she’d been waiting for her all along. Natalie grabbed it, giggling, and zoomed it around the table.

“Okay, Fire Chief Shauna,” she said in her big captain voice, “are you ready to save the fries people?” 

“Aye aye, Captain Nat-Nat!”

Natalie zoomed the fire truck all over the table. “Wee-ooh, wee-ooh!” she yelled, just like Shauna showed her. She pretended the fries were people stuck on a tiny island, and the truck was their brave rescuer. With a big scoop, she grabbed them all up, earning a clap and a cheer from her favorite shipmate.

And that’s when she realized – the thing Natalie loved most about Shauna: her laugh! It burst out often, bubbly and bright like a happy pirate song. It made her whole face scrunch up in the silliest way that had Natalie joining in too.

Other kids’ laughs sometimes felt mean, even when she didn’t understand the joke. Their giggles often made her feel small, weird or left out for liking different things. But never Shauna’s. It made Natalie feel all warm and happy inside, like she belonged right where she was.

Shauna was unlike any other kid Natalie had met and she hoped with all her heart they’d be best friends forever.

“Natalie, time to go sweetie! We gotta get home before Daddy gets back.”

That was Mom ending their playtime, scolding Natalie after for the silly drawings on her face. She even gave a frowny look to Shauna that made Natalie feel a little nervous. With her shoulders drooping, Natalie said goodbye to her friend before letting her mom pull her away towards the door.

Just then, Natalie heard, “Wait!” She turned around to see her new friend racing over with her special fire truck toy. Shauna pressed it into Natalie’s hands with a big smile, making Natalie smile back just a little bit. She clutched the little truck like a pirate holding her treasure.

The bus ride home felt different, all quiet and strange. Mom whispered that their “little secret adventure” should stay between just the two of them. Natalie didn’t really understand, but she nodded anyway - she didn’t want to make Mom more upset.

Back home, Daddy was already in his big, comfy chair drinking his yucky grown-up juice like always. Seeing his curious eyes gave Natalie a worried feeling so she looked at Mom, hoping for help, but got a warning look instead, reminding her to go clean up.

Natalie, perched on the big bathroom chair like a wobbly pirate captain, giggled at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was a funny mess of black lines and green smudges, reminding her of her best friend and how much fun they had saving a whole bunch of lost fries. But then loud, grumpy voices made her smile disappear faster than a scoop of melting ice cream.

For days and days, Natalie begged to go back to the fun milkshake place. But Mom would either act like she couldn’t hear, or say “No!” in a voice that boomed like thunder. Sometimes, she’d even get a shushing sound and a frowny face. And even though Natalie asked and asked, they never went back to the place where she made her very first - and for a long time, her only - real friend.

Weeks turned into months, then months into years. Captain Nat-Nat, as she liked to be called then, slowly became just plain Nat. The memories of her firefighter friend faded little by little, like the echo of a song. But sometimes, when she’d see the little red fire truck on her shelf, her heart would do a happy little jump, just like on her favorite birthday.

#shaunanat one shot #shaunanat fic #shaunanat au #shaunanat #figured i'd post this here and give my shaunanat agenda a boost #earlier parts of the series can be found in my ao3 #chapter title taken from the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe

[yutanology]

Kids (Prologue)| NCT Dream × Fem!Reader

Warning : cliche, a few cusses, little fluff, possessiveness, NCT Dream being bratty and stubborn. No proofread :(

Synopsis : Y/n somehow ended up helping Mark babysit his stepbrothers for the weekend. That two days of babysitting soon turned into frequent days of her visiting them as they would throw a fit if she wouldn't. When she thought everything would be fine soon, it only became worse as time passed by.

Take note that Mark and Y/n are at the same age(15). 00 line are 7 while Chenle is 6 and Jisung is 5.

"Vroom! Vroom! Vrooom!" Jisung said loudly through his pouted lips. He was sitting on his big toy car, imitating the roaring machine of an actual car.

Behind him was Chenle pushing him on all sides of the wide nursery room to make Jisung feel like he's really driving the car. The younger kid raised both his hands up, enjoying the ride and the room was filled with their cute giggles.

"Hey, slow down. You might get hurt—" Mark immediately cut his own words, replacing it with a loud yelp when the wheels of the car they were riding ran on his toes. "Ahhh!" he instinctively crouched down to hold his toes that were now throbbing in pain.

The duo didn't even bother to look back at him and ask if he's okay cuz they're too entertained to even notice his suffering.

"Y/n, help!" he called out for the female who just entered the room carrying a very hyper Haechan on her arms that she chased around the house for almost half an hour so she could get him to wear his pants.

She had such a great time giving him a bath. Haechan splashed water on her clothes, saying that he wanted her to join him on his bubble bath. Ending him getting her hoodie soaked wet (she took it off and let it dry), thankfully, her shirt was safe.

He wanted to play with her all the time. He doesn't want her to take a break even for a damn minute and he never ran out of some things he'd like to say. Either he makes sense or not, he doesn't care.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be enjoying her time alone at home while it's still weekend but here she is, babysitting her friend's stepbrothers. It just so happened that she met Mark's parents when both of them walked home together yesterday from school.

They had a little chitchat and eventually got along. Then that's when they asked her a favor to help Mark take care of his stepbrothers during the weekend as they won't be able to keep an eye on them because of their busy schedules.

She was about to decline until she heard that they're going to pay her a fair price. Yup, she needed money that's why she agreed with them. Her family is not as rich as the Lees so she can't always get the things she wanted to buy. So in order to be able to, she had to work for it. She got her parent's permission that night, letting her do what she wanted.

"Why? What happened?" she asked Mark, trying to keep Haechan still or he'll fall down but she decided to put his feet on the floor. "Nooo! Carry me! Carry me!" Haechan whined, holding his arms up to her.

She tiredly sighed, picking him up again. She knew the last thing to do to him is to make him upset. He'd cry nonstop and would totally be mad at everyone. She didn't want that. Things would be harder to handle than it already is right now.

"My toes freaking hurt! I don't think I'll be able to stand up." He over exaggerated.

Y/n approached him to check if he's alright then found his toes flamming red. "Oh god, uhm, I'll go get some ice or something. I don't know how to treat that but I hope it would help." she rushed to the kitchen with Haechan still on her arms.

Opening the top of the fridge, she saw an ice pack. She grabbed it and was about to close the fridge when Haechan spotted the fruit popsicles. "I want that." he pointed at the sweet treats that caught his attention.

She reached the first popsicle, "I don't like that. I want the strawberry." then she gave him one. He better not have cavities for eating too much sweets or else she'd be blamed for it.

She helped him get rid of the plastic wrapper, throwing it on the trash bin before letting him eat the fruit popsicle. His eyes almost literally twinkled once the cold strawberry treat touched his tongue. At least, he's happy now.

They both went back to the room, handing Mark the ice pack to help it ease the pain on his poor toes. "Thanks." Mark sighed and she nodded, sitting beside him on the sofa but their eyes are still on the kids just to make sure they're okay.

"Where are your maids? Aren't they supposed to be helping us here?"

"They all went home to their families. Only our cook and our driver are the only workers left here." That explains why she didn't bump into someone else in this house.

Renjun was not so far from them. He's quietly sitting on the carpeted floor attaching puzzle pieces together, focusing on completing the picture into whole. Despite the whole chaos going on around him, he somehow found peace on the corner of the room.

Well, not until he found out that Jeno was chewing on the other puzzle pieces. He's been trying to look at the missing items on his puzzle only to find out that they're with Jeno all the time.

The two kids fought. Renjun was huffing mad while Jeno was crying. Even though he already said sorry, Renjun doesn't seem to forgive him anytime soon for ruining his puzzle that he worked on for hours since this morning.

Mark limped his way to Jeno to calm him down and Y/n took care of Renjun (and Haechan, of course). She was in the middle of a conversation with Renjun when she felt a tug on her shirt.

Looking down, she saw a sleepy Jaemin rubbing his eyes. "I'm sleepy." he said. He must've been worn out from joining Haechan at every trouble he initiated.

"Oh, wait a second." she told him, he silently nodded.

"Haechan, can you please sit here with Renjun for a while?" she carefully put him beside the said boy.

"Huh? But why? Where are you going?" he asked her after he took out the popsicle out of his mouth.

She lifted Jaemin on her arms this time which Haechan frowned at. "I'll just go take him to his room. I'll be back, I promise." She waited him to say something but he stayed silent, glaring at the boy playing her hair, completely unaware of the piercing gaze of his stepbrother.

"Uhm, we'll go now..." she awkwardly informed him before making her way out of the room for the nth time of the day. This time, she's the one unaware of Jaemin sticking his tongue at Haechan to tease him. Before he could stomp his way to him, Y/n was already out of the room with Jaemin, leaving both Renjun and Haechan angry of different reasons.

Throughout the whole time she carried Jaemin to his room, he continued to play with her hair. Twirling silky strands of her hair on his small fingers, droopy eyes slowly closing and his head weighed on her shoulder.

Assuming that he fell asleep, Y/n could only sigh in relief that one of the most chaotic step brothers finally took his rest. After climbing a few more flight of stairs, she reached his room at last. The whole mansion is too big for her liking but she's not the one living here so she can't have something to say to it.

She pushed the door open, laying Jaemin on his queen sized bed then she covered half of his body with his comforters. "Sleep well, Jaemin." she kissed his forehead before she left him and he slept with a smile adorning his lips.

"What took you so long?" Haechan immediately asked her, arms crossed on his chest and his brows still furrowed together. "Haechan, you know how far Jaemin's room is from here. Come on, stop being sulky. I'm already here."

She glanced at Mark reading a book for Jisung, Chenle and Jeno on the table. "Why don't you join them?" Haechan shook his head. "Because I don't want to."

"Aren't you going to take your afternoon nap too?"

"No."

"What about—" he didn't let her finish her words as he stood up and stomped away out of the nursery room. He left her there confused. Renjun who had finally cooled off his anger approached her.

"He's mad at you."

Y/n looked down at him. "I just tucked Jaemin to sleep. Why'd he gotta make a big deal about it?" she asked as if she's talking to herself. Renjun knew the answer but didn't blurt out anything about it instead he held her hand.

"Can we go pick flowers on the garden?" she smiled at him with a nod. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

#nct #nct dream #yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop idol #mark lee #lee jeno #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #lee minhyung #na jaemin #jaemin #haechan #park jisung #zhong chenle #chenle #renjun #huang renjun #nct yandere #superm mark #nct u mark #nct 127 #nct 127 mark #nct 127 haechan #nct fluff #kpop fluff #possessive #obsession

[milf-harrington]

hello Theo my beloved:) for the 101 ways to say ily… how about sixty-two with some platonic mai and sokka? <3

hello corey <3 i am as obsessed with ace!mai as you are with ace!yue so here you go:

"You look like something's bothering you... You can talk to me if you need to."

Mai was lounging on a deck chair a safe distance from the pool, red sarong draped over it to avoid making contact with anything possibly unpleasant, and a beach umbrella faithfully protecting her from the sun. She looked every bit the regal and wealthy girl he'd first met as she lifted her smoothie glass and sipped from the straw.

(It was twisted into the word 'bitch' because Sokka had given it to her on the premise that it would be funny and Mai had just wanted to drink her smoothie.)

When Sokka dropped into the chair next to her, dripping water everywhere and breathing a little hard after his splash fight with Katara, she didn't react, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.

"You okay?" He asked, watching her critically. Mai paused for barely half a second before putting her cup down on the fold-able table Sokka had brought.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She asked, an added rasp to her voice that made Sokka's eyebrows draw together.

"You look like something's bothering you." He commented, taking note of the rigid set to her shoulders and down turned lips. She sighed but didn't respond, still not looking at him as she surveyed the pool.

Sokka looked over to where Zuko and Azula were having some sort of aggressive water-based wrestling match that would most likely end in a lifeguard being needed, Toph sitting on the edge of the pool and goading them on despite not knowing who was winning. It was loud and lively, a mix of shrieking and laughter and definitely un-kid friendly language.

Beside him, Mai was quiet and still, still looking as regal as she always did, but lacking the presence.

"You can talk to me if you need to." He finally added on, turning back to look at her profile so she knew he was being serious. She held firm for another minute, her face blank, before something in her seemed to sag and her shoulders relaxed back against the chair.

"I think there's something wrong with me." She confessed. Sokka shot her a look, suddenly confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never really understood the whole 'ogling' thing before." Mai started, crossing one of her legs over the other, the only physical sign that she was bothered. "You know- girls giggling about licking abs or how good someone would be in bed. I thought it was all just movie-stuff, exaggerated for entertainment. It was unrealistic."

Sokka thought back to a conversation with Yue, years ago, when she still bleached her hair and didn't wear a black ring around her middle finger.

Mai pushed her sunglasses up, eyebrows furrowed in thought and eyeliner still artfully intact.

"And then Ty Lee was always talking about boys and to boys and making flirty comments about their bodies, and I thought it was all just a performance. She's always performing for crowds.

"But then it would just be us in my room, watching some movie from the 2000's, and she'd nudge me and make those same sly comments about bodies and sex, just like the characters in those movies always seemed to and I started realising that maybe it is normal. It's not just movie stuff." She pulled her knees up to her chest and Sokka wanted to wrap her in his arms.

Mai was quiet for a bit, looking down at her toes and picking at the black polish on them. Sokka stayed silent, waiting for her to keep going.

"I figured I'd ignore it. It wasn't really anything anyway, so what if it wasn't movie stuff? I didn't really care either way. But..."

"But?" He encouraged, briefly wishing he'd dried off a bit as a breeze chilled the water on his shoulders. And then he felt guilty for thinking about towels while Mai was having a possible sexuality crisis.

"But then today, it's been non stop. Azula and Ty Lee were talking about a lifeguards legs for 20 minutes. 20 minutes Sokka!" She turned to him then, eyes wide with exasperation.

Under normal circumstances he might have been fond of the obvious display of emotion, but he kept it to himself.

"I just- I don't get it." She muttered. "I know human bodies are cool and I've studied more than enough of them in my classes, but I don't get what makes them drool or blush worthy. I've seen four people look at you like you're something to be eaten just in this conversation alone, but when I look at you you're just -" she gestured to him weakly. "- Sokka.

"People talk about sexual attraction like it's expected, like everyone just gets it but I don't. And I always figured that was fine, because I didn't care but now- What if there is something wrong with me Sokka? I mean, I don't feel broken or-or wrong-"

"Mai there's nothing wrong with you." Sokka promised, internally deciding 'fuck it' and reaching out to grab her wrist, gently holding her hand. She looked at him warily.

"Okay, surprisingly I've had this conversation before! Well- not this conversation, it was a bit different, but it was essentially the same conversation but with someone else who has different experiences but ultimately I think it'll be the same conclusion."

Mai raised an eyebrow, appearing both unimpressed and intrigued. He sighed and reorganised his thoughts.

"You know Yue? She's asexual. Openly so, so I'm not betraying her trust or anything by telling you, so please don't stab me for that." He hurriedly added on when her hand had tightened it's hold on his.

"Asexual?" Mai repeated, turning her head to find Yue, who was balancing on Suki's shoulders. Apparently Zuko and Azula's wrestling match had turned into a chicken fight.

"Yeah. I could go get her if you want? I mean, I could explain it but it'd probably be better coming from her."

Mai thought about it, her hand still safely held in his while she stared across the pool, before nodding.

A bit later, when Sokka was trying to convince Zuko to reenact the lake scene from Dirty Dancing with him, he saw Yue pull Mai into a hug and smiled, waving off his boyfriends questioning gaze.

When they left, Mai rode shotgun in Sokka's car, the two of them discussing the uses of body farms as he drove her home while Katara grimaced and turned her music up to block them out.

#asks #that-was-anticlimactic #mutuals #mai #sokka #mai / sokka friendship #ace mai #asexual mai #ace yue #asexual yue #im so sorry if the ending is shit i couldn't figure out how i wanted to finish it sdjfs

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

#heartsforbts #cypherwritersnet #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #networkbangtan #thebtswritersclub #goldenclosetnet #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts smut #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #drabble.zip #finders.doc #jungkook.doc

[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks. 

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink. 

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says. 

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits. 

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that. 

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly. 

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.” 

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier? 

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo? 

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #logan sanders

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Arrival - Bit 2)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Well, these posts seem to be getting longer. I’m pondering if I should make them shorter and more often.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ @janetm74​ and @onereyofstarlight​ for their amazing support and who without putting up with my crazy this fic would likely not exist.

We are finally there and things can start happening. Wow, planning makes for longer fics apparently.

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

As the rest of the family exited the cockpit, Michael watched John deploy the last of the long chain of communication buoys into orbit around Callisto and held his breath.

The space monitor was frowning at his console as they both waited for that final connection to click into place.

A moment and John’s face relaxed.

And Michael with it.

His own board flashed up with a connection confirmed through the chained micro-tunnel drives.

John hit his comms. “Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Excel. Do you copy?”

They waited.

A heartbeat.

“Thunderbird Excel this is Tracy Island. Great to hear your voice, John.” Even Michael could hear the smile in Kayo’s voice. “I have a lot of green and pretty lights here. Send me the tests and I will bounce them back.”

“Sending now.” John’s fingers darted across his board and Michael watched the system take on the workload and churn data all the way back to Earth. “And I must say, Kayo, it is lovely to hear your voice, too.”

“Looking forward to hearing yours often. Data incoming. Will apprise results.”

“Looking forward to it, Thunderbird Excel out.” John’s fingers flicked again and the comms signal closed.

“Thunderbird Excel?” Michael arched an eyebrow at the astronaut.

John shrugged. “Well, I think she’s earned it now, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” He looked back down at his board. The thought of having contributed to creating an actual Thunderbird...

He was startled when a shadow passed over his hands. “You’ve done well, Michael. Thank you.”

He looked up at the red-headed Tracy floating beside him. John was an enigma. He was a brother like any Tracy, but unlike the eldest who hated him with a passion that saw no border, John was quiet, even kind. Michael had been working alongside Brains and John and occasionally the youngest, for over a year now, and while he doubted he and John would ever be close friends, there was a mutual respect.

Plus, the distinct feeling that if Michael ever laid a finger on any of John’s brothers ever again, he would not survive the attempt.

It was definitely the quiet ones who should be worried about.

Not to mention Eos.

Michael really wished he could get his hands on that piece of code.

But again, he felt that it would be his last action in this universe.

Not that John had ever threatened him.

He didn’t need to.

“Are you feeling okay?” Turquoise eyes were peering down at him.

“I am well. No need to worry.”

The astronaut smiled. “Good. Monitor the comm network and liaise with Brains regarding the T-Drive’s performance. Let’s see if we can cut down on the jumps on the way back. I’d prefer to go through as little of the nausea as possible.”

“Agreed.”

John arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up. “I’ll be in Thunderbird Five assessing the danger zone and coordinating with Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB.”

The astronaut stared at him for just an extra moment longer before pushing off Michael’s console and throwing himself towards the cockpit exit.

“Thank you, John.”

A flicker of a smile and the last Tracy disappeared through the door, leaving Michael alone.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated the IR spacesuits. They were far too tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Also, the red baldrics clashed horribly with his green stripe enough to rip his eyeballs out.

But although his standard uniform was satisfactory for short forays into space, it was not enough for a space mission of this magnitude as it did not have the survival and safety mechanisms needed in an emergency. So, here he was dressed like some kind of spandex wearing superhero, his heavy lifting muscles providing a great anatomy lesson to any within eyesight.

“Looking good, Virg.” Gordon’s eyes were laughing.

“Shut up, Fish.” The aquanaut was used appearing all but naked in front of thousands. Hell, Virgil had nothing to be ashamed of, it was just difficult to keep a straight face in a professional capacity.

How the hell John lived in one of these things was a mystery Virgil had no interest in exploring.

The alternative was wearing something like Alan’s spacesuit, but that had its own issues regarding his exosuit and despite the...exposure, this was the best option.

At least he had a little security with the addition of his exosuit support padding and his harness – never leave home without it. That and his baldric covered a little of his modesty.

Didn’t stop his brothers’ comments though.

Alan actually snorted in laughter.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then their commander was dressed the same and, much like John, was giving the Greek gods a run for their money in the process.

Virgil felt like a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. What was his name? Gam? Gim? Gimli? Standing next to that bleached elf.

Virgil grunted. “Let’s do this, already.”

Okay, the grin on Scott’s face was both worth it and damned annoying.

Dad had chosen a version similar to Alan’s suit. Due to his health concerns, Virgil had recommended extra support with arm guards and greaves built into his boots. He had glared at Virgil, but Virgil was a Tracy and just as stubborn as his father and if he wanted to go on this mission he could damn well meet him halfway.

Dad wore the protection.

They had Uncle Lee’s ‘space skivvies’ measurements on file and the IR fabricators had churned out an IR uniform echoing their father’s. Considering the astronaut’s skillset, Virgil had coloured his baldric stripe as green as his own and thrown in some of his own kit.

The colour combination still ripped out eyeballs.

Thunderbird Three was nestled into the Excel much like she had been into the XL, but higher up, leaving the massive thrusters behind her and nestling instead of providing the main superstructure of the craft.

To compensate for the loss of One and Two, the Excel now had a third engine on her dorsal plane to offset the two massive pectoral lightspeed engines. Together the three engines provided the huge ion thrust needed to propel them vast distances. And when the T-Drive was required, the third would go dark, the original two engines would flare up and give him his next case of nausea.

Three still connected with Five for extra stability, but she was no longer mandatory for the Excel. Where the XL had basically been an exosuit for Three to break the lightspeed barrier, the Excel was now more Five’s exosuit as she was the one Thunderbird the Excel needed to operate at her best.

Johnny’s ‘bird now had wings.

Very, very big ones.

The cockpit was crowded but quiet as Alan smoothly disengaged Three from the bigger craft, spinning her in space and pointing her towards the moon.

Virgil shifted in his suit, uncomfortable as hell. Not enough to be world ending, but annoying. Beside him, his father glanced in his direction with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay, son?”

That, of course, prompted an equally concerned frown from Scott in front of him.

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could live with the suit. His arm was still aching and his stomach had yet to forgive him despite the food he had shoved into it, but he could probably get away with that.

The worst of it was the lack of sleep.

Scott’s eyes were far too knowing.

The medic in him knew that they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. Hell, they were in space right now, not exactly Tracy Island’s pool patio for relaxation. They needed to be alert and ready.

He had tried to sleep. He had sent all of his brothers to nap during the voyage out here. But he doubted any of them managed much.

He certainly hadn’t.

Scott knew because Virgil could see it reflected in those blue eyes of his. He still looked worn, though he tried to hide it, ever the professional.

Dad.

Dad was still looking at him with questioning eyes.

Virgil sighed. “I’m just tired. I can manage.”

Those lips pressed together, obviously displeased.

Typical.

His father was so like Scott in so many ways that having both of them to contend with on this mission was going to send Virgil grey.

It was okay for them to go out on a limb, risk their lives for the greater good, but if someone they cared about did the same, they were all worry and you can’t do that.

As if to emphasize that thought, his father’s frown fixated on Scott. Virgil followed his gaze, but from his angle could only see the back of his brother’s head.

Another glance at his father and the concern was clearly there.

Perhaps something was starting to sink into Dad’s head. Maybe he was realising what he was risking.

Who he was risking.

Three shook a little as she breached the minimal atmosphere of the moon. Alan was muttering orbital calculations. Each large planetary body was different and required a catered approach.

The Base had sent vectors and the conditions that constituted ‘weather’ on the barren moon, but there were many firsts in this mission and this was one of them.

For the benefit of the rest of them, Alan threw up a hologram of their approach.

The massive crater known as Asgard swelled on the screen. It was very bright, even in the weak sunlight. Probably ice. To the north of it lay an even brighter splash of white, rays extending out across the heavily cratered surface for miles.

As they sank, the horizon formed in a sharper curve than Virgil was used to. Sharper than Mars which was the only other planetary body beyond Earth’s Moon Virgil had ever set foot on.

“There it is.” Alan, ever enthusiastic in his element, pointed out a spot quickly growing on the display. “Callisto Base.”

It was a white cross with a massive airlock at its centre. Surrounding the arms of the cross was machinery, storage tanks and energy production facilities. It shone ever so bright, like a blunted star plastered on the side of the moon.

As they drew closer, the Tracy Industries logo could be seen branded across the airlock doors.

The base was a massive endeavour. Almost entirely underground taking advantage of a small crater in the Doh crater wall, it had capped the landform and sealed off the space creating a series of caverns to house the transport ships moving between the Base and the Jefferson or any other destination they chose.

Entirely self-sufficient, TI’s hydrogen technology gave it power, TI’s heavy duty excavation equipment gave them the power to dig the base out of the rock and ice. It had helped to find unexpected caves under the surface. All and all the Base was a robust structure, protecting its fifty-odd inhabitants from the hazards of living on an exposed and radiated moon.

“Callisto Base, Thunderbird Three requesting permission to dock.” Virgil was suddenly irrationally proud of his little brother.

Commander Walters answered immediately. “Permission granted Thunderbird Three. Hold in the airlock for repressurisation and permission to proceed.”

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

“One of these days, Jeff, you are going to tell me what that means.”

Both Alan and their father snorted.

As they approached, the big airlock doors slowly began to open, splitting the TI logo in half. The hologram stayed fixed on their destination, but Three pivoted her nose to the darkness of the sky bringing the ever-hovering presence of Jupiter back into view through Three’s windows. Alan flicked a wrist and the Thunderbird started lowering into what was now a gaping maw below.

Three slipped into the airlock and the doors closed behind them.

-o-o-o-

Alan was a professional, but he had to admit that he was internally bouncing around in joy. The air was still thick with tension, his family caught up in this thing with Dad, but Alan was doing his best to ignore it and focus on his job.

And oh my god, he was landing on his second moon of Jupiter! This had to be a first. He could go down in history as the first person to land on several moons, another planet and multiple random comets and asteroids.

Okay, so Virg and Scott had been with him, even Gordon on Europa – that had been one hell of a mission that still gave him both dreams and nightmares – but he had been the only one to land on all of them.

Alan Tracy, astronaut extraordinaire. He couldn’t help but grin as the airlock repressurised and the Callisto Commander finally gave him permission to land.

He slowed his ‘bird to a perfect touchdown as the secondary airlock doors closed above him.

He killed her engines and let her begin her cool down sequence.

The whole cockpit sighed a little in relief. A pause as if to reset and then everyone was moving.

-o-o-o-

Gray Walters rubbed the back of his neck as Thunderbird Three coasted smoothly from the decontaminating airlock into the main hangar. The pilot of that ‘bird had to be a Tracy. The huge red rocket barely fit nose to tail with only inches to spare between the two massive sets of doors. After all, they had never expected such a large craft needing to dock.

He had Kate to thank for arguing the hangar’s size...with Ju backing her up as usual.

The thought of his wife froze him for a split second. Ju was going to be okay. Jeff was here now. He had always been their good luck charm. Hell, the guy had survived eight years in space alone. Ju could manage a few days.

Couldn’t she?

“She’s docked.” Mary, his second, looked up from her station. “Shall I shunt her into a bay?”

“Leave her in central for now. We’re not going anywhere and they may need to leave in a hurry.”

“That will piss Benji off.”

“Benji can stew. His team still has a week left of their Jefferson rotation.”

“He will cite regs.”

Gray turned away. Let him cite regs. “This is an emergency and takes priority.” He sighed. “Run decon in the central core. Anyone not crucial to this operation is to steer clear of International Rescue. Lock off environmental systems. Keep the two crews contained to keep the risk of contamination as low as possible. We can’t afford an accidental bug in the system.”

“Will do.” She paused before bringing up the topic he knew she would. “What about Jeremiah?”

“What about him?”

“You need to tell them.”

“One thing at a time, Mary.”

“But-“

“First we find Kate and Ju.” He swallowed. They had to find Ju.

They had to.

-o-o-o-

Stepping onto a new world was never as grand as it appeared. Hell, landing on Mars for the first time had been a trip over his own toes’ moment.

Stepping onto Callisto was no different.

It was Scott who grabbed him before he could flip head over heels across the gantry. Changes in gravity always took time to get used to and less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been Earth oppressive.

Callisto gravity was a relief…if a little disorientating.

His eldest’s strong grip wrapped around his arm and held tight. Jeff looked over at Scott and was pinned with such worried bright blue eyes that his heart clenched.

All the tension, the argument, the resistance to his presence on this mission boiled down to the emotion in those eyes.

Love.

And fear.

Scott was terrified.

Jeff did it without thought or care for what anyone would think. He grabbed his son and yanked him into a hug, holding him close. The squawk across comms and the scrape of their helmets against each other did nothing to stop him.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Uh...”

Scott’s arms wrapped around him, ever so hesitantly.

That hesitation hurt almost as much.

He clung that much tighter.

“Dad?” It was breathless.

He clung a second longer, but… Yes...right.

It was a moment stolen.

Because they were on a mission.

Jeff let Scott go.

His son pulled away slowly, not quite fully releasing him, and again those blue eyes were fixated on him in worry.

So much worry.

“You okay, Dad?”

Jeff straightened with more ease than he had managed in a long time and became aware of all the other eyes on him.

The ever-present echoes of Lucille’s beautiful brown eyes were assessing him. That was a given. But another two pairs of blue and a frowning fishy amber had him targeted as well.

He looked at each of them before turning back to the massive cavern around them. A mix of rock wall, structural support and storage, the docking cavern was lit with strong lighting, the red of Three reflecting on patches of frozen water embedded in the walls.

They were standing on a walkway that had been extended out to Three’s hatch. It was obviously of variable height and length and Jeff couldn’t help but admire the design.

He wondered who was responsible.

He wondered if it was Kate.

Her green eyes smiled at him at the back of his mind.

His lips pressed together as his sons and brother-in-law continued to shoot concerned expressions in his direction.

A breath.

“Let’s do this.” And he led them out and into Callisto Base.

-o-o-o-

Next

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #John Tracy #the mechanic #callisto #Gordon Tracy

[chaoticminhos]

swim captain (oneshot version)

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: smut

warnings: possessiveness n jealousy

word count: 4398

a/n: swim captain was originally written as a one shot before i decided to expand it to a series, so here is what the series sprouted from :):)

“okay, starting positions! ready, dive!”

the coach's voice echoed through the swimming room, followed by several splashes of the boys jumping into the water as cued. they began to resurface, and the coach spoke up again.

“nice form, boys! hwang, remember to keep those arms straight!”

the team lifted themselves up from the water and got back into position to dive again. you were supposed to be adding up money from the swim team fundraiser, as a good team manager would, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the boys. or more specifically, one boy. bang chan.

chan, one of the most popular boys in your high school, captain of the swim team, star athlete, arguably one of the hottest and most attractive boys ever to exist... the list could go on forever.

with him being the captain of the team and you as manager, the two of you knew each other well enough, but you’d never hung out with him outside of swim practice or swim team parties like you would with a few of the boys from the team. although you only hung out with a few of them regularly outside of swim events, you were close to all 8 of them, and they were all close to you, too.

having been managing the team for a few years now, you’d gotten used to talking to chan without blushing and stuttering on every word. however, you never managed not to get flustered by the way he looked in his swim uniform.

this practice, he was in blue swim shorts and a tight black swim shirt that left nothing to the imagination. it was nothing different than what the rest of the team was wearing, the other boys wearing practically identical outfits, and you couldn’t say they didn’t look amazing either, but chan always managed to take your breath away.

you were snapped out of your head by a voice of one of the boys.

“y/n! swim team party after practice, you coming? it’s friday night.”

minho walked up to you while drying his hair with a towel. it was unfair how not a single boy on the swim team was unattractive. although you had a crush on bang chan, to say minho never made your cheeks turn red and stomach do backflips would be a lie. he was easy to talk to and one of your closest friends on the team. he was one of the boys that you actually hung out with a lot outside of practice and swim events, and during swim events when the boys weren’t busy, you could practically always find him by you.

“i know what day it is, minho. and yeah, if you give me a ride, sure.” you smiled at him.

“i’ll give you a ride alright, baby.” he winked at you and you threw your pen at him. typical minho behavior, flirting with anything that had the physical ability to blush.

“go get changed, idiot.”

“okay,” a smirk played on his lips, and he leaned down so his face was level with yours, “but only if you help.”

he was close enough now for you to hit him with your hand and not just a pen, so you did.

“lee minho! is it even safe for a lady to be alone in a car with you?” you joked.

he was about to launch back a playful reply, but someone answered before him.

“don’t worry, y/n, you won’t be alone. i’m tagging along, too.” chan said as he walked past, wrapping his arm around minho and guiding his team member to the changing rooms.

you muttered a small “oh, okay!” as they left.

a few minutes passed by and the boys began trickling out of the changing room in small groups. felix and changbin walked out together, and not long after, minho and chan followed. felix nodded his head at you.

“y/n, need a lift to my place?”

ah, so that’s where the party was tonight.

“she’s with me.” minho chimed in, wrapping his arm over your shoulders. you pushed him away from you.

“minho, you’re still soaked, get off of me and stop getting me wet!”

tightening his arm around your shoulders, he teased you, “you won’t be saying that later.”

before you could scold him, chan lightly slapped him across the back of his head.

“stop flirting and let’s go.” the action and words were playful. for some reason, it upset you that he didn’t seem bothered by minho’s constant flirting with you.

minho’s arm flung off your shoulder and he ran after chan, smacking him hard on the arm.

“that hurt, asshat!”

chan insisted you sit in the passenger seat, saying it would be rude if he made you sit in the back. minho agreed, but his reasoning was “chan’s an asshole. assholes don’t get shotgun.”

it wasn’t a long drive, felix only lived a few blocks away from the school. minho’s radio was playing music softly through the car. the song switched and you reached for the volume, turning it up. your favorite artist was playing, a rap group called 3racha.

“you like this kind of music?” chan asked.

you turned around in your seat to face him, “yeah, it’s my favorite!”

chan hummed in response just as minho’s car pulled into felix’s driveway with the other several cars of the other team members. it seemed like you were one of the last, if not the last to arrive.

you stepped out of minho’s car and made your way to felix’s front door, not bothering to knock and instead just walking in. minho and chan followed close behind.

“there they are!” felix yelled, “i’m telling you y/n, should have rode with me, you guys are the last ones here! minho drives like a grandma.”

you laughed at his joke and minho huffed out an “i do not” before making his way to the kitchen and swinging felix’s fridge open, pulling out two cans of soda and tossing one to you.

there was no alcohol at swim team parties, the boys knew if they were caught with alcohol or drugs or anything of the sort, they’d be kicked off the team and taken off college swim lists, and none of them wanted to risk that. plus, they were crazy enough without alcohol.

“come on dude,” chan spoke, “no drink for me?”

minho popped his can open and took a drink, “nah, i like y/n. i don’t like you.”

chan laughed at the playful banter, making his way to the fridge and pulling out his own drink before heading to felix’s living room where the rest of the boys were.

they were sat in a circle on felix’s floor. you chuckled at them, “what game is it this time? truth or dare? never have i e-“

hyunjin cut you off, “spin the bottle.”

confusion washed over your face and you opened your mouth to protest, but hyunjin barked out a laugh.

“joking y/n, you don’t have to kiss any of us.” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “unless?”

you tried to look frustrated at his teasing, but you couldn’t help but laugh. to be honest, you liked that the boys were all comfortable enough to talk to you like this. it meant they saw you as part of the team and enjoyed having you around.

hyunjin scooted closer to changbin, who was beside him, and patted the ground for you to sit. you took his invitation, plopping down next to him. minho sat on your other side, and chan found his way across the circle next to felix.

hyunjin nudged you, “it’s truth or dare, by the way.”

you nodded. it was a common game at swim parties. it was easy and it was a good chance to tease everyone, so obviously the boys enjoyed it. they never made you do anything that could make you uncomfortable, either. they never even suggested it.

“okay,” felix began, “i’ll start. minho, truth or dare?”

“dare.”

“take your shirt off.”

minho rolled his eyes, “man, that’s so boring. everyone always ends up shirtless when we play this, except for y/n. give me a dare that you’d give to anyone, regardless of who it is.”

now, it wasn’t that you wanted minho to take his shirt off, but something about him implying that you’d back out of a dare upset you.

“who says i wouldn’t do that dare?”

everyone’s eyes snapped to you. a smirk formed on minho’s lips.

“yeah?” he pulled his shirt over his head, setting it behind him. “y/n, truth or dare.”

refusing to back down, you kept your eyes locked to his, “dare.”

“take your shirt off.”

as you reached for the bottom of your shirt to take it off, chan spoke up.

“come on dude, we agreed nothing that could make her uncomfortable.”

your head snapped to chan.

“you guys agreed on what you are and aren’t allowed to dare me?”

he nodded. you should have been heart warmed that they cared enough about you to lay down rules with each other, but again, you didn’t like the idea that they thought you’d back out of dares that the rest of the team would do without a second thought.

“no, chan.” you began, eyes meeting minho’s again, “it’s fine. you’ve all seen me in a swimsuit before, this is no different. plus, i don’t want you guys to hold back just because it’s me. i’m part of the team too.”

minho raised an eyebrow at you, “you sure, y/n?”

you nodded at him, hands gripping the bottom of your t-shirt as you lifted it over your head. you tossed it next to minho’s and turned back to the group. the boys cheered, “damn, y/n, okay.” felix laughed.

despite your previous statement about it being no different than a swimsuit, you felt more exposed than when you were swimming with the boys. maybe it was because you were in a light blue lace bra that was manufactured primarily to look cute while being taken off, but you weren’t going to back out now.

as the game progressed, your anxiety went away and you didn’t feel uncomfortable at all, especially when none of the boys treated it like it was weird, at least not that you noticed. of course they made comments and flirted, but that was nothing different from usual.

you swallowed the last of your soda, leaning close to minho and telling him you were going to get up and grab another, asking if he wanted another as well.

you stood to leave to the kitchen, and jisung stopped you.

“where to, princess?”

you turned your empty can upside down with a pout, “my soda’s gone.”

jisung nodded, “get me one, too.”

a chorus of “me too” sounded through the room

you nodded back, about to leave again when chan jumped up, “i’ll help.”

you smiled at him and walked into the kitchen, grabbing cans out of the fridge and handing them to chan one by one, counting them as doing so to make sure you got the right number.

“you’re kinda badass,” chan chuckled as you handed him another can, “you know that?”

you laughed, “not really. i’m just playing how the rest of you are.”

taking half of the cans from his hands, you made your way back to the room with the rest of the boys.

“dude, just do it, you know they both want to.”

“i’m not gonna dare them to- oh, y/n, chan! you’re back!”

you frowned, handing a can to jisung, who had cut off his own sentence.

“dare who to do what?” you questioned. as the boys were focused on answering your question, you reached one of the closed cans to minho’s neck and touched it to his skin, causing him to yelp and jump away from you, bumping into jeongin, who immediately shoved the older boy off of him with a huff.

“jesus christ, y/n, that’s cold!” the circle laughed, and you forgot about your earlier question, continuing the game.

“okay, truth or dare, hyunjin?” said seungmin.

“truth.”

“who’s cuter, kkami or y/n?”

you laughed as hyunjin pretended to be deep in thought, “don’t tell kkami, but no one beats y/n.”

the group laughed, and you leaned into hyunjin, giving him a quick hug.

“i’m honored that you think i’m cuter than your dog, hyunjin.”

he laughed, hugging you back.

“minho, same question, y/n or your cats?”

disregarding that he never said truth, a small smirk played on minho’s lips.

“do i get a hug if i say you, too?”

you rolled your eyes and pretended to be annoyed, “i guess so.”

“in that case... i still have to say my cats.”

you moved your hand to hit him, but he caught your wrist, moving his other hand to grab your other hand to stop you from hitting him with that one, too. you laughed at him, moving to free your wrists from his grip, but he held on tight. with one tough pull, you fell backwards towards hyunjin, who moved so you wouldn’t fall on him, your back colliding with the floor instead. minho fell with you, landing above you but putting his weight on his elbows to keep himself from crushing you.

you laughed as you tried to wrestle your hands from his grip, and he laughed along with you, easily keeping you pinned down. after a few seconds of laughing and complaining, you stopped struggling and huffed, staring up at minho.

“that’s my good girl.” he released your wrists and climbed off of you, sitting back in his spot.

you blushed at his words and glared at him, but made no attempt to hit him again, figuring that wouldn’t work out for you. instead, you reached out and grabbed his soda, taking a drink from it.

“hey!” he yelled, laughing. he went to grab it from you, but you pulled it back too quickly, spilling some onto yourself.

“fuck.” you set his soda down, looking at your now soda covered bra.

“i don’t see a problem,” began minho, “just take it off.”

you chuckled at him/\. typical a minho response.

“in your dreams.”

he reached behind himself and handed you his discarded shirt to dry yourself with. it worked slightly, but not enough to get everything out and make it comfortable to wear again.

“yeah, this isn’t gonna work.”

“want me to take you home?” minho offered. for once, he wasn’t joking or flirting. you guessed that he actually felt bad for you spilling the cola on yourself, even though it really wasn’t his fault.

“yeah, if you don’t mind.”

minho handed you your tshirt and moved to stand up, but a voice interrupted him.

“actually, i was gonna head out too. i can take y/n home.”

minho laughed, “dude, i drove you here.”

chan shrugged, “i’ll take felix’s car.”

felix groaned, “chan, you can’t just take my car whenever.”

chan leaned over to a coffee table beside felix and grabbed his keys off of it.

“yeah, i can.”

“really chan, it’s okay, i can take her home.”

chan’s eyes snapped to minho, and you’d never seen his eyes like that. he looked angry.

“why are you so hell bent on taking her home, minho? i said i got it.”

minho wasn’t one to be spoken to with attitude. he let out a dry laugh, “what the fuck is your problem, chris?”

chan began heading for the door, motioning for you to follow him.

“you can’t really expect me to trust you alone with her this late at night, can you?”

minho laughed again, “seriously, chris? are you fucking joking? it’s y/n.”

chan took a step from the door and towards minho, “wouldn’t put it past you.”

minho took a step towards chan but you stepped in his way, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

“don’t fight, please.” you muttered into his side, loud enough for him and chan to hear.

“i appreciate you for offering min, but chan can drive me.”

damn you and your ability to calm him down with a simple hug. minho sighed and wrapped his arms around you. he held you close to him before prying your arms off of him and grabbing his shirt from your hands and keys from his pocket and walking out the door. 

“fine.”

it was clear from the fact that he didn’t mean for you to follow him.

chan watched him leave, eyes not leaving him until he was out of the room and he could no longer see him. chan waited until he heard minho’s car start up and drive away before speaking again.

“let’s go.”

you slipped your shirt over your shoulders and headed towards chan, looking over your shoulder and muttering a soft “bye” to the rest of the boys, who were still sitting silently, processing what had just happened. chan headed to the door without saying goodbye.

he opened the passenger seat door of felix’s car for you, waiting until you were in to shut it behind you before climbing into the drivers seat and starting the ignition. you watched him place his hand on the gear shift and noticed he was still tense.

“chan, what was that?”

he switched the car into reverse and checked behind him before backing out.

“what was what?”

“that entire thing. there was no reason to yell at minho like that.”

he shifted the car into drive and headed the way towards your house. 

“he started it.”

you were trying to be calm with chan. he never acted like this and you’d never seen him get so close to physically fighting one of his teammates, but he was being short with you and it was beginning to piss you off.

“he didn’t start anything. he was just trying to take me home.”

“and then do god knows what.”

“and drop me off and then leave like he always does!”

he scoffed, “yeah, you two seem awfully close for him to always only drop you off and leave.”

“chan, he’s my friend. are you seriously implying that we have something more going on?”

“i don’t know,” he began as he pulled into your driveway, “maybe.” he put the car in park, “seems a lot fucking like it.”

you scoffed, “oh my god, what the fuck does it even matter? you don’t own either of us-“

“it matters because he knows damn well it pisses me off and he begs to be in your pants constantly anyway!”

“all of the boys act like that! does that mean i’m fucking every one of your teammates?”

within seconds of that coming out of your mouth, chan had unbuckled his seatbelt and had his face inches from you and one hand on your thigh, the other gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“w-what?”

“fucking my teammates. you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

you stared at him, anger fading and being replaced with embarrassment and arousal.

“come on, y/n. you can’t tell me you’ve never thought of it, not when you were so eager to strip in front of all of us just a few hours ago. tell me,” he leaned in close to your ear and you could feel his breath on your neck, “who do you think about the most often?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and he chuckled.

“is it minho? hyunjin or jisung?”

“no”

“no? then tell me who, angel.”

your eyes connected with his. you were nothing if not honest.

“you.”

that’s all he needed to connect his lips to yours. his hand moved from your chin to tangle in your hair, and your own hands found their was to his arms, holding onto him like he was your lifeline.

he wasted no time licking your bottom lip and asking for entrance, to which you didn’t fight. his tongue molded with yours and you subconsciously rubbed your legs together, body craving friction. you didn’t realize you had done it, but chan did. he smirked against your lips, “your parents home?”

“no, couples vacation.”

“good.”

he separated himself from you and exited the car, you hurrying to do the same. he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your torso, kissing up your neck as you dug through your bag to find your house key.

when you finally unlocked the door, the two of you stumbled into your house, and immediately he pressed you against the nearest wall and shoved his tongue back into your mouth. you moaned into the kiss and he smiled against your lips.

his hands fisted the bottom of your shirt, a silent way of asking if it was okay to take it off, and you replied by putting your arms up to make it easier to slip off your shoulders.

his hands moved from your waste to your thighs and he ordered you to jump, and you complied. he separated his lips from yours.

“where’s your room?”

“through the living room and down the hallway.”

he nodded, following your directions, knowing the general layout of your house from having been in it before.

he kicked your bedroom door shut behind him and gently sat you down on your bed, a contrast from how rough he’d been previously. he detached his lips from yours and moved them to your neck, wasting no time in sucking a hickey onto the soft skin. he continued kissing his way down your body, stopping when he reached your waste line.

he looked up at you, “is this okay?”

you nodded, “please, chan.”

he pulled your pants and underwear down your legs in one motion. you whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your soaked heat.

“so wet, babygirl.”

he wasted no time connecting his lips to your core, tongue working through your folds and around your sensitive clit.

you twisted your fingers in his hair and moaned loudly at the way his tongue and mouth was making you feel. he hummed against your heat, causing you to arch your back and rut your core into his face.

he pulled away, “you’re so vocal and sensitive, baby. how long’s it been since anyone’s touched you?”

a while”

his lips found their way back to your lips, and you moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips.

“days, weeks, months?”

“weeks.”

“who was it?”

“what?”

“who was it, the last guy you fucked?”

“does it matter?”

he growled against your lips, “it matters, y/n, because if it was minho, hell, if it was anyone on the team, i’m going to paint you so pretty, so full of my marks that he won’t even think of touching you again.”

you moaned at his words.

“what? like that idea? want me to paint you so full of my marks that everyone knows you’re mine? want everyone to see the marks and know you’re getting fucked real good?”

“fuck, chan, please.”

he separated himself from you long enough to take his shirt off before connecting his lips back to yours and moving a hand down to undo his pants.

“give me a name, baby.”

“fuck, i don’t know his name. some guy from the opposite team from the meet a few weeks ago.”

you heard his belt hit the floor.

“you’re such a slut, you know that? first, you’re all over my team and then i learn you don’t even bother to get a name before letting someone use you?”

his hand reached behind your back and unclipped your bra, finally tossing the dirty material off of your body, leaving you completely bare. you felt him line his tip up with your entrance.

“i don’t have a condom, is this okay?” he muttered against your lips, “we can stop if you want.”

instead of replying, you wrapped your legs around his torso and pulled him closer to you, causing his tip to begin to stretch you.

“you’re so eager, been wanting me for that long?”

“yes, chan, please just fuck me already.”

he connected your lips again as he began to sink into you. you moaned at the stretch, it was a foreign feeling after not having been with anyone for a few weeks, but it felt so good. chan gave you time to adjust before he began to slowly slide in and out of you.

you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you and trying not to hurt you. it warmed your heart, but you wanted more.

“faster, please.”

he picked up the pace, and it didn’t take him long to find a sweet spot. you moaned his name loudly when he hit your sweet spot.

“oh my god- chan, right there.”

he groaned at the way you said his name. he loved knowing you were making those pretty sounds because of him.

it didn’t take long before you were close to finishing. chan brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh figure eights as his cock pumped roughly in and out of you, abusing your g-spot with every thrust.

you clenched around him, nails digging into his shoulders as you came. he rode out your high before pulling out and cumming across your lower stomach.

he dropped himself on top of you, holding himself up with his shoulder so his full weight wasn’t on you. when he finally caught his breath, he stood and walked to your bathroom, grabbing a clean towel and bringing it to clean you up with.

he placed a soft kiss to your lips, “how are you feeling, baby?”

you smiled into the kiss, “couldn’t be better.”

“i’m glad.” he moved to lay beside you, pulling the blanket to cover both of your bodies and pulling you close to him. “i’m sorry i got so angry. i just hated seeing him all over you like that and not knowing what it meant.”

you chuckled again.

“it’s okay channie. to be honest, it was kinda hot.”

his laugh was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #skz scenarios #skz blurbs #skz imagines #stry kids imagines #stray kids blurbs #stray kids scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan blurbs #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #bang chan angst

[demwhore]

Ares | L.JN

pairing┃lee jeno x female reader genre | stalker fic, thriller, horror, angst warnings | this is a problematic fic! please read at your own risk! there is no way jeno is like this in real life, this fic is purely fictional and shouldn’t be romanticized in any way, please report any activities of stalking!! mature scenes, profanities, murder, graphic violence, manipulation, coercion, borderline obsession !! Please, Jeno is not like this in real life, this is just a work of fiction !! word count | 2,431k synopsis | He’s not beautiful like how people see him. He’s wicked.  a/n | this is actually my very first planned fic and @neo-cult-ure​ knows about this haha love you!! and my love, @jungcity, for fixing my crap grammar xD taglist | @milkinqjungs, @nanasarea, @lovestrucked-again, @neoyoungho, @bumblebeenct, @haechaaaaaaanssi, @bedraggledsijeuni, @nakamotonikkoru muse | killing me softy, the manhwa :: killing stalking, a picture of jeno glaring :: every breath you take ( listen for maximum experience )

Truly an ace of all fools.

Ares, the god of war. As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals.

Name it, Jeno knows every possible if not, unique ways to kill. He prefers the crowbar as it’s efficient and easy enough to send a person to their graves. For his very own pleasure. It fuels him especially when he sees those eyes that were once full of life drown down to darkness of death.

Lee Jeno, is known as one of the notorious lads at school. He never fails to leave an astonished look to every person he has passed by at school. People are stunned whenever he walks down the hallway with his school shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. His overall appearance is unruly with the noticeable scars that lingered on his face like leeches. His disheveled jet black hair. Eyes that bore nothing but darkness. Chains dangling from each of his ears. His aura that is explainable and unassailable that could even strike the thunderbolt of the great god Zeus.

Jeno is handsome. He looks like bad news. Wild.

He wielded an enormous influence among girls. Some swoon at the mere sight of him; others even resorted to some chase yet ended up a crying mess. Boys even fall for his charms, but one sharp glance is enough to wave them off like flies.

However, you on the other hand are not fazed by him nor his silhouette. Which made him to be drained by a pure soul like you.

Lee Jeno is so private and closed like an abandoned establishment and that could be the sole reason why people want to pry into his life. He had everyone controlled on the palm of his hand but he can’t seem to play with you like he initially plans to.

Lee Jeno has the patience of a boar. He shows signs of violence that it’s alarming. But people seem to be in love at his bad boy facade, no one dares to report him.

He is a living contradiction. Lee Jeno is a ride, a deadly one.

He comes to school with his boisterous friends that look exactly like how he presents himself. You can always hear their uproarious banters about their lives, endless wolf-whistling. They are the group of boys you wouldn’t want to mess with. Especially the mysterious Lee Jeno.

You made a promise to get the shit out of the tracks that had traces of the boisterous boy that is Lee Jeno.

Not just the boys that have brought out the never ending fiasco circulating around your highschool. There have been a high number of mysterious disappearances of students that you may have never heard of or slightly familiar to you that you cannot recall. Their skulls are cracked open with a brute force or a bullet to the head. Some are strangled, some are mutilated, and what makes it terrifying is that most of the victims are leading down to you.

You can still remember how Kang Hana spent her afternoon with you in the library for a philosophy project. You admit it yourself that Hana isn’t the preferable company. She’s too nosy, noisy and quite violent towards you as she keeps on hitting you on the arm whenever you spill something stupid. Nevertheless, you held no grudge towards the girl. And you were really stunned at the news of her sudden death.

Oh, you didn’t know someone was watching from the windows of the library outside. Irritability bubbles inside his body like a brook. He allows no one to go near you, let alone to hit you like a ragged doll. He always had a thing for you, he didn’t know when it started but by the way you looked at him like you are almost something to be disregarded. He is drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

It is always in Jeno’s system. His mind is a bully, gushing him to do things that would make him thrilled, something that could awaken his fantasies.

He wants to kill. And he did.

He stood in all his glory, wearing his uninterested look while scrutinizing the other students walking along the hall. There at the lockers he spots Kang Hana awkwardly fumbling with the entangled bag straps.

His dark eyes bore into Hana’s figure. Eyeing her from head to toe. At this moment he is thinking of what he can possibly do with those limbs. Break it? Smash it? Mutilate it like how they do in the slaughterhouse? Jeno approaches her figure, his switchblade ready in his windbreaker’s pockets.

He breaths, trying to muster his oh-so-charming smile. “Hey.”

Hana raises up her gaze and she is surprised, that the notorious Lee Jeno is approaching her. Only if she knew his real intentions. “Oh my god. Hey.”

Jeno is charming. Quite egocentric. It doesn’t take him long to persuade someone to sleep with him or to go out on a date with him. If there is something you should be afraid about Jeno, it is his ability to deceive people without them knowing his real motives. He has a calm demeanor but sometimes his arrogance fuels him to be so wild-driven.

He leads Hana to the abandoned establishment at the rundown part of the town. He made sure to give her a signal to meet him outside where no witnesses could see them. It’s always a step when considering crime, get rid of witnesses.

At this moment, Hana starts to get excited because she has foreseen what could happen. For her it’s sex. For him, it’s blood. Jeno draws his switchblade near her carotid artery. She widens her eyes but laughter resonates in the eerie place.

She purrs. “I am a kinky person but I can try knife play.”

Jeno doesn’t play. He draws the knife deeper to her neck until she realizes he is not joking at all. Kang Hana’s heart made a beeline for her throat and tried to make a flee for her life but Jeno had his strong hand gripping her hair.

She struggles but after every move she dares, the knife further penetrates her neck. Beads of sweat are dropping down to her cheeks. A hot sticky liquid from where the knife is trickling down her neck, dampening her collarbones down to her bra. She cries loud. “What do you want?!”

Jeno smirks. He misses the familiar scent of blood flooding in his nostrils. “Your life.”

Her eyes widened in pure horror as the charming prince transformed quickly as a ruthless psychopath in just the blink of her eye. Hana tries to fight against his hold once again but Jeno wants to finish off and not to take care of a wailing woman.

He repeatedly lash out the knife through her neck. The impact of his pounds set out her blood gushing out, splashing his pale cheeks. His right hand is dripping with her hot blood. Jeno’s chest rises as his breathing became ragged but overall he felt so alive and content. He stares at Hana’s figure sprawled on the floor bathing with the pool of her own blood. Jeno felt so driven with just crimson clouding his vision. He runs his tongue on the rows of his pearly teeth, a sinister smile tugging the corners of his lips. He did it for you.

The following days have been hell for you. No, you weren’t killed but you faced a frightening number of police interrogations for the victims were always drawing down to you. Like Hana, you were the last person she was with before her neck was slashed out like a cow in the slaughterhouse. The pulse of a blue and red strobe from the police mace being parked in the circular driveway. You stare at the officer's badge, his holstered Glock. The night air settles the eerie night, still, gauzy full of humidity.

The interview lasts about a good hour but you are deemed innocent as Hana’s whereabouts where the crime took place didn’t match your activity. Her clothes are missing on the spot but the investigators found it drenched in this liquid they believed was an oxygen producing detergent. Since the laboratory personnel couldn’t get any fingerprints from her body, it has been declared useless for the crime.

It has been weeks since you find yourself able to breathe again but it didn’t last long when you were bombarded with unknown and creepy messages that you couldn’t withstand at all.

I know you. From everything you do, I know it all.

You belong to me, your full name.

I find it romantic to see how excited you look whenever I send these messages. Shall I start sending my pictures as well? Or the throne I made for you?

From morning you go to your mother’s flower shop to gather primrose to deliver to your grandfather that lives in the twenty second street downtown.

Your favorite thing to do is to draw, my sweet. I am right, am I? I’m always right.

I saw you talk to that small loser from class D. Now don’t ever talk to him again or you will see his head delivered right at your doorstep. I love you and I’m being the nice guy here.

Do you perhaps like the idea of your friend's limbs personally delivered to you? Your pick.

I am always watching you, your name.

Oh, you had a museum date with your friends? Don’t go, I am at your grandmother’s restaurant, she serves the ultimate broth soup. Too bad I can stop her from serving these delicacies.

I know deep down, you love me too. Don’t you ever try to date behind my back without telling me. I did kill for you.

Your parents aren’t home. Do you want me to visit?

So much love for you. Your long secret admirer :)

I love you. I will kill for you.

He isn’t joking. He knows everything about you. All the meticulous details no one knows but your family. Whenever you receive a message from him, your heart would pound against your rib cage. It terrifies you to the core that he exactly knows the precise details of your whereabouts.

You immediately reported this matter to the police, to your parents but it didn’t settle the problem. The number isn’t traceable. They keep on insisting that the number used is from an unregistered sim. You fear for your life, your personal space, everything.

You weren’t just experiencing the never ending terror of your stalker’s messages. But some of your things are now starting to disappear, from your bracelets, your baby pictures now, now, your white lacy underwear.

You are blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that follows every movement as you exit the school grounds. He looks down on his hand, gripping his favorite underwear of you. He had a picture when you wore the garment, and it was his favorite among all.

He makes his way to his heavily tinted car, a smile never leaving Jeno's face as he clutches the garment tightly on his hands. His soulless eyes stared back at him the moment he stared at the rear view mirror. And drives to the nearest convenience store.

He keeps on fantasizing about you. The way your name rolls out of his tongue while jerking out never fails to send himself to ecstasy. He can’t wait to meet you, but one thing he is sure of, he will be watching you tonight.

Jeno is always a step ahead of his plans. He is meticulous and calculative. His plans never backfire for he knew what methods to use. For the days he has been killing he already knows how to get rid of evidence that could lead to him. The boy’s got a sharp tongue as well, a serpent’s, he uses lies to cover up the real Lee Jeno that hides behind the charming facade he puts front.

He wore black. Black that is a mystery. Eerie. He wears a black bucket hat that covers his beautiful features that compliments his youth. Despite the dusk ebbing its way, his moles are always as alive as the constellation. He secures his mask tighter on both ears, as appealing as it sounds, he cannot show his face to you, just not yet. He had a thing to do, he had something to accomplish.

“Just in time” he breathed into the shadows. His eyes follow your figure marching down the dim lit streets. A smirk paints his lips as you still try to swat everything and thinking to yourself everything is still normal. But no, not until he is dead. He could have easily needle out your background from Jaemin but you were his and it gives him satisfaction whenever he discovers something about you. Things that aren’t open for others but just for him.

He immediately hid behind a large tree, once you entered your home. He makes sure to secure a great and measurable distance from him to you, not so far yet so near. He clenches his fist, the idea of watching you undress from your windows sends him a big wave of pleasure.

He begins to scramble up trying to get a hold of the strongest branch his forearm could manage. Some twigs tried to interrupt him midway but nothing can stop a hungry predator from lurking on his prey. He finds the perfect spot just parallel to your window.

“Fuck” he hiss as he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. “What it is now Lee fucking Donghyuck?”

“Lover boy, I forgot to place your camera in your bag, bye.”

The camera is not his top most concern. He has his phone that is full of you.

You were humming quietly. He follows your hands, removing your school blouse that left the boy’s mouth agape. His cock immediately hardens at the sight, and he cannot risk himself to jerk while on the tree. He scrambles immediately, carelessly fishing out for his phone to take a picture of you naked.

Lee Jeno is always not satisfied with the bare minimum. He records you, doing your private thing in your room. He is biting hard on his lips, his erection sticking out painfully against his pants. He has to endure much longer till you have finished your routine applying lotion to your shiny long legs. Those legs that he can’t wait to touch.

Jeno left the place shortly. He’s astounded. You drive him wild and wild he is. You fuel the monster more.

#lee jeno #jeno scenarios #yandere kpop #nct fanfictions #yandere!jeno #nct angst #nct horror #nct fanfiction #nct yandere #yandere!nct #nct dream #nct dream angst #nct dream horror #nct dream smut #nct dream yandere

[avtrkyoshis]

You Burn First (zuko x f!reader) pt. 4

hii guys we really enjoyed writing this chapter there will be another ember island chapter so stay tuned for that :))

ao3 link 

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 //

Rays of sunlight fanned out behind her. If Y/n thought the capital city was boiling, Ember Island was even worse. The midday sun made her itch her to rip off her heavy combat robes.

“So you’ve packed the entire palace armoury. But you forgot a swimsuit?” Ty Lee said brushing her hand against Y/n’s long sleeve.

“This isn’t exactly supposed to be a vacation for me,” she responded, looking at the bag she held packed to the brim with stuff. Y/n knew she had a habit of being overly prepared. Suki and the others always joked that maybe she was a little bit too paranoid. But after everything that’s happened in her life, she couldn’t help it. If there was anything she could do to keep those around her safe, she would do it. Even if it meant looking crazy.

Her beach bag, also known as the Fire Lord Zuko emergency kit, swayed on her arm. It was filled with anything you could possibly think of. Y/n grew more concerned for the Fire Lord every day. It was her job after all. And nothing more than that. She was simply a bodyguard who cared about the person she protected. Maybe she stayed up countless nights worrying about him too. Wasn’t that normal? She thought to herself.

“Ok, so the pink swimsuit or the white one?” Ty Lee said holding up the swimsuits to her face. Y/n hadn’t taken the time to notice Ty Lee digging through her countless swimsuits on the bedroom floor of the house they were staying in. Ty Lee always had the most impeccable fashion taste. Y/n pointed at the pink swimsuit with little frills on the ends. This was sort of exciting for her. She never really had the opportunity to wear something so cute on a regular basis.

Y/n quickly changed into it and it met with the others in the living room. She walked over to where Zuko stood.

“Oh. You look…different,” he said, his face started to get flushed. It was strange they had barely been outside and he was burning already.

“Thanks?” Y/n was not sure how to respond to him. She was technically on official duty. Was she allowed to accept a compliment from the Fire Lord? She wasn’t sure if that even counted as a compliment.

“Wow, Y/n you look so cute!” Suki said. The colour of Y/n’s cheeks was beginning to match her swimsuit.

“Says you! You always look really nice Suki,” Y/n said, fumbling her words and desperately hoping that Suki did not notice how awkward she was.

“You’re darn right Y/n,” Sokka wrapped his arm around Suki and grinned.

“Wait, can someone tell me why Sokka is here again?”

“There’s a very simple reason---”

While he was explaining the purpose of his trip here, a loud boat blared it’s horn in the distance blocking out anything Sokka was saying.

“And that’s why I’m on Ember Island,” Sokka said, acting like everyone had heard him talk for the last 30 seconds. Y/n simply nodded and everyone followed.

--

“What’s in the giant bag Y/n? Little apple slices and extra towels for Zuzu?” Azula said while laying down a beach towel for Ty Lee.

“Actually yes. I brought snacks, sunscreen and swords. Just in case,” Y/n stated now slightly embarrassed. Was it too much? she thought to herself.

Next to Azula sat Zuko attempting to put sunscreen on his back. Azula really was right. Maybe she was more his babysitter than a bodyguard.

“I sorta need help applying it on my back,” Zuko said.

“Sure--,” she responded. But before she could fully answer him Sokka interrupted.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier, buddy! Sokka’s got you covered.” Y/n exhaled in relief that Sokka had volunteered. Would everyone get the wrong idea by her volunteering? She was just doing her job in protecting the Fire Lord.

While Sokka sat down behind Zuko, Azula said, “Why, isn’t that a forward way of asking Y/n to rub your back.”

“Azula, stop teasing them. You promised me we would sightsee!” Ty Lee grabbed Azula and took her away. Y/n was incredibly grateful for that.

“Later losers,” she winked and with that, they were gone.

Her attention was drawn back to Zuko, who had just shouted in shock as Sokka slapped the sunscreen onto his back.

“You don’t need to slap it! You’re getting it everywhere!”

“We’re in the sand! And this way it spreads faster! I put lotion on this way, don’t worry about it,” Sokka shouted back at him, aggressively rubbing the sunscreen onto Zuko’s back.

Suki appeared next to Y/n, laughing, “Yeah, and Katara keeps telling you to stop doing it that way. You got it in her eye last time.”

“She doesn’t understand efficiency,” Sokka said, standing up. He nodded proudly at Zuko’s now protected skin, satisfied that his friend wouldn’t burn.

“Wanna check him out Y/n? Bodyguard’s seal of approval!”

Y/n blushed a little at Sokka’s phrasing. She glanced quickly at Zuko, whose face was also slightly red.

“Um, he looks fine to me,” she muttered. “If he does burn though, I’m holding you responsible.”

Sokka gasped in mock offence, “I’d never allow that! I know how sensitive our precious Fire Lord’s skin is. Plus, I know not to mess with a Kyoshi Warrior.”

Y/n smiled at his comment. She could see Suki rolling her eyes at him out of the corner of her eye, but she was smiling as well.  

Getting up from his spot on the beach, Zuko said, “Alright, are you done making fun of me? You know I can have you all banished. Who knows when I’ll snap.”

Sokka slapped his shoulder again, “I will never be done making fun of you. You owe me for all that time you spent trying to kill me!”

“That was years ago!”

“And it still hurt!”

Y/n leaned over to whisper to Suki, “Are they always like this?”

“Always,” Suki sighed. She let them bicker for a few moments longer before cutting Sokka off. “Okay! What do you both want to do on the beach? Sitting alone in the shade is off the table, so don’t even think about that.”

Zuko frowned, “That felt directed at me.”

Ignoring Zuko, Sokka flung his arms up in glee, “We should play chicken!”

“Chicken?” Y/n questioned.

“Yeah! That game where you sit on someone’s shoulders and try to push another person off of someone else’s shoulders! Trust me, it’ll be fun!” Sokka replied.

Y/n glanced at Zuko, who looked just as hesitant as she felt. He shifted nervously in the sand. Zuko being anxious about the game flipped a switch in Y/n, and she looked back to Sokka.

“Okay I'm in,” she said.

“Really?” Suki questioned. “I’m surprised you’re willingly relaxing. I thought you didn’t know how to.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at Suki, “Please, I know how to relax. Going along with Sokka just seems to be the most painless option.”

Zuko chuckled at her comment. Y/n started to smile at him, before realizing what had exactly happened. He had laughed. That was the first time she’d ever heard him do that and it had been at something she’d said. Up until this moment, he’d only ever lightly smiled at her. Y/n wasn’t sure how to feel about this development.

Oblivious to her crisis, Sokka was trying to decide the teams.

“Obviously it should be you with me, Suki! We’re a great team! Romantically and tactically!”

“I understand that! But isn’t it a little unfair for Y/n and Zuko then?”

Sokka made a face like he was thinking deeply and stroked his chin, “Fair enough, fair enough. Zuko and I do make a killer team too! Or should I pair with Y/n and challenge myself with an unknown teammate?”

Sensing the danger of Sokka trying to decide his teammate, Suki grabbed Y/n’s arm, “I’ll pair with Y/n. Kyoshi Warriors vs…”

“The Boys! No wait, The Swordsmen! Wait, Fire and Water!” Sokka shouted.

“I like the second one,” Zuko said.

“Is a team name that important?” Y/n asked.

“Just let him have this,” Suki whispered to her.

Y/n shrugged and the group walked towards the crashing waves. She’d never played this game before and was a little worried. She was also hesitant to go too deep into the water. Despite living on Kyoshi Island for most of her life, she wasn’t exactly an experienced swimmer. Before her panic could settle in, water was splashing just above her elbows.

“This seems deep enough! Alright Zuko, let’s go!” Sokka said, already starting to climb onto Zuko’s shoulders.

“Sokka, wait! Give me a warning next time!”

Y/n turned to Suki, “Would you do me the honour of climbing on my shoulders and knocking your boyfriend into the ocean?”

Suki dramatically put her hand over her heart, “I would love nothing more.”

Suki climbed onto Y/n shoulders much more gracefully than Sokka. Making sure she was balanced, Y/n got ready for the game to begin. She watched Sokka balancing himself on Zuko’s shoulders, allowing herself a smile as Zuko tried to blink out the water that kept dripping into his eyes. Their eyes suddenly connected and her smile turned into a challenging grin. Zuko smiled back at her, silently accepting her challenge.

“Alright, get ready… Go!” Sokka said.

He and Suki began pushing at each other’s shoulders. Y/n quickly realized how hard it was to keep her balance in the water and her feet slipping in the sand. She could see Zuko coming to a similar realization, his own inexperience showing. Despite that, Zuko held her challenging gaze. Y/n felt her competitiveness flare and she tightened her grip on Suki. No way was she about to lose to the Fire Lord.

Their game only lasted a few moments longer, ending with Suki landing a particularly hard shove against Sokka’s collarbone. He toppled back off of Zuko, causing water to soak the back of Zuko’s head. Suki let herself slip off of Y/n’s shoulders while laughing in victory. They exchanged a high five and Y/n looked back at the stunned Fire Lord in front of her. Caught up in her victory, she offered her hand to him.

“Good game, Fire Lord,” she smirked at him.

Zuko stared at her offered hand for a few seconds, before grasping it with his own and smirking back. His hand was warm despite the cool water and his grip firm. Before Y/n could release his hand, a wave hit her back, pushing her into Zuko. The water went up to her neck and a sharp panic shot through her. She’d forgotten her inability to swim amidst the excitement. Her panic clouded her mind and she reached out blindly in an attempt to ground herself. She only realized what was happening when she felt a warm hand on her back.

Y/n blinked, her eyes focusing. In her panic, she’d grabbed for the closest solid object. That had just so happened to be Zuko. They were standing in a poor imitation of a hug, her hands gripping his shoulders and his hands on her shoulder and back. He looked down at her, concern evident on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice quickly cleared Y/n’s mind. She pulled her hands back from him as if she had been burned. Her reaction caused Zuko to drop his hands from her as well.

Floating back and face burning, Y/n hugged herself, “I’m fine. I’m just not used to waves and swimming.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, “You can’t swim?”

“No. I’ve never needed to learn. It’s not like there’s deep water at the palace. You don’t need to worry about me not being able to save you like this.” she replied curtly.

“I didn’t mean-”

Y/n turned away, cutting him off. She knew that was incredibly rude but she couldn’t handle talking to Zuko anymore. Her face was still flushed with embarrassment and anger now. She’d never been that close to him before. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, she was his bodyguard. It was expected that she’d get that close to him. Y/n ignored the fact that it was supposed to be to save his life, not to hug him out of fear.

“Suki!” she shouted. Suki’s head popped out from underwater, followed by Sokka’s. “I’m going back to the beach. You keep swimming.”

Suki looked mildly concerned but gave her a thumbs up. Y/n began trudging through the water towards the beach, but Zuko caught her by the elbow. She whipped her head around, anger in her eyes.

“Wait,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Yes, I do.” he paused, thinking. “I want to keep you company after that. You seem pretty shaken up.”

She frowned at him. He gave her a shaky smile.

“Besides, you’re supposed to be protecting me, right? It’d be irresponsible to leave me alone out here.”

“You’re with the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors and a close friend of the Avatar. Not to mention you’re literally the Fire Lord,” Y/n deadpanned.

“You think that you’re not capable of protecting me then?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him. She recognized his challenge as an attempt to apologize without embarrassing her further. She sighed.

“Fine, come sit with me. I’ve heard how much you like to sit in the shade and brood.”

“That was one trip!”

Together, they walked back towards the beach.

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 //

taglist

@duh-dobrik @inthebisonsmouth @thaliawhitex @brbtryagainlater @paenitetmi @firelordtea @awkwardnesshabitat @eridanuswave @inmyowncorner @aangsupremacy @eridanuswave @royahllty @dancerslovelife @lammello @biblemami @coruscant-n

#you burn first #zuko x reader #zuko #atla #fire lord zuko #zuko x you #Zuko imagine #atla x reader #atla x you #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko x reader #zuko fanfic #atla zuko #zuko reader insert #Zuko x y/n #avatar x reader

[fruityutas]

the devil wears prada

mafia!lee taeyong x female!reader

lowercase intended, not proofread

!this story is a work of fiction and the characters used in it are in NO WAY like this in real life!

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this as i’ve decided to make one

genre: thriller, fluff if you squint hard enough, ANGST

p.2/?

p.1 here

summary: lee taeyong is a cold-blooded mafia leader, not meant to give or receive love. what happens when an innocent bystander turns out to be the most beautiful woman he’s laid eyes on? 

✰ warnings: cursing, blood, murder, descriptions of wounds (man does taking nursing classes help with that lmao), violence, toxic relationship, suggestive scenes 

—————————————————————

 “i'm afraid i can’t let you go, sweetheart.”

 “ah, i see you’ve finally finished. please take this brat, i’m getting quite tired of looking after her.” the new man laughed at your captor.

 “you take the front seat, Jae. i want to sit with our little friend.” The man that was watching you climbs into the front seat of the van while the new man gets in the back with you. he looks at you for a while before sighing. you try not to make eye contact with him, fearing that if you do he might get angry.

 “why did you walk through such a rough part of town so late? i mean, it was like you’re asking to be taken by someone. luckily for you though, i’m not a creepy old man, just a, how do i put it lightly? i’m not a good person for sure, but i don’t kill random people so you’re in the clear on that.” you stay silent and still avoid his eyes. he sighs and scoots a little closer to you. “what’s with the silence, little lamb?” you grimaced at the nickname he gave you. his hand gripped your chin firmly and he brought you to look into his eyes. “answer me.”

 “i was studying late and took that route home because all the busses were done running.” he sighs and lets go of your head.

 “well, you’re stuck with us until we decide what to do with you.” you let out a shaky breath and scooted away from him, burying your head in your knees. you don’t see it, but the man named taeyong looks at you with pain in his eyes, knowing that you won’t ever be allowed back to your family or home.

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

the van’s doors open and you look up and squint at the bright lights of what appears to be a garage, although much bigger than any you’d ever seen. 

  “get up, you need to get inside so we can all assess what the hell to do with you.” you slowly climb out of the van, and taeyong grips your arms to help you.

 “So what is this place exactly?” you ask as you walk with him and the other two original men.

 “this is our meeting house. you were probably told who we are by the target that you were initially thrown in with, am i right?” you nod but then shake your head.

 “well, he kind of told me. all i know is that you guys are called nct.”

 “ah, well he was right about that. i hate i have to introduce myself in this fashion, but i’m this mafia’s leader. my name is taeyong.” you suck in a breath and nod.

 “i suppose that means i can’t leave you guys’ sight huh?” taeyong gives you a tight-lipped smile while holding open a door for you. it led to a beautiful kitchen that held two younger men.

 “those two are chenle and jisung. they’re the youngest in here, but don’t worry, they’ve never been on actual missions yet. they might be around your age?” they truly looked like kids, barely out of highschool.

 “i guess, i’m 20 so probably not though.” taeyong chuckled. 

 “well you can babysit them sometime, seeing as they are 18.” they both turned to the two of you and looked confused before shrugging and smiling.

 “hello, i’m chenle. taeyong, who is this?” this one was slightly shorter than who you assumed to be jisung, and spoke with a loud demeanor, while the latter stayed quiet, staring at the floor rather than looking up to the rest of you.

 “this is a special guest, she’s going to be here for a while, so treat her with respect.” taeyong eyes the two boys with a playful glint in his eyes. 

 “you can call me y/n.” chenle nodded and glanced at taeyong, his lips forming into a smirk at the sight unbeknownst to you. taeyong was looking at you with a warm smile on his lips, one that hadn’t come out from hiding even when johnny was around.

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

taeyong had never seen such a beautiful woman before. the pure fear that radiated off of you when he first saw you made taeyong want to take you in so only he could have you. it wasn’t a caring type of want, but a controlling want. taeyong loved to be in control, and you were never exposed to anything like this before, so he knew he could comfort you and form you to be perfect for him. when you clutched onto him in the garage, you only sealed your fate stronger, you weren’t going to slip away so easily now that taeyong wanted you to stay.

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

 “ah, y/n, can you please help us cook this?” chenle asked with a cute smile. he and jisung had gotten really close with you in the three days you’ve been in the house. they would always ask you to play games or help them make something to eat. you treated them like your little brothers, always being persuaded by their cute pouts.

 “of course, what do you need me to do?” you poked your head into the kitchen and smiled. chenle and jisung were both hovering over a bowl of what appeared to be cake batter. “now what in the world are you two doing?” you chuckled at the sight of the two boys struggling to make a cake. they giggled and moved aside so you could take over.

 “ah, taeyong, look! y/n is so nice she helps us cook!” you turn halfway looking at taeyong who had entered the room silently, but smiling. he comes over to you and presses against your back slightly while putting a hand on your waist. you blush as he puts his head on your shoulder, giggling in the process.

 “you should tell them to cook it themselves so i can take you somewhere else, huh?” taeyong’s sultry voice hit your ears and you almost dropped the whisk when he started to kiss your neck lightly. he chuckled before pulling away, only enough to turn to the others in the room. “hey, you two. i know for a fact that you can cook this together, so why don’t you? i’m taking our lovely y/n for a little while to show her something.” the two boys nodded and giggled mischievously before taking the bowl and stirring the contents perfectly fine. taeyong, without taking his hand off your waist, guided you out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. you had never been allowed up there before today, as your bedroom was conveniently located on the main floor of the house, along with chenle, jisung, jeno, jaemin, and renjun’s rooms. they liked to call themselves the ‘dreamies’ but you always shook you head and laughed when they said that. taeyong had told you from the first day not to go up there, because you hadn’t been introduced to the others yet, and they took anyone they didn’t know as a threat. they of course knew of you, but you weren’t exactly well-accepted within them. jaehyun had already established this form the first time you met him, and mark always avoided eye contact when speaking with you.

 “wouldn’t you like to know why i’m taking you up here?” taeyong’s teasing voice was like a melody in your ears, a song you could listen to forever. you shrugged and held onto his arm the closer you go to the top of the stairs. 

 “i’m sure it’s for a good reason, you told me to never come up here.” he turned and smiled at you.

 “i actually do have something to show you, but you have to promise to keep quiet when i show you, ok?” you look at him with curiosity written all over your face.

 “uh, ok. i won’t be loud or anything.” your mind races with thoughts of what it could be. was he finally going to dispose of you? what if he locks you up somewhere? or what if he killed your family and was about to show you their bodies? you pushed those thoughts out as far as you could, he had been very nice to you and that display of intimacy in the kitchen wasn’t imagined, so why would he hurt you? well, for starters he was a mafia leader. ‘right’ you thought. ‘a deadly and cold-hearted one at that’ you shook your head and looked at his profile while he walked you to the destination. you couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous, his strong jawline and pointed nose. the scar beside his large eyes stood out to you the most, where did he get it from?

 “i’m assuming you are worried about what i’m about to show you, but it’s not bad, don’t worry.” his voice interrupted your thoughts as you both stopped outside a large door. he opens it and moves to let you in first. you walk in cautiously but relax once you realize that it’s a bedroom, that you assume to be taeyong’s. it’s decorated with very minimalistic items. greys and whites are the main colors, but here and there are little splashes of color. taeyong picks you up and places you on his plush bed before sitting next to you, guiding your face closer to his with his hand. your face is surely red with the closeness of the man in front of you, his beauty captivating. “what i want to show you is something you have to agree on, ok princess?” you nod your head fervently. he smiles and tells you to close your eyes before gently kissing your lips. you don’t hesitate to kiss back, caught up in the feeling of his skin on yours, a fire burning deep in you. when taeyong breaks the kiss you whine at the loss of feeling. you take his face and pull him in for another kiss, and he smiles into it. the only noises in the room being the smack of lips on lips. taeyong takes the lead after a few moments, pushing you gently down on your back while he crawls over you. his hands make their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging up to take it off. you comply by lifting your torso, only breaking the kiss for a second. you do the same to his shirt, and soon all your clothes were off and strewn across the room. “i’m going to pound you into this bed until you’re screaming my name, princess, until everyone in this house knows it’s me making you feel good”

#lee taeyong #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct taeyong #nct taeyong x reader #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong #mafia nct #mafia taeyong

[bebepac]

Fireworks

I am participating in @wackydrabbles prompt # 48 “Maybe it was confusing, but it’s wasn’t like anyone really cared, will appear in bold. 

This is chapter 3 of Pop’s Place.  To see what you’ve been missing so far, Please click here: Pop's Place Masterlist

Summary:  Mia and Daniel take a day trip to Wrightsville Beach to hang out on Hana’s boat with Maxwell, Leo, Liam, Penelope, Drake and Olivia. 

Warnings:  Profanity,  underage drinking, Olivia being an ass.  Mia pulls out some ginger jokes for Olivia. 

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Word Count: 1286

Song inspiration for this chapter  In This Diary by The Ataris

https://youtu.be/0SbxNQYblY0

I don’t own rights to the music.

Tagging: @queenjilian @burnsoslow @loveellamae @bbrandy2002 @dcbbw​@nomadics-stuff @kimmiedoo5 @cordonianroyalty @cordonia-gothqueen @lodberg @glaimtruelovealways @custaroonie @texaskitten30 @janezillow @atha68 @my0123456789universe @indiacater @losingbraincellseveryday @furiousherringoperatortoad @marietrinmimi  @xpandabeardontcarex @thanialis @hopefulmoonobject @sevenfuckslefttogive @ac27dj @queen-arabella-of-cordonia  @yukinagato2012 @mrsdrakewalkerblog @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @islandcrow @axwalker @sanchita012 @queenwalton  @gabesmommie1130 @mom2000aggie @gibbles82 @ramseysno1rookie @lovablegranny @nikkis1983 @marshmallowsandfire @hopelessromanticmonie  @storylineofnothing @katedrakeohd @coolpsychicempathhumanoid @cordoniaqueensworld​ @aestheticartwriting​ @batgirlassociationofgothamcity​ @thatdoctorownsme​ @seriallover99 @choicesficwriterscreations​

“No biggie, we’re just going to be on a boat at Wrightsville Beach with the rich kids from Prestonwoods. This is totally our life now thanks to you Mia.  Best summer Ever.”

“Summer has only just begun, Daniel!"  Mia said.

She was pulling the convertible top up on her car, when she heard a whistle.

She glanced back seeing a Black SUV pull up next to them.

Of course, it was Leo being absolutely obnoxious.

He jumped out of the car, grabbing Mia in a bear hug.  “Mama Mia Dancing Queen, what up girl?!?!?!”

“Hey Leo.”  Mia smiled at him.  

“What’s in the coolers?”   He pointed to Mia and Daniel’s matching pink coolers.

“Sammiches. What’s your contribution to this boat trip?”

“We brought the liquors.”  She watched as Leo spun a bottle in his hand, then went a  little over ambitious with it and the bottle slipped from his hand hitting the ground and breaking.

Mia jumped back just in time.

Liam, Drake, and Maxwell walked around the SUV.  

Leo was still staring at the ground in shock.

Drake laughed.  

“I don’t know what just happened.” He said with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Maybe it was confusing, but it wasn’t like anyone really cared.

“What did you do?!?!?!?!?!” Maxwell screamed.

Okay scratch that.  Maxwell cared.  

Liam shrugged his shoulders.  “We have 5 more… so… I think we’re good.”

Drake walked over to Mia, taking her cooler before anyone else had a chance.

“I got that for you.”  He said with a smile.  

“Thanks.”

“Have you guys been over here before?” Maxwell inquired.

“To the beach yes, but not this side.”

“Hana’s family has a house at the beach.  So we have to walk to her private  access gate.”

“Oh okay.”

As they walked over to the private access gate,  Drake took Mia’s hand, while they walked.   Daniel gave her a thumbs up sign.  

There was really a man dressed in a suit holding a sign that said “Guests of Hana Lee.”

As soon as they got on the yacht, not so much a boat,  Hana grabbed  Mia by one hand and Daniel by the other.  “You have got to see these!  I know you will love them!”  She was showing Mia and Daniel her new designs.

Last to arrive were Olivia, and Penelope.  

She noticed as soon as Penelope got onto the boat, both of them were wearing the same swimsuit.  

Of course Olivia noticed right away.  

“Isn’t that hilarious, Penelope,  you’re twinning with the new girl.”   She looked Mia over.  “I’m surprised that swim suit actually came in your size.”

“Liv cut it out.”  Liam looked at her annoyed.

“Why are you defending her Liam? That’s Drake’s job.  Are you gunning for Drake’s job?”

“Olivia, not everyone wears a size Bitch like you do.  Mia and Penny look great in their bathing suits.”  

“Old Navy rocks!”  Penny said to Mia, giving her a high five.  Maybe Penny wasn’t so bad.  “Liv thought I spent $100 on her birthday gift.  $5.99 at Old Navy.”  Penny whispered.

Okay Penny was not bad at all.  

Leo made everyone drinks, that were about 90% alcohol with a splash of the mixer.  

“No thanks,” Mia said when he went to hand her a red solo cup.  

“You’re breaking my heart girl!!!”  Leo had a sad look on his face.  

“I am not much of a drinker, sorry Leo.”

Liam had planned for this. He had noticed Mia didn’t drink at the pool party either.  “Mia, come over here, I have some waters, sodas, and apple juice.”  

He flipped open their big charcoal gray yeti cooler.  

“What would you like?”

Mia gasped.  “I love this apple juice in the glass bottles.”

“So do I,  you mean to tell me you have something in common with Richie Rich?”

Mia laughed.  “Can you let that go already? It was bound to happen I guess wasn’t it?”  He got one handing it to her, and then himself one.  

“You’re not drinking either?”

“I don’t have to drink to have a good time.  It’s the company.  Cheers.”  

She clinked her bottle against his.  

She walked back over to Drake.  

“Don't let Liam fool you, he drew the short straw, he's DD tonight.”  

“That makes sense.”  

“Your friends are fun, well minus Olivia.  Next time let’s just be us. Okay?  I want to get to know  you better, without all this going on.”

“I promise Mia.”   Mia kissed him.  

“Get a room.”  Leo exclaimed.

"Why you mad bro?"

“So weird to see Drake with a girlfriend isn’t it Liam?”  Olivia said intently staring at him. “You really should work on hiding your jealousy better. It’s all over your face.” she whispered to him.

Finally it was time to eat before they took the jet skis out on the water.  Everyone put  their combined  items on the table.

Pops had let Mia go to the restaurant and make sandwiches with hoagie rolls, and her and Daniel had made nice sandwiches for everyone.

Olivia sneered.  “Ugh sandwiches, isn’t that like poor people's food?”

“I’m so sorry Olivia.”

“Whaaat?” Maxwell inquired.

“Mia’s about to get that ass!”  Liam whispered to Leo and Drake.

“If I would have known you were going to be here Olivia, I would have packed you a soul to eat.  But as you can tell, I’m fresh out. So I guess it’s poor people's food, or your soulless ass is going to starve. You decide, because I'm tired of playing around with you. You got one more time.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Everyone laughed.  

But she noticed Olivia shut her damn mouth and ate a whole sandwich.  

“Why are we doing this again Drake?”  she was bobbing into the water next to the jet ski.  He pulled her on behind him.  

“I’ll tell you exactly what it is, you two are both alpha females and neither of you back down from a challenge.”

“So you better win Drake. No pressure.”

“We all have our parts to play.”

She glanced to her right seeing Liam and Olivia on the jet ski next to them.

“You know they dated right?”

“Not a surprise at all.”  

"Hold on tight."

"So to the buoy and back first one back gets bragging rights for the rest of the day. In 3…..2…..1…."

Before Leo said go Liam took off spraying them with water.  

Drake took off behind him. Mia screamed in delight holding tight to Drake.  By the halfway point around the buoy they got there at the same time. Olivia scowled at them. On the way back Drake saw his opportunity to take the lead. They headed for a huge wave Liam was avoiding. Mia saw it at the same time.

"Oh my God!" She screamed bloody murder while the jet ski went airborne for a few seconds.  Landing in a splash a few meters in front of Liam and Olivia claiming the win.

Back on the yacht "Bragging rights to Drake and Mia!" Leo screamed."Liam… you fumbled at the one yard line."

When night fell, she could tell Hana was super excited.

"What is it?" Mia and Daniel asked.

"My dad has a fireworks display planned for us that should be starting right about…. "

Everyone looked up hearing the crackle of the fireworks, as the display began. Mia immediately found Drake to sit by his side. He put his arm around her. She snuggled closer to him.

She noticed Liam watching them. Drake saw too but neither of them cared,  as he pulled her closer to him kissing her.

The way Mia felt as he kissed her, under those fireworks, took Mia's breath away.  Maybe Mia really did want a boyfriend, and maybe….that guy was Drake.

#bebepac writes #pops place #trr fanfic #trr fandom #drake walker #liam #cordonia #summer vacation #trr mc x drake #fireworks #trr olivia #trr maxwell #fun in the sun #wrightsville beach #wacky drabbles