#is it because he wears lots of nondescript pants? possibly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peterrparrkerr · 3 years

Text

Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

*-*

Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt.

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #ironman #starker #spiderman #my writing #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21

87 notes · View notes

wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Thin Line

Summary: You’re wild and free. She’s strict and trained. You and Natasha are polar opposites and it drives her crazy. Each move you make annoys her to no end. But, there’s a thin line between annoyance and adoration.

Rating: 18+ Violence, Mentions of Death, and Smut

Chapter 2

The next week passes uneventfully, minus you being on edge. You hadn’t forgotten the red head’s words. Being benched is not at all what you wanted.

If anything you wanted to impress the infamous Black Widow. The team loves working with you and you enjoyed your time with them. When you got assigned to work with Romanoff you just knew you’d win her over, resulting in the whole team liking you. That didn’t happen however.

Instead you pissed her off doing the one thing you’re good at: kicking ass.

Now though, you try distracting yourself by training. Each time your fist connected with the punching bag or your muscles tightened you felt the tension roll of your shoulders.

But that lasted all of an hour, the ringing of your phone pulls you from your distraction.

“Y/L/N.” You answer breathless.

“Agent Y/L/N Director Fury is requesting to see you.”

Knowing better than to protest, despite your nerves, you agree and immediately get ready.

With the help of one of Tony’s fancy Audi′s you make it to Fury’s meet up spot in no time.

The mysterious man leans against the only table in the empty warehouse, leveling you with a stoic expression.

“Well if it isn’t the big boss man.” You smile and approach him.“ To what do I owe the nondescript meet up.”

He crosses his arms,“ you made quite the impression with Miss Romanoff.”

You have to reign in your expression, not wanting to appear afraid to the man in front of you.

“Well they say first impressions are everything.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“She’s not happy with you and when she’s not happy the team notices which effects team morale.” He speaks again before he can reply.“ Which means you need to fix things, now.”

“Yeah, and how am I supposed to do that? Miss Stone Cold Assassin doesn’t exactly want to befriend me.”

Nick’s eye narrows,“ try toning it down Agent.”

Sending a shocked gaze to Nick, you reply,“ toning it down isn’t my thing. I get the job done more than satisfactorily and I have fun while doing it. How about I just keep my distance from Romanoff and you only assign me to work with the boys. They get me.”

“Oh the boys get you do they?” His tone is completely sarcastic and his expression alone tells you he’s done discussing.“ That’s cute, except I don’t care.You and Natasha have just been assigned.”

Your eyebrows raise,“ come on Fury,” you groan,“ give me a break. You saw how unhappy she was with our first mission and I’m almost positive you know she ripped me a new one when we got back to the compound. Just,” you sigh,“ I don’t know, assign Clint instead.”

“It sounds a lot like you’re trying to give me an order.”

You stiffen instantly. No, you aren’t scared of Nick Fury, but you do respect him. What you just did, wasn’t all that respectful.

“Alright, I’ll work with Romanoff.” He raises a brow.“ And I’ll tone it down.”

With a quick smirk, he nods, hands you the mission file, and sends you on your way.

You know Natasha knows because the second you enter the compound she’s waiting for you.

She leans against the back of the couch clad in a tank top and the yoga pants, a sheen of sweat sitting on her skin. Most definitely just came from training.

You can’t help but take in her figure, eyes lingering on her exposed midriff and down the curve of her hips.

For those few seconds you can’t possibly deny how stunning she is. Obviously, right? It’s Natasha Romanoff. The one woman who could pull off look, as far as you were concerned.

By the time you refocus, it’s too late.

“Typical that you’re not listening.” She scoffs, eyes rolling and arms crossing.

It’s the hardest thing ever to not be distracted again as her arms push her breast up.

“Sorry I was distracted.” You frown.

Her eyes narrow,“ and what exactly has you so distracted?”

Right, cause you’re just going to admit that her body is what distracted you. She hates you already, pretty sure that wouldn’t play well.

“Nothing.” You run a hand through your hair.“ What were you saying?”

She’s silent for a moment, eyes searching yours. Painted in those green eyes is irritation, toward you obviously. But there’s the faintest hint of curiosity in them. She wants to know what distracted you, just as much as she wants to hit you for ignoring her.

“Wheels up in twenty.” She finally says, turning and leaving.

After you’ve finished packing you head out your room to the waiting Quinjet.

Natasha isn’t there yet, so you take a moment to read over the mission file.

The more you read the more anxious you get.

While there is no exact time stamp on the file, it’s clear this is going to be more than an over night type of mission. If previous missions like this told you anything, you know you’re going to be staying with Natasha for a stint of time.

Just as your thoughts start to linger on the idea of being with Natasha closely overnight, she comes up the ramp of the Quinjet.

For some reason you expect her to be in uniform but she’s opted out of wearing the black Kevlar, instead choosing a pair of black joggers and a matching hoodie.

A quippy remark instantly readies itself in your head, but you refrain from saying it. Deciding to just read as much of the mission file as possible.

The entire flight is silent.

You never thought silence could be overbearing but it is. It looms over you and makes you feel uneasy.

It was never like this with the guys, you would chat with them about almost anything on the flights. Hell, when you were with Tony or Clint it’s safe to say you had a jam session, music blasting through the Quinjet as you guys prepared for the mission.

This though, this was awkward. It’s like Natasha didn’t even want to look at you.

She placed herself at the pilot’s seat long before take off and hadn’t moved, even after she turned on autopilot.

It’s like a breath of fresh air when the jet lands in a clearing. The second the doors open you’re stepping out.

The clearing provides the perfect coverage for the jet and a quick glance around clarifies that you two will be walking a bit before you get to the safe house.

On the walk over, you don’t allow an awkward silence to settle.

“So, uh,” you pause,“ I wanted to uh, apologize-”

“Save it.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You chuckle in disbelief.

“You’re only apologizing because Fury told you to. You’re not actually sorry for your actions which means that apology is useless.”

Just like that, despite your efforts, awkward silence ensues.

It even carries into the safe house, which is just a covertly placed cabin in the woods.

A really nice cabin at that. Under extremely different circumstances you’d have called it romantic.

You and Natasha go to your temporary bedrooms and you reemerge before she does.

With the late hour you decide to make dinner. Courtesy of Tony Stark, the kitchen is fully stocked and you use the expanse of ingredients to make the one dish you perfected: spaghetti.

The scent alone intrigues the Russian red head and brings her out of hiding. Despite the stoic expression on her face, you see the intrigue in her eyes the closer she gets.

You notice in this moment that she’s not all that great at hiding her emotions. Or at least she hasn’t been with you. Or you’re just good at seeing behind the mask she puts up with everyone.

Making two plates of the pasta, you slide one to the spot Natasha is standing at and then set a glass of water next to it.

She eyes the plate and then looks at you.

“What?” You raise an eyebrow, then decide to jokingly ask,“ water not fancy enough? Would you prefer a Sparkling Water or a glass of wine instead?”

Green eyes narrow at you,“ do you have wine?” Her sultry tone accompanies a raised brow.

You stumble over a response, as you don’t know. But you go in search of wine, and find it. But what else did you expect from one Tony Stark then to have wine at a mission safe house.

“Surprise surprise. Apparently Tony knows what you like.” You comment, grabbing a wine glass and setting it beside the water.

Moving slowly, as if she were debating whether to stay or not, Natasha sits. Her gaze follows your every move.

Each second she watches you, you feel more and more flustered.

Part of you wonders if her eyes are watching dangerously, sizing you up in case she has to ‘otherwise incapacitate you’. The other part of you wonders if her eyes watch you as your eyes had watched her earlier, taking in your appearance and loving every bit of it.

You can admit that both parts in whole feel like prey.

Shaking it off, you pour her wine and then grab your own plate.

Much like every other moment with her today, it’s silent. Words aren’t spoken and apart from forks clashing on plates there’s no sound.

That’s a stark contrast to how the next morning goes.

The mission required recon. Simple recon. Check out the enemies base, size up the threat, figure out the best possible point of entry. All things were supposed to be covert.

Supposed to be.

Honestly, neither you or Natasha are sure what happened. One second you were hidden on a nearby hill, out of sight, out of mind. The next you were fighting through a barrage of enemies.

The outside of the base was littered with bodies. Unsurprisingly it got easier with each take down.

“So, our covers blown, what’d you say we finish this up now.” You jab a fist straight into the throat of the nearest bad guy.“ Get in, get the data, get out. I think we could handle that.”

For a brief second you make eyes with Natasha across the field and quirk in eyebrow in question.

You hear her sigh, followed by the grunt of the guy she took down,“ fine. But we go in the way we planned.”

“I hope you don’t mean covertly cause losing these guys is going to be a pain in the ass.”

“Get your ass to the roof Y/L/N.”

After handling the nearest guys, you and Natasha make quick work of getting to the roof and into the facility. That’s where things took a turn for the worst.

At first it was easy enough, you got in, got the information, but there were more bad guys than you expected.

It worried you instantly and for the first time in your career you doubted your decision. No because you aren’t skilled enough, not because this is new to you. You doubt yourself because you’re not alone.

This time around there’s someone else to worry about. Someone who, despite not having known her long, you care about.

“Hey Nat you-” you’re cut off when a bullet whiz pass you, leaving a very noticeable gash across your forehead.“ Ass.” You grunt and shoot him, twice for good measure.

“Now’s not the time Y/L/N.”

“No, I was gonna say, maybe we should-” Once again you’re cut off, but this time it’s because of Natasha.

Her grunt of pain followed by quick breaths in.

Your eyes survey the area and you don’t find Natasha. You do see the influx of bad guys headed in a particular direction.

Moving as quickly as possible, you get to her, eliminating the immediate threat as quickly as possible.

You see the blood before you see the wound, yet and still, your heart drops when you take in the bullet wound.

“Shit, hang on Nat.” The nickname slips from your mouth with ease, so much ease that you don’t pay any mind to it.

A couple more bad guys later and your kneeling beside the bleeding red head, applying pressure to her injury.

Those green eyes start to droop and you curse.

“Natasha, hey, keep your eyes open alright.” Your voice is starting to sound panicky.

Blood leaves her wound rapidly and it makes your heart pound in your chest. You nearly rip your jacket off, removing your shirt, and wrapping it around Natasha’s torso. Once it’s tied tight enough you put your jacket back on and turn to handle the last of the threat.

There’s only a few enemies left, which you can handle, but you’d much rather be tending to Natasha.

You run out of bullets just as the last guy comes charging at you. He’s much bigger than the other guys.

“Oh fuck off.” You groan and charge him.

Jumping up, you kick your feet straight into his chest and he stumbles and falls back. You take that quick second to throw a knife between his eyes.

Chest heaving with uneven breaths you hasten over to Natasha. Her eye’s flutter as she struggles to keep them open.

“Alright pretty girl, let’s get you outta here.” You mumble and scoop Natasha into your arms.

You instantly feel her blood against your skin, already having soaked through your shirt. It makes you move faster, the worry doing wonders to your adrenaline.

By the time you make it back to the safe house Natasha is completely unconscious and the second you lay her down you search for a pulse. Luckily you find one. It’s weaker than it should be, but you know she won’t die.

You make quick work of cleaning, sterilizing, and dressing her wound.Then moving her into her bed and pulling a shirt over her body.

The adrenaline wears off the second you step out her room. Your shoulders sag and you can’t help but stare at the blood on the floor. Natasha’s blood.

It’s in that moment that you understand completely why Natasha is so pissed at you. Your actions are stupid and reckless.

What you did today got her hurt.

As you clean the mess of her injuries you instill in yourself at that moment to never ever be the cause of her hurt. Because you hated seeing her like that. She looked so fragile, paler than usual due to blood loss, and broken.

Your thoughts finally quiet as sleep creeps up on you. Worry still plaguing you, you slip back into Natasha’s room and slide on to the floor beside her bed.

“You better wake up Romanoff.” You mumble before allowing yourself to sleep.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romonova #marvel x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers #reader insert #mcu #Thin Line

345 notes · View notes

luninosity · 3 years

Text

*wanders by* Look what I worked on today...

Warnings for…NOT actual self-harm, but Jason spotting a scar on one of Colby’s hands, a scar he doesn’t know the story of, and briefly considering that possibility. (The actual story is much more of a cooking-related accident!) Plus general warnings for brief mention of Colby’s Awful Exes and family, & related emotional abuse.

“How’s this?” Jason waited, fingers resting over Colby’s hands in his. The hotel room wrapped comfort around them; it’d begun as nondescript, but had welcomed Colby’s rainbow cascade of scarves and Jason’s tidy unpacking. It was their home now, for these next two weeks of filming on location. “Helping?”

“Very much helping, thank you.” Colby obediently didn’t move, holding both hands out. They were sitting on the bed, having changed into pajama pants and t-shirts—Colby’d borrowed one of Jason’s shirts, too large but in a cuddly flattering way—and the day had been long. They’d been filming into the evening, because Jill had wanted the specific light, dwindling away as Colby’s young and brilliant magician character got imprisoned and bound by iron and tortured, refusing to give up and lead the villains to Jason’s hero.

The chains and cuffs had been fake, of course. Hollywood movie-making magic. A vast leap from real iron.

But that didn’t mean they were soft or forgiving. They’d had hard edges, angled in spots, heavy, with no real padding. He’d had to struggle against them. He’d had to kneel while the villains shoved his hands to the floor and—cautiously, weight judged for performance—stepped upon them, pretending to shatter bones. The floor, and the impact, hadn’t been soft either.

The bruises and scrapes and cuts were all too real. Colby winced as Jason spread healing salve across a tender spot. “Ow. Sorry, sorry, I know you’re being careful, I’m not complaining.”

“Tell me if it’s hurting too much.” He tapped a finger over the back of Colby’s wrist. “And don’t apologize for it. Are you sure you don’t want me to get the medical people to check you out?”

“They did, right after. I know you know; you were there. It’s fine, it’s not—ow—serious. It’ll heal.”

“Might need some wrapping, though.” Jason eyed the bruises, the nicks. They shuffled purple and red across Colby’s skin, shame-faced. He didn’t like them existing, though he knew they weren’t anyone’s fault. “Just for tonight, to keep all this on. Not too tight.”

“Whatever you think works best,” Colby agreed. “You’d know better than I would, as far as stunts and injuries. Ow, oh, drat, that one hurts a bit more.”

That one was probably the worst, Jason judged: scraped raw, layers exposed, across Colby’s left wrist. The edge of that cuff had been both rough and sharp. And obviously his touch hadn’t been careful enough. “Shit. Sorry. Love you. Is the numbing part working, at all? It’s supposed to be helping.”

“Oh yes,” Colby said, obligingly. “It’s already better. Thank you for doing this.”

Jason sighed.

“It’s true,” Colby protested. “I honestly do feel better. I’d tell you if not.” Hair tumbling to his shoulders in loose dark waves—not a wig, but extensions, left in for fantastical mystical effect—he was elfin and pretty and earnest, wearing Jason’s too-large shirt, eyes huge and blue and searching Jason’s face.

“I know you would. But I also want to know if it’s not helping enough, okay?”

“Yes,” Colby said meekly. “I’ll say so if it’s not working, I promise.”

“Okay, then. Just checking.” He tried to make his touch as gentle as possible. He tried to be as soothing as he could: a protective bulk, not a threatening one. Hands offering care, not more harm. Weight and breadth positioned harmlessly on the bed, no demands.

He knew Colby trusted him. He felt a small glow of pride that Colby did: enough to admit to being in pain, to wanting care. He loved Colby and would care for Colby with all his heart, all his strength, all his soul; not a question, not ever.

He still hated seeing Colby in pain. Always had, always would.

That’d be true for anyone he loved, of course. He’d had some discussions with their therapist about that, about grief and loss and Charlie and Jason’s own desperate need to save people, to be strong. He knew that about himself. But it was worse, it was the worst it could be, when the person in pain was Colby.

Colby was the other half of his heart. The brightest piece of his life, the piece that’d dived in and reminded him how to swim and that he liked baking, the piece that’d made him laugh and drawn him into whimsical chattering conversations about wizards and dragons and romance and coffee. The piece that liked pink shirts with sequins on the sleeves, and anchovies on pizza, and history and stories and words that could steal an audience’s breath away.

And Colby had been hurt before, so very badly, for so very long. Inside and out, physical and emotional bruises, day after day. Jason hadn’t been there then, hadn’t known him for the worst of it. But he knew now, at least as much as anyone could, after the fact.

He’d seen Colby flinch from an unexpected touch, get wide-eyed at a large body hugging too tightly at a convention, and—the scariest of all—go silent and someplace else, someplace not present, at a drift of familiar cologne and a flash-flood of memory in the air. He knew what Colby had told him, which was enough to make Jason carefully store up a lot of emotions and then go down to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag for long enough to get his reactions under control.

He knew about Colby’s family, too. The layers of those bruises—not physical, but emotional, a slow brutal evisceration of Colby’s sense of self and self-worth—went back decades. They were working on it; their therapist said that Jason being here, not leaving, not making Colby earn any crumb of affection, was the exact best thing he could do. Jason hoped so.

He wished he could do more. He wished he could fight all of Colby’s demons. Like his character in this film, raising a sword. Lifting a shield. Fighting for a cause.

He knew Colby’s hands pretty well, by now. He knew the way those slim graceful fingers felt in his, on his body—in his body, and oh that was always fun, Colby teasing him open and stroking him and pressing inside him. He knew Colby’s gestures on and off camera, the weight and shape of his palms, the backs of his hands, the old scars from period-piece swordfighting lessons and some small-scale stunt work, comedy pratfalls and in-role clumsiness. He knew about the short jagged line on the outside of Colby’s little finger on the right hand, from hopping a fence while filming a scene for that high-school coming-of-age comedy.

He knew he didn’t know every smallest detail—he didn’t have a photographic memory—but he had a decent idea of Colby’s hands, he thought.

Which was why his fingers slowed and came to a stop, as they felt something—as his gaze landed on something—that he didn’t recognize.

Thin. White. Just above the heel of Colby’s left hand, across his palm. Long-healed—no texture at all, only noticeable if someone was paying extremely close attention, but enough to’ve left a line. Liam, Jason thought first, with a shock of anger like scarlet blood—but no, this was older than a handful of years, older than any injuries at Colby’s ex’s hands. Clearly so.

Colby hadn’t seemed to notice—he’d been looking at Jason’s other hand, which had scooped up more salve—but he noticed the pause now. His eyes came up to find Jason’s, huge and flower-blue.

Jason turned Colby’s hand more upward. Touched the line, very very lightly. His fingers shook.

“Oh,” Colby said, soft with love, wry in the way of someone realizing, “no, it’s not what you’re thinking, and don’t say you weren’t thinking of at least two possibilities. It’s not either of those. I, er…well, I was about eleven years old and I’d been trying to prepare dinner for myself and I had absolutely nonexistent knife skills with regard to chopping carrots. And my father’s chef kept his knives very sharp.”

“You were making dinner…for yourself?” He touched Colby’s palm again, traced the scar above the heel. It had plainly been a clean cut, straight, but deep enough to leave a mark once healed.

Colby did that familiar nose-scrunch at him, the one that meant you won’t like this story. “You won’t like this story. But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Tell me? If you want,” he amended. Not an order, not a demand. The freckle near Colby’s collarbone winked at him, playing peek-a-boo with the loose neck of Jason’s shirt.

“Oh, of course. It’s hardly a secret.” Colby wiggled salve-smeared fingers at him. “So we were living in Paris then—Dad having been appointed as an ambassador and all, you know…”

The storied instrument of his voice became, for an instant, more American than anything else, on the word Dad; Howard Kent personified the type of United States politician who embodied privilege, money, and self-interest above everything, including his marriage and his son.

“…and my parents, being, er, my parents, did tend to do things like go on holiday without remembering that I existed, which meant the staff also generally forgot I existed, or took their cues from my parents, or assumed someone else had made some arrangements somewhere. So I was eleven and a bit, and I’d got used to making sandwiches and things, but I thought perhaps I’d try to cook, because I was trying to learn, you know, so I wouldn’t have to bother anyone.”

Jason opened his mouth. Shut it.

Colby lifted both eyebrows, inviting and amused. “Yes, go on, say it.”

“You know everything I’m gonna say.”

“I do. It’s all right; I’ve got you now.” Colby leaned against him, on the bed: easy contact, unremarkable, except for how it was remarkable, it was a marvel, given everything Jason knew.

He wanted to cry for the boy Colby’d been, precocious and shy and so very alone.

He held Colby’s hand. “I’m here. I’m always here. I’ll chop all your carrots if you need me to.”

“You would, if I asked, wouldn’t you? Well, in any case, I managed to slice my hand open, as you might expect under the circumstances, and then I very nearly passed out from the sheer shock of it, and then after a few minutes I pulled myself together and found a first-aid kit and tried to patch it up, though it didn’t work terribly well because I was trying to do it one-handed.”

“Jesus, Colby.” He could’ve demanded, why didn’t you call someone, a member of the security team, the household staff, a doctor, an emergency number, your parents? He didn’t.

He knew why Colby wouldn’t. Not causing a fuss, not giving anyone a reason to disapprove or to not want him, not believing anyone would come or answer or care…

His heart cracked open and bled more. Like younger Colby, huddled on a kitchen floor with a first-aid kit. “What happened?”

#character bleed #jason and colby #fic in progress #i've missed them #wip #original fic

13 notes · View notes

nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years

Text

Anew - NCIS Reader Insert

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: mentions of PTSD and PTSD symptoms, kidnapping, blood, language, Protective!Gibbs, angst, torture, fluff ending!

Word count: 2226

A/N: This is a continuation of Changed. I took some inspiration from the Emily/Lauren storyline from Criminal Minds, but other than that, this one is all mine. You guys asked for it and I hope it lives up to what you were wanting! I would be willing to write an epilogue if you guys wanted. Let me know! As always, I am taking requests so feel free to hit up my question box!!

Living life as you did before the Protection Program, as Y/F/N Y/L/N, took a while to get used to again. But with Gibbs’ help, you were able to stop looking over your shoulder every second of every day. You were able to clear a scene without jumping at every little squeak of the floorboards or creak of a door. You had even almost forgotten about the calls because they eventually stopped, so you figured whoever had been calling you had gotten bored of their little prank. Work had gone back to normal and it almost felt as if you had never left.

The only thing that hadn’t gone back to the way it used to be was your relationship with the rest of the team. McGee tiptoed around you, doing his best to avoid having to work in any close situation with you. Tony treated you as if you were made of glass, keeping you from even the slightest ‘dangerous’ situations. Abby tried anything and everything to keep you in the lab with her all day, even going so far as to beg Gibbs to let you stay with her, instead of going out in the field.

And Gibbs, Gibbs did his best to always be near you, especially when he felt your emotions spiraling out of control because of one trigger or another. He insisted you stay at his house until you found a place to live, and that was three months ago. Every time you found a place that had potential, Gibbs didn’t like it for one reason or another. It had finally gotten to the point where you stopped showing any places you found to him and instead went to Tony for a second opinion. Tony was just as quick to dismiss them as Gibbs had been though. You finally put the house hunt to rest, at least until everybody went back to treating you like they used to.

Today was actually the first day since you started staying with Gibbs that you were completely by yourself. No one lingering near you or hovering over you as you went about the daily tasks of your life. And as much as you appreciate their concern, you were more than ready for an outing by yourself. It wasn’t as if you were doing anything out of the ordinary. You were simply walking to the nearest grocery store to get some steak and potatoes for dinner, a meal that you discovered was one of Gibbs’ favorite.

The clear, crisp fall weather, combined with the fact that it was one of your days off, had you in no rush. You walk leisurely, enjoying the time to yourself.

You were completely unaware of the black, nondescript car that had been slowly trailing you for the last eight blocks. You did, however, notice it as you walk out of the store, and then four blocks later, you saw it was behind you.

An intense wave of fear consumes you as you calculate the possibility of making it back to Gibbs’ before anything went wrong. You had seven blocks to go and you were carrying three bags of groceries. After some quick consideration, you step into one of the boutiques along the side of the street, grabbing a random item of clothing and step into one of the changing rooms.

You rapidly dial Gibbs’ number, feeling your heart constrict as it continues to ring. You almost give up hope that he will answer the phone when his gruff voice fills your ear.

“Gibbs.” You don’t think you had ever felt so relieved to hear his voice.

“Jethro, it’s me. I-I, um, think someone is following me.” You whisper, the pinging of your nerves sending your heart into overdrive.

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.” You could hear him moving around in the background, a set of keys jingling along with the sound of a door opening and closing rapidly.

“I think it’s c-called Fashion for Her, ne-next to that Italian Pizza p-place.” The surge of adrenalin and fear making you stutter out your words.

“Hang tight. I’ll be there in five. I’ll come to get you, okay?” His words are gentle and help settle the rising fear in your body.

True to his word, Gibbs is at the small store five minutes later, promptly making his way to the back of the store. A gentle knock on the changing room door has you timidly opening it. Once you see Gibbs, you throw yourself into his arms, the solace you find in his arms immediately relaxing you. He holds you tight against him, whispering promises of protection and safety in your ear.

------

It had been three weeks since the incident on the way back from the grocery store. The forgotten silent phone calls had escalated to unmarked envelopes left for you, with pictures of you and Gibbs, out doing domestic tasks, such as shopping or raking leaves. There were even ones of you in Gibbs’ house, washing the dishes and even changing your clothes.

You hadn’t told Gibbs, for fear that he would insist you rejoin the Protection Program. You had just gotten him, and the rest of your makeshift family back and you weren’t ready to say good-bye to them. You had, though, requested leave from the field, spending your time in the office, compiling search results, narrowing down possible suspects, and working on your never-ending pile of paperwork. Gibbs hadn’t been a fan of your request, but after a conversation with Director Vance, which only furthered his irritation toward the situation, your request was granted.

It was late in the afternoon, on a Friday, and you were just finishing up on the last form you had to complete for the day. You knew Gibbs would be late in getting home, as he was on a stake-out with Tony for the latest case, so you decide to see if Abby and McGee were up for a night out.

McGee politely declined your offer but Abby was game for a girls’ night out. After a brief chat, you agreed to meet her at the bar in half an hour. You stop at the bathroom on the way back to your desk to touch up your makeup and fix your hair. Grabbing your jacket and bag from your desk, you hurry down to the parking lot.

Darkness covers the parking lot, with the streetlamps appearing as halos of light over the sinister blackness. You nervously fiddle with your keys, resting your free hand on your holstered weapon as you speed walk to your car. Reaching the door, you let out a sigh of relief as you unlock and open it. Swinging your bag in, you move to settle into the driver’s seat when a sharp blow to the back of your knees has you falling forward, hitting your head on the open door on the way down.

You struggle to clear the fog that settles over your thoughts and pull yourself together. You reach for your gun just as another blow has you raising your arms to defend yourself. You kick out one of your legs, connecting with someone.

“You bitch! Knock it off.” A deep masculine voice spits out at you. You know that there was an officer on duty just within the doors of the building so you decide to scream for help as you fought off the attacker. The next blow hits you hard enough in the head to bring black spots to your vision, effectively stopping you from calling for help, and a quick hit after that has you fading into the black.

-----

The next three days pass in a drug-induced haze. You can remember only bits and pieces of the torture and questioning that takes place in those three days. By day four, you’re sure that you are gonna die in this dingy, dark, cold room. It didn’t help that you were only wearing a pair of pants and a bra. For some reason, a reason you didn’t want to look too closely at, you were missing your shirt. You had yet to figure out why you were taken, or who, in fact, was the person behind your kidnapping.

Day five came and went without any contact with your abductors, besides the arrival of a bottle of water while you were sleeping. Your haze was starting to wear off, leaving behind pain, hunger, and intense thirst. You tried to ration the water, but you consumed it shortly after you found it.

Day seven was the day you finally met the one who took you. You should have figured it would be him. After all, your testimony three years ago had sent him to prison. What you didn’t know was how he got out. You hadn’t heard anything about him escaping, and considering he was sentenced to 75 years to life, without parole, you knew he hadn’t been let out.

Boris Ivan Petrov, a member of the Russian crime ring in America and wanted felon. You had had the unfortunate luck of witnessing him murder two dirty cops while on a stakeout. One of his lackeys had seen you watching and in that instant, you became a target for Petrov. And now, here he was standing in front of you.

His hair was long and disheveled and he had a scraggly beard growing from his face. Dark bags hung under his eyes, but who he was was unmistakable.

“Ah, it looks like I finally get to properly introduce myself.” His words, which sound even harsher in his native Russian accent, send chills down your spine. You don’t answer, doing your best to wipe any signs of pain from your face.

“Since you already know my name, I’m not going to waste time telling you. Rather, I’m going to tell you about what I have in store for you.” He stops as he leans forward, trailing a finger down the side of your face. You unconsciously shiver in disgust, earning a hard slap across the face. “You will respect me, woman, if you want to live.” You know his words are an empty threat, as he has no intention of keeping you alive.

And he certainly proves you right, as he unmercifully tortures you for hours. He doesn’t speak, instead taking delight in the screams of horror and cries of pain he manages to elicit from you. It finally gets to the point where you are welcoming the inevitable end. As much as you wanted to be able to hold on until Gibbs and the team got there, you were starting to believe that would never happen.

You’re falling in and out of consciousness when Petrov suddenly stops. You’re barely able to comprehend the loud noises that follow. Just as you start to lose your grip on consciousness, a face appears in front of you. You wearily blink your eyes a few times before the face comes into focus. Gibbs’ brilliant blue eyes meet yours, as a gentle hand reaches out to cup your face. You struggle to move your lips, but you can’t make anything come out.

The last thing you see is Gibbs’ rapidly moving mouth before you lose your grip on the light.

-----

You wake up to the sterile smell of a clean room and the beeping of machines. You blink your eyes quickly, adjusting to the hospital fluorescent light slowly. The tight dryness in your throat makes you cough painfully. You turn your head to the bed table, reaching for the cup of water sitting on it.

“Let me get that for you.” Gibbs’ rough, husky voice greets you and a brief moment later, he is holding the cup up to your lips. You drink greedily, trying to rid the feeling of thirst from your throat. After you finish the cup, you lean back into the pillows, your body already aching from the excursion.

You muster up the courage to ask the question that was dominating your thoughts. “Did, did you catch him?” Your voice catches in your throat as you nervously voice your thoughts.

“Yes, yes Y/N. We got him. You’re safe.” His voice is gentle as he rests a hand on top of yours. “Your injuries were extensive Y/N. They weren’t sure you were gonna make it.” His voice is thick with emotion as his blue eyes pierce yours.

A lump sticks in your throat as you listen to him. You slowly reach up the hand he was holding, moving it towards his face. You trace a thumb over his cheek, relishing in the feeling of touching him.

“I love you, Jethro. I love you and I want a life with you.” You say, watching as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

He is quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know Y/N. I love you too.” He stands, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And now we have the rest of our lives together. No one is taking you away from me.”

As he finishes talking, he runs a gentle hand over your face. You let out a sigh of relief as you relax into his touch. As you fall back into the darkness, all you can think of is what your future with Leroy Jethro Gibbs would look like.

#ncis #ncis imagine #ncis fanfiction #ncis fandom #ncis reader #ncis reader insert #imagine #fanfiction #fandom #reader #reader insert #gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #gibbs x you #gibbs x reader insert

201 notes · View notes

dovechim · 6 years

Text

so it goes 02

➾ alien!jimin x reader

➾ 6.7k, fluff, smut

➾ a/n: some important revelations in this chapter for later! also, jimin asks: what is love? 👾

➾ summary: Park Jimin knows a lot about humans. of course he does, he studies them for a living. he knows that they say hello by holding hands, and when they say goodbye, they put their arms around each other. but this particular human, he notes, is unlike the rest- stuck in a slump, going about your day praying for the Universe to stage an intervention in the form of an alien abduction. when he decides to finally fulfil your wishes, he finds that you have a little something to teach him about what it means to live life on Earth the way you do: ugly crying, underwear and all. in return, he shows you the possibilities that abound if you simply adopted their mantra: everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

➾ 01 | 02 | 03

They’ve given you underwear now, so at least you weren’t embarrassed for nothing.

You’ve been informed by Hoseok that only males live on this part of the planet. The females form a separate colony of their own, and they don’t communicate or keep in touch in any way except for reproduction purposes, where the females get sent over every season. He ever so kindly offered to modify some of the clothing to fit your body a little better, apologising for the oversight on his part.

You could have stayed with him for hours just finding out more about this curious little planet, but you’re perceptive enough to realise that you’d be interrupting Hoseok at work. So you reluctantly ask for directions back to your room and take your leave.

You suppose it’s the same old routine, have a lonely dinner in the confines of your room and fall asleep on the luxurious sheets just waiting to be rudely awoken from this dream, nightmare, whatever it is. You still haven’t made up your mind.

But when you arrive back at your room, you realise that you’ve been left a tablet device with a message on it inviting you to dinner, and while a part of you is relieved at a change of routine, a fleeting moment of trepidation causes you to bury your face into the sheets.

You can’t turn down an invitation like this, who knows what they’d do to you? Besides, it’s not like you can hide in here forever.

Making your way to your closet, you finally change into the outfit that everyone else is wearing, but your fingertips graze the corner of your phone as you slip out of your jeans into the loose white pants provided. You haven’t had the chance to see if it’s still working yet, and while you definitely won’t have any cell service, maybe the more rudimentary functions will come in handy later. Holding your finger to the power button, you turn off your device and slip it into the waistband of your pants, which is thankfully taut enough to secure it before following the directions of the tablet to the dinner hall.

“Ah, what a pleasure it is to finally meet the Earthling.” A blond haired alien seated at the head of the table greets you as you arrive. Unsure of what the aliens would deem as appropriate manners, you can only nod back at him, eyes straying to Jimin who’s seated right beside you.

“Earthling, meet Yoongi. He is the highest rank of us all, and he’s in charge of defence and national security,” Jimin senses that you’re a little nervous, reaching over to pull your chair out for you and helping you to settle in.

“Nice to meet you too, th-thank you for having me.” Glancing around the table, you recognise most of the faces; Hoseok, Taehyung and Jeongguk are also present, which leaves one more face that is unfamiliar.

“Oh, that’s Seokjin, our head chef here,” Jimin follows your gaze to the alien seated opposite you. “He’s been preparing all your meals and sending them up to your room himself, but he got tired of it and decided that you should eat with us instead.”

“I’m sorry for causing you any trouble,” you say carefully, lacing your fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “If I’d known, I could have done something, or-“

All six of the aliens are obviously in on something that you’re not, because their marks are all flashing the same kind of sorbet yellow. Glancing at Jimin for the slightest hint, you see that his lips are curved slightly in… amusement? You bite your tongue to stop speaking immediately, terrified that you’d overstepped some custom or said something wrong, or-

“Calm yourself, little Earthling,” Yoongi is the first to speak, and judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t seem at all enraged, so you deem that your life is prolonged, at least for now. You belatedly remember that Jimin had told you they could all communicate telepathically, and you wonder what they’ve been talking about behind your back, or rather, right in front of your face.

“I’m not sure if Jimin has told you or not, but we are all connected telepathically, for ease of communication,” Yoongi carries on, reaching for his utensils, which is a sign for everyone else to do the same. “Our dinners are usually a silent affair, actually, most things on this planet are a silent affair. But I suppose we’ll have to make an exception for you.”

His last sentence is tinged with such ambiguity that you don’t quite know what to make of it, and you only have the gentle yellow marks, that are rapidly fading into a nondescript gray, on his cheekbones to go by. As everyone begins to tuck into their food, the lulling, camaraderie makes you feel a little at ease, relaxed enough to direct a question toward Hoseok.

“Wh- Is there a reason you picked humans to study? I mean, I’m sure there must be a million other species out here, and apart from the genetic similarities, I don’t see much other reason.”

The lavender haired alien considers your question carefully even as Yoongi seems to be listening with piqued interest. His attention on the conversation makes you feel a little ill at ease, and in fact, his entire demeanour, while not unlike his brothers in that very straightforward, no nonsense manner, still puts you off a little.

“Why not Earthlings, then?” A mischievous smile tugs on his lips as Hoseok throws your question back at you, and you roll your eyes at that word again. It was your mistake to start your question off like that.

“You guys seem pretty… peaceful here. Surely you must be baffled by all the unnecessary violence that occurs on Earth that we inflict onto ourselves. Warfare, cold blooded murder, rape, stuff like that. We surely haven’t mastered intergalactic space travel just yet, but if, or when we do, aren’t you afraid that we might bring our depravity here?”

“You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” Yoongi comments brusquely.

“Am I?” Something about his tone irritates you, and you can’t help but challenge the highest ranking alien at the head of the table. “Humans are the terrors of the Universe, someone once said.”

“You speak without knowledge of our planet’s own atrocities, Human,” Jeongguk steps in. “Whatever you’ve witnessed on your planet, we have also seen here. Today we may seem peaceful, but other days, we have wars as terrible and depraved as you can imagine, and worse. But there isn’t anything we can do about it, so we just don’t think about them.”

His logic seems incredibly bizarre to you, but no one else seems to find it strange, judging from their silence. “Just… ignore it?”

“We believe in spending infinity looking at the pleasant moments only, Earthling,” Hoseok clarifies. “If I remember correctly, that thing which you call free will; does not exist here. Everything is predestined the way it is, so there is no point harping on unpleasantness. The same reason there is no ‘why’. It just is.”

“And if you Earthlings are any wiser, you might think to adopt such a practice. Ignore the awful times, and concentrate on the good ones.” Yoongi’s blatant condescendence once again gets on your nerves, but you’re still trying to digest what Hoseok has revealed.

Yoongi seems satisfied at your silence, his marks burning a bright sorbet yellow as he continues with his meal. You seal your mouth shut, determined to pass the rest of this excruciatingly painful dinner without a single word, but something Taehyung says catches your attention.

“Speaking of atrocities, we should fortify the boundaries, brother. Our current numbers aren’t nearly enough to withstand a potential invasion-“

“Invasion?” You can’t help but blurt, causing all heads to turn toward you. Beside you, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jimin’s fingers twitching irritably as he cuts into his meal with a little more force than necessary.

“Taehyung, business matters should be kept from the table,” Yoongi starts in an admonishing tone, but it seems very half-hearted, and he doesn’t make an effort to change the subject. “But yes, Earthling. We are currently facing a… volatile period with our neighbouring colonies.”

“Must we really discuss such matters during dinner, Brother?” Jimin’s voice sounds suddenly from next to you, and he sounds so tense that your eyes search the rest of the table, trying to puzzle out the reason for it. “I’m sure we could find a more appropriate place and time.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, but you can feel the tension of held breaths and tentative glances from the others sitting at the table. In the silence that follows, you can only assume that arguments are being held in the soundwaves surrounding your head, and the mental image itself gives you a headache. For a moment this reminds you of jousting matches between two knights, where they’d size each other up with calculating glares and stony expressions before charging and clashing into each other with the force of a battering ram. But what are they really fighting over? It can’t be as simple as merely discussing work issues at the table.

“You are right, Jimin,” Yoongi finally relents. “Besides, we aren’t being hospitable to our guest, are we?”

As the attention shifts towards you, you turn your gaze to the plate in front of you, dissecting your loaf of meat into smaller pieces before picking them up with your utensil with more concentration than required. But you can feel all eyes are still on you even as you chew, and desperate to escape the spotlight, you swallow hard, searching your brain for something to say. It doesn’t help that the taste of the lukewarm food lingers upon your tastebuds like the heat of a humid summer’s day. But before you can blurt out something stupid, Jimin clears his throat.

“So, Earthling, how are you adjusting to our cuisine? Would you by any chance have some tips for Seokjin?”

“That’s right!” The aforementioned alien sits up straighter in his chair, grinning at you in welcome even as he takes in the damage you’ve done to your meal. “Don’t be hesitant, Earthling, I’m very much interested in how you prefer your food to be consumed!”

The strange syntax of his sentences has you fumbling around for an answer. “Um, well… on Earth we tend to eat things that are almost steaming hot, like this meat for instance.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Seokjin is intrigued, leaning in as if to indicate his interest. “What does ‘steaming hot’ mean?”

“It’s… um… we make the molecules in the food vibrate at a certain frequency,” you butcher the scientific explanation horribly, but Seokjin seems to understand, because his face lights up and his marks are a pale buttercup. “It makes them taste better.”

“Ah that’s it! I should try it next time, Hoseok, were you aware of this?” Seokjin has whipped out a device of some sort, similar to the ones Jimin and Hoseok use to take notes on and is currently tapping on the screen. “Make… everything… vibrate at a higher frequency… taste better…”

“Wait, but not dessert though!” Beside you, there is a small saucer of what seems to be liquefied dessert, an ice cream of sorts, and when you taste it, it is indeed the same temperature as everything else. “For this, we make it… vibrate at a lower frequency than everything else.”

His puzzled glance makes you wave your spoon around helplessly. “It becomes a solid when at a lower frequency, and…”

It’s only then that you realise how fucking weird your own species is.

You’ve never been more glad to escape a dinner table than this very moment, but the second Jeongguk puts down his utensil- you’d garnered that he is the most junior of them all- you slip out onto the adjoining balcony for some fresh air.

The temperature has dropped significantly, but the cover of night does little to mask the ethereal beauty of this planet. The luminescent hues of the plants are illuminated by the moonlight, glowing and begging for you to explore them. But a sense of self-preservation wins out, and instead you reach for your phone to try and snap a picture of it in the hopes of striking it rich if or when you get back home. Maybe this can be published in some sort of scientific magazine, or maybe even your own autobiography of your experience being kidnapped by aliens, or-

“What’s that, Human?” A voice from behind you nearly scares you into dropping your phone over the threshold into the darkness that looms below, if not for his quick reflexes that has his hand gripping your own securely.

Jimin’s marks are a faint purple, and you pull away from him almost immediately.

“Um, it’s my phone, it’s-“

“I know what those are, Earthling,” he chuckles. “Besides, I think you’ve had a pretty tough time here so far haven’t you? Having to explain all these things to us. But I think you’re doing a good job.”

His unexpected affirmation confuses you a little, so you settle for watching the marks on his cheekbones turn into a soft, gentle gray tinged with a little hue of pink, like the sakura blossoms in spring. The soft muted colours grab your attention, and you can’t help but notice how pretty they look on him.

“I apologise for Yoongi’s behaviour at dinner,” Jimin says finally, and your eyes shift from his marks to follow the metallic golden streaks on his biceps that catch your eye with every movement he makes. “He’s not usually like this, but I would advise you to stay away from him, Earthling.”

“Why do you keep calling me Earthling?” You can’t help but ask. “I have a name, you know. It’s ______.”

He turns to you in surprise, contemplating the question with a pensive frown as he meets your eyes, closing the distance between you as he takes a step closer. “I suppose we’re all used to calling you by the name of your species. It is what we have been doing for so long.”

But his curiosity is now directed towards the device in your hands. “Can you show me what’s on there? Hoseok tells me that humans are pretty much attached to this device, it contains things like memories, useful information, things like that.”

When he puts it like that, in such a sentimental and overly romantic manner, a blush ignites your cheeks as you consider your original intentions of using it to record evidence of this entire escapade. Turning on the device, you wait for it to warm up before the lock screen presents itself, and before you can swipe past to unlock it, Jimin grabs your hand to get a closer look of it himself.

“Wait, who is this? Another Earthling, I presume?”

He’s referring to the picture of Namjoon and you standing beneath the Eiffel Tower with exhilarated grins painting your faces, all wrapped and bundled up in matching scarves.

“Yeah. He’s a friend of mine, we spent the last few months travelling all over the world together-“

“I think I recognise him. He was with you a few moments before we picked you up. And also you’ve been with him for the past six months.” Jimin says, more for his benefit than yours. He still has his grip around your hand, bringing your phone up closer to his face for a closer inspection, which means that your arm is raised uncomfortably high to accommodate for his height. It still unsettles you a little to recall that he has been watching you since who knows when, but it slips your mind when Jimin steps up behind you, chest to your back.

You can’t help but notice the cozy warmth that his body emanates as he crowds in close, chin hovering over your shoulder. Oddly enough, his proximity makes you feel at ease as he peeks over your shoulder, your arm now at a comfortable position, washing away all the unpleasantness that occurred at dinner, but you can only hope and pray that he doesn’t pick up on this emotion.

But you have nothing to worry about, because Jimin is still preoccupied with your lock screen. “You are happy here. With him.”

“I was,” you admit, swiping past the lockscreen finally to pull up your album of photos. “There are plenty more here. It’s just that we looked really good in that one, so I picked it as my lockscreen.”

Jimin doesn’t bother asking what a lockscreen is, since he’s more interested in scrutinising the photos of you, Namjoon and the both of you together, interspersed with random scenery shots. After a short moment of silence as you scroll past quite a number of pictures, Jimin exhales a warm puff of air right by your ear. “You’re right. You look the happiest there. Like you don’t have a worry in the world.”

Having mastered the art of scrolling, Jimin takes over from you as he blatantly flicks through your most intimate memories himself, but you can’t bring yourself to stop him. After all, he’s spent months or even years watching you, so how much more invasive can he get?

He pauses at a photo that you’d taken while at Disneyland, eyes bright in the reflection of the spinning carousel’s fairylights, a pair of ears sitting atop your head that Namjoon had mocked you for, calling you a basic bitch, but you still shelled out the cash to purchase anyway. There is a breathless laugh upon your reddened lips as you perch upon a prancing pony with an arched neck painted with gold embellishments, ears pricked and forelegs raised in a fanciful trot. You can almost hear the melodious tune of the carousel as you stumble upon this picture again, completely forgetting that you even took it.

“Actually, you’re wrong. You look happier here. And prettier too,” Jimin muses, and his tone is so unabashed that you’re a little taken aback, before you remember how straightforward they all are.

“Um, thank you.”

“You should set this as your ‘lockscreen’ instead.” Jimin suggests, turning to glance at you for a second, but it’s only met with a chuckle from you.

“How narcissistic would it be to have a lockscreen of my own face?”

“If I looked that good, I’d want to see it every day.” His comment seems less like a compliment and more matter of fact, so you don’t feel the need to thank him. Jimin shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and you don’t question him, because he does seem like the kind who would stare at his own selfies for days on end.

Not that you blame him, he is attractive, and no doubt would be considered so on Earth. Even with his marks, he resembles a golden cherub, especially when he smiles and those cheeks round out into a measure of his exuberance. All he needs is a halo and some wings.

You tear your eyes away from him, feeling the need to put some distance between you, especially as you start to notice how firm his chest feels against your back. But his arms are caging you in, and you can’t escape his hold without applying some kind of force.

“Is he your romantic partner?” Jimin questions with wide, imploring eyes, and you frown for a moment before realising that he means Namjoon.

“I bet you’d know, since you were watching me anyway.”

Jimin only rolls his eyes. “We don’t watch you constantly, Human. Only monitor your emotions. The only time we’ve been watching you that closely is when we were deciding when to pick you up.”

“No, he’s not my romantic partner.”

“But you have romantic feelings for him?”

Once again, you deny it.

“Hmm. Interesting. He seems to have romantic feelings for you, though.” Jimin ponders as he taps a finger to bring your screen to life again.

“How do you know? I thought you could only sense the six basic emotions. Love isn’t one of them.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jimin admits, swallowing hard as he considers how he came to this conclusion.

Love is a uniquely human emotion, he’d surmised, completely unnecessary for biological reproduction, and yet, Earthlings seem to place an utmost importance on it. Most Earthling mates are bonded together by this emotion. He isn’t very good at identifying it yet, but one thing Jimin does know is that this emotion called love complicates things, twists one’s perspectives and blinds them to the other’s faults and imperfections.

How does he know? Jimin himself has been struggling to come up with a rational explanation for the existence of this emotion that would satisfy Hoseok, but all he has are those that he’s picked up from Namjoon. Hoseok had dismissed it purely as happiness because the two of you were out exploring the world together, but he was certain that it had been something more profound than that, larger in magnitude. It had been a flutter in his chest every time Namjoon looked your way, a slight acceleration in heartbeat, a loss of breath sometimes.

The sudden tingle in his chest doesn’t seem all that foreign to him after all, Jimin realises as he sneaks a glance your way. The realisation makes his grasp slip on your phone, and struggling to keep a hold of it, he hears the sound of a snapshot, and glances toward the screen in surprise.

He draws away immediately, shoving the device back into your hands in a mild panic. “Apologies, Earthling, I didn’t mean-“

He seems a little too flustered over having accidentally taken a photo, but you let it slide. To gloss over the sudden awkwardness, you ask him for some intergalactic secrets that will earn you lots of money when you take them back to Earth. “That is, if you’re planning to return me at all?”

Jimin only frowns. “What is ‘money’, Earthling?”

There is a pause from you as you consider how to best explain this. “Um, well, money can be exchanged for goods and services on Earth. It’s considered really important, to the extent that people have done horrible things for it. People have been driven to insanity by it, controlled by it when they should be controlling it instead.”

‘Well… I can tell you how the Universe ends. If you really still want this money of yours,” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly even as you gasp in horror.

“I-is it because of Earth? Did we somehow manage to nuke the entire outer space?”

“No,” Jimin frowns again, and you’re beginning to recognise this gesture as a sign that you’ve used a term he doesn’t understand, or said something incredibly stupid. This time, it’s the latter.

“The Universe ends when one of our pilots is test driving a spacecraft’s time traveling features. He presses a button, and the Universe disappears,” Jimin says conversationally, all while you’re trying to withhold your exclamations of horror. “So it goes.”

“But can’t you stop it, if you know this? Why can’t you stop them from developing this new technology, keep him from pressing that button, destroy all spacecrafts, or-“

“You misunderstand, Earthling,” Jimin shakes his head with a laugh. “It is destined to happen, no matter what we do. The moment is structured that way, he has always pressed it, we will always continue to let him. That is why we don’t focus on the awful times and instead look at the pleasant ones, like this moment, for instance. Isn’t this a nice moment?”

“I guess it is.”

Your stay on this little planet hasn’t been all that unpleasant. Most days, you’re left to your own devices and you see it fit to go accompany Hoseok in his research lab. He’s more than happy to have you over, gushing over how much of a genius you are when you scan down his list of unsolved mysteries regarding Earthlings and answering them easily.

“What is this strange gesture that Earthlings do all the time?” Hoseok taps his list, and belatedly realises that for a change, you’re frowning at him instead. “Oh, come here and I’ll demonstrate.”

When you’re beside him, staring at the multitude of screens with paragraphs of unrecognizable symbols upon them and just about to ask if this is their written language, Hoseok grabs your hand in his. You look down at your hands in mild surprise, noting the way your palms are clasped together.

“This?” You ask, raising your hands to his eye level. “We hold hands for a multitude of reasons. The most basic one is for comfort and security. Mothers hold their children’s hands to lead them and make sure they don’t get lost, but when we become adults, holding someone’s hand is like telling them that you’ll be right beside them, leading and accompanying them at the same time.”

“So… for guidance, mainly? But if you don’t know the way, you could just consult a map,” Hoseok seems to miss the point entirely, and you pat his hand gently.

“Not in such a straightforward way. It’s like… when you ask someone to hold your hand, it’s asking them to stay with you through the good and the bad times. It provides a physical connection that’s reassuring, and it can be both platonic or romantic, depending on the people involved, and how they do it.”

Hoseok seems intrigued, and although you can see him itching to type away, he restrains himself to glance up at you, one more question on the tip of his tongue. “How do they differ?”

“When they do it like this,” you interlock your fingers with his so that they form a criss-cross, “it’s slightly more intimate and romantic. But my personal favourite is this one.” You let go of his hand entirely, hooking your pinky around his as the rest of your fingers curl into your palm, and Hoseok mimics you uncertainly.

“What does this one mean? I’ve never seen Earthlings do this.”

“It means a secret promise.” You allow your pinkies to linger like this for a while, watching Hoseok’s marks glow a sorbet yellow that slowly turns a dusty rose. “It means I promise to never leave you.”

It seems like the lavender haired alien is blushing at your cheesy lines, but you know better than to interpret his facial expressions and marks the way you do with Earthlings. They probably have a whole other complicated system as to what these colours mean, so you give his pinky a light playful squeeze just to see the marks on his cheekbones flare a deeper fuchsia.

And then Hoseok breaks away abruptly, turning back to his screen as he avoids your gaze entirely.

“Jimin is asking for you, you should go to him.”

Belatedly realising that Jimin must have sent for you telepathically, you wonder just how much of this prior moment he was privy to. Even the other night where he’d scrolled through your memories on your phone, were his brothers listening in through that telepathic connection?

A shiver travels up your spine as you imagine Yoongi having access to your most intimate moments, but then you chide yourself, because he surely has more important things to do than keep tabs on an Earthling like you.

Just the same, you’ll have to ask Jimin just how far these telepathic connections go.

He seems to be expecting you when you knock on his door, so you let yourself inside as he stands from his seat. His marks are a dark, brooding navy, a sharp contrast to his light, textured blonde hair.

“Earthling,” he says by way of greeting. “I wanted you to- wanted to ask you to show me more of those memories you have on your phone.”

The way he corrects himself does not go unnoticed, and you pat your pockets for your phone before realising that you’d left it in your room. “Oh, I think I left it in my room. I’ll just go get it real quick, and-“

“I’ll come with you,” Jimin offers, his marks lightening to a more neutral shade of blue now as he heads for the door. “I’ve been cooped up in here for way too long anyway.”

Along the way, you remember what you’ve been meaning to ask him, and Jimin chuckles in response.

“Don’t worry, Earthling, we can block our mental thoughts and sensory experiences when we need or want to, to maintain a sense of privacy,” he reassures you. “I do it all the time when I’m with you.”

“What about just now? Was Hoseok doing it too?”

Jimin considers your question carefully, taking his time to formulate his response as you reach your room and push the door open. He hasn’t quite come to terms with that stifling feeling in his chest when he’d seen you and Hoseok doing that strange gesture, or when he’d seen Hoseok’s marks turn pink. All he knows is that he had to summon you immediately, and he surmises that maybe it’s a bid for all your attention to be on him only.

He knows he likes it when you’re only looking at him.

“No, he wasn’t, that’s why he received my message for you.” Jimin answers truthfully.

You accept his answer, striding over to your dresser to pick up your phone. “Here it is, we can go back to your lab now, or maybe you’d like to go outside? Seeing as you’ve been cooped up-“

“No need,” he rejects you easily. “We can do it here.”

You swallow hard at how direct he is, but force yourself to brush it aside as he settles himself on the edge of your bed. You try not to admire how the loose white fabric bunches around his thighs, betraying thick banded muscles that look firm to the touch, or how the v neck of his top plunges to reveal a toned chest. When he motions that you sit beside him, you can only shoot up a quick prayer to the Gods, if they can even hear you, for a semblance of self-control.

Jimin has one leg tucked up beneath him, body angled toward you as you settle beside him, mirroring his position. “Show me more, Earthling.”

“What do you want to see?”

He only shrugs in response, so you open up a random album of pictures and start describing them to him, keeping your screen brightness low so that it doesn’t deplete your battery too badly.

Which was a bad idea, because Jimin, on the grounds that he can’t see, takes it upon himself to wedge his body closer to you, leaving a sliver of space between your bodies as he stretches one leg behind you, the other curled around your right leg, thighs almost touching. The intense proximity has your brain immediately going hazy, and you immediately turn back to the current picture, which is a colourful array of pastries and desserts that you remember gorging yourself on.

“These were the most expensive desserts we ever had, but it was so worth it. Looking back, we probably shouldn’t have bought them, but we figured we would regret it if we didn’t. I wish I could go back there for more,” you sigh wistfully.

“Why are you describing everything as if it’s happened in the past?” Jimin is listening intently, pewter gray eyes fixed on yours, and his marks are glowing a calm sunset orange.

But his question puzzles you. “Wh-what do you mean? All this happened already, these moments are in the past, gone and dusted, that’s why.”

Jimin’s eyes lighten in understanding. “Ah, it must be an Earthling perception of time, then.” When you don’t respond, he goes on to clarify. “You said you wanted to go back to this period of time so badly. That this feeling, this nostalgia, makes you miss the past that has already gone. But we see it differently here.”

Reaching over your shoulder, he scrolls back a couple of pictures which you’d already shown him, stopping at a panoramic view of snow-capped mountains that you remember driving past in a near blizzard, car tires skidding on black ice. “This stretch of mountains, you see it all at once, do you not? We see time the same way. Past, present and future all exist simultaneously, we can choose to look at any moment we please, but ultimately, they all occur at the same time. Every single moment is permanent.”

“Oh.” Your simple response is incongruent to the racing thoughts clouding your mind, one of which ironically and ruefully notes that yet another intergalactic secret has been revealed to you. Such a complicated concept can’t possibly be dreamt up, you’re not that smart, and little by little, you’re starting to believe that all of this isn’t a dream, it’s your reality. And the warmth of Jimin’s body certainly helps to hammer that truth home.

“So when you said you want to go back, it is illogical, because in a sense, you are already back there,” Jimin glances at your side profile, but your gaze is fixed on your screen. He doesn’t know how much of this you believe, but he’s not picking up much on his radar right now other than an undercurrent of happiness.

Because of him? Jimin doesn’t allow the thought to formulate.

But the emotion quickly fades into sadness again, and this time, Jimin actually sees moisture well up in your eyes. A mild panic rises within his chest, he knows that Earthlings tend to leak moisture from their eyes when they are particularly upset, it’s called crying, but Jimin doesn’t know if he’d done anything to generate this reaction.

“Earthling…” He starts, but you cut him off.

“Thanks for that, Jimin. Really,” you glance over at him, blinking back the tears, and you can only blame your sudden outpour of emotions on them. “I mean, I know I’m not on Earth anymore, so the laws of time and space probably don’t apply here. But the thought of all those moments still existing, there being a possibility that I am back there, being the person whom I always wanted to be, instead of this worthless, emptiness… that’s quite nice actually.”

Your tirade trails off into an incredulous laugh, and you figure that Jimin must think that you’re insane. But at this point, you’re already so far gone, so might as well admit to a strange, handsome blonde alien something that you’ve never had the guts to tell anyone. Why not? It’s not like he’d tell anyone on Earth. “Anyway, I’ve been having a really hard time, lately. Thank God you kidnapped me, or else-”

Jimin’s never heard your voice like this before, he can only describe it as raw, completely honest, and something in him wavers a little when he senses your overwhelming sadness wash over you. Guided by an unknown instinct, he brings his hand to your chin, fingertips guiding you to turn your head to face him, and then you are merely a breath’s distance away from him.

He’s aware that his marks are glowing a gentle rose hue, but he also feels the tinge of nerves in his stomach as he leans in closer, attempting to do what he’s observed Earthlings do so many times. He isn’t sure if he will be able to do it right, but the sight of your wet cheeks spurs him on nonetheless, and he carefully meets your lips with his own plush ones, thumb caressing your cheek gently.

The sensation of your lips against his is foreign, but not unpleasant, and his tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip. The rest of your body freezes against him for a moment, and Jimin frets over whether this is entirely inappropriate or not, but then you relax against his touch, eyelids fluttering closed. The way your wet eyelashes kiss your upper cheek has him entranced, even more so when you start to move your lips against his, and then there is a strange fluttering in his chest, a sense of contentment that fills every single pore as you start to kiss him back.

Jimin could get used to this.

You pull away first, eyes wide and questioning, and Jimin detects a mix of happiness and surprise. To distract himself from how much he wants to kiss you again, his hand finds yours buried in the bedspread, remembering your conversation with Hoseok and wanting to surprise you, he hooks his pinky with yours the way he saw you do it.

“When we see a person in a bad place, or going through a tough time, all we think is that he is in a bad condition in a particular moment. But that same person is completely fine in plenty of other moments.” There is a faint glow of warmth within his chest that he recognises as happiness, but only this time, Jimin can’t seem to delineate whether it’s coming from him or you.

You glance down at his pinky- adorably short for his size, you realise- hooked around yours, enthused by the knowledge that he had been watching over your conversation with Hoseok after all. You squeeze his pinky like you did Hoseok’s, the only difference is, you feel your heart tighten at the same time, as if it was being squeezed as well.

“In this moment, I’m more than fine.”

“Jimin, I get it!!” Hoseok bursts into Jimin’s lab, a shock of lavender hued hair and barely restrained excitement. “I get what you’re talking about now!”

Jimin is annoyed at having been interrupted as he glances up over his screens at the other alien. He might not have been doing much before this, being far too distracted by the memory of your lips on his, but the lavender haired alien doesn’t need to know this. Running his hand through his hair wearily, he waits for Hoseok to elaborate.

“The emotion which you call love, I felt it, with the Earthling.”

Jimin draws in a deep breath, struggling to keep his emotions at bay and hide them from the other alien. But it’s no use, he can feel his marks glowing an ugly shade of plum even as he feigns indifference, typing nonsense into his data sheet.

“Oh? What did you feel, exactly?” Jimin casts a brief glance at Hoseok’s enthused expression. “You know, I’m starting to think maybe I was wrong, it was just a conjecture on my part-“

“No, you were absolutely right,” Hoseok cuts him off, his words tripping over each other as he hastens to explain himself. “Humans do experience this emotion, and it’s odd really, because it feels different from what you described with the Earthling’s partner, Namjoon, was it? Anyway, you said his was more of a- euphoria? While I detected more of a nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I was going to throw up-“

“My Earthling doesn’t have a partner,” Jimin clarifies, and his statement causes Hoseok to freeze in his tirade.

“Your Earthling, you say?” Hoseok narrows his eyes at Jimin, and the blonde alien can’t help but feel antsy under his scrutiny. “Brother, why this sudden ownership over the Earthling? Could you be-“

“You read too much into it,” Jimin hastens to correct himself, because there’s a feeling in his gut that tells him that he can’t trust anyone, not even his brothers. Or maybe it’s a sense of protectiveness towards you, but he can’t let anyone know about what happened that night in your room. Hoseok would reprimand him, or worse, for getting attached to what he deems as a test subject, and there’s no doubt as to how Yoongi would take the news.

Jimin was the one who brought you to this planet, and likewise, he’d be the one to keep you safe.

“I merely meant that she was my responsibility, and seek to suggest that all interactions be limited to myself only,” Jimin meets the other alien’s eye with a stony determination. In reality, he knows that Hoseok is higher in rank than him, could easily report him to Yoongi for insubordination, or have him suspended entirely. He needs to tread carefully. “After all, we do not want to risk corrupting the test subject with too many host influences.”

The mention of test subject does the trick; Hoseok seems to believe him even as the term leaves a bitter taste in Jimin’s mouth.

“Alright, but do be cautious, Brother. Remember, she is merely a test subject after all.”

“Noted, Brother.” Jimin answers tersely, nodding his head in dismissal.

#bts #bangtanwriters-net #kwriterskollection #bangtan bookclub #btsmaknaenet #bts jimin #bts smut #bts jimin smut #bts jimin scenario #bts jimin x reader

1K notes · View notes

gg-astrology · 6 years

Text

BTS: Namjoon’s Koya - Comfort Style (Mars) | Sleeping Cycle (Mercury/Venus)

*Note: Not an analysis of his sleeping cycle (ya freaks) just the significance of sleep to him/how it’s a re-occurring subject when it comes to Namjoon. An appreciation for Koya/Namjoon’s creation of Koya. And a little bit on Jimin staying up super late into the night (and how it correlates to Namjoon as well)

Virgo Boys Masterlist: JK Series | NJ Series

Not to make anyone cry but Namjoon having difficulties breathing when he sleeps (we knew he snore during debut -> until he got the surgery) and Koya’s detachable nose/body parts might be more correlated if you think harder about it 🙃 We’re NOT going to think about it since we’re NOT going to cry today! And also it’s probably just a coincidence pleaSE DONT CRY

Anyways it’s super cute how Koya is such a relaxing color for Namjoon to sleep with. Can we talk about the color-scheme chosen for Koya for a second? I know during the behind-the-scenes/making of bt21 we didn’t get to focus so much on Namjoon’s creation of Koya (it was focused on the jokes/member dynamics) but the color blue (light/dark) seems to come up alot with Namjoon when he’s relaxing/being himself.

Whether it’s completely coincidental or not, it’s a good contrast from his ‘airport’/daytime fashion that focuses on Black, White and Khaki/Cargo pants.

This contrast between Namjoon putting himself out there/expressing himself through fashion (Namjoon’s Fashion Sense Post) and Namjoon just relaxing/being himself is kind of distinctive. Nowadays, we see Namjoon just being himself more when he wears joggers, studio clothes/vlive at night where he’s decked out in comfy wear. Baggy/roomy clothes are good for him. Plus the gray/white seems to be much more prominent when he’s not ‘dressing up’ (Black - Scorpio Venus)

Koya with it’s periwinkle colour and it’s main trait being ‘sleepy’/‘relaxing’ is almost like a manifestation of Namjoon’s comfort being given into a character, in order to gift/help others with this as well.

It’s like a well-meaning gift, like saying ‘hey this is a personal part of myself. Some of the problems I deal with personally, with sleeping, and I want to give my well-wishes/solutions to you to help those out there who might suffer from this insomnia/thing as well’ It’s the best part of himself and a personal part of himself (like how he said he can’t act/let others direct his own narrative for him) being presented/given to others. That’s the core of BTS and what they’re trying to do (to an extent as well) -- and Namjoon is a manifestation of doing it in his action/motivation which is what makes it so comforting (whether he realizes this or not).

Honestly the blue colour-- I think it’s part of the inner-conscious. The manifestation of the water in his life. You don’t have to pick your favourite colours based on your element/what you feel like, but it’s interesting to see colours/favourite colours plays out as an expression of what the person isn’t expressing in their personality already.

See Hoseok for example who’s just so airy (Aquarius) and his favourite colour is green (Taurus) -- he definitely shows the ‘groundedness’ Taurus has. But you can think of Taurus as the plant + earth at the same time. Since he already expressing the ‘earth’ part of Taurus, the ‘green’ part is expressed through his clothing style/colour choice instead (muted colours sometimes).

Jungkook with his Leo Moon (yellow) and the abundance of black/white in his colour scheme (Virgo/Scorpio)

Jimin preferring dark blue/light blue (Scorpio/water) mixed with the air in his chart (Libra/Gemini) since he already wears quite a lot of blacks (Scorpio) the intermix/lighter side of Scorpio (water) might be mixing in with his air placements.

These are all just speculations, there’s not a lot to go on so please take this with a grain of salt. Honestly, I’ve looked a bit into colour astrology but unless it’s vedic the information is kind of limited (and I don’t have a degree in colour psychology either, so I’m really not coming from any professional authority-- I’m just speculating.)

We’re also going to be talking about the abundance of Ryans on Namjoon’s bed as well.

Cuddly Cancer Mars and the cluttering of Sagittarius Moon, even though he said (in the latest Hobi Vlive) that he throws the pillow out of the bed because it’s ‘clustering’ boy sure has the space/time to be surrounded by doll collections 24/7 of his life (from his bed to his studio)

Cancer Mars typically find comfort in people/domestic scenes, this doesn’t always have to mean their bed/personal space it can also mean their office/place they spend certain amount of time in-- alone. When they’re not being tactile with people they can find themselves customizing/intentionally designing their space to be some kind of ‘nest’ for themselves to function/work in. It’s not about moving rapidly through life and the impermanence of objects, it’s about making whether they go/reside in home.

That’s why you can see Yoongi holding up in his room a lot of the time, but also you can see how Seokjin/Namjoon tends to collect figures/dolls (Mario figures/gaming device - Aries Moon | KAW figures + Ryan dolls ) as well. It gives a sense of comfort to them, and also just domesticate their spaces somewhat (adds familiarity to them).

Because Namjoon does have a Sagittarius Moon sometimes he can get to clutter/scatter the objects. Buys more than he needs or keeps relics in his spaces (how he customizes his desk) compared to say Seokjin who’s more about activities/fast paced-ness (Aries Moon) and that tends to focus more on devices/objects he can use that benefits him emotionally.

It’s also about the ~aesthetic~ with Namjoon, and that’s a combination of Libra and Virgo involved. Contrary to popular belief, Virgo can tend to be pretty house proud themselves. They like to show off in nondescript ways their personal possession/objects (see: Yoongi’s jersey and basketball figures, Jungkook’s speakers/gaming keyboards) It’s nothing too flashy/things to be acknowledged by others, they’re just proud of themselves like that (house-proud).

Oh and going back to sleeping cycles? In Saipan video where Namjoon said he ended up watching an entire series instead of one, that’s such a Scorpio Venus mood. It’s part of Libra Mercury too, usually to do with sleeping cycle/mind pursuit being too caught up on a lot of things (Jimin does tend to stay up late as well) and Scorpio enabling that obsessive factor making them possibly nocturnal (unintentionally) when something caught their mind’s attention.

Libra Mercury won’t stop until they feel like they understood something above the superficial level, if it’s something that personally interests them (like a topic/hobby they might have) it’s the same agitation when it comes to being bothered about a situation that is unjust/unfair to others, but in this case it’s just that drive/persistence that’s involved (cardinal). Their mind is constantly working, and Jimin especially with his Gemini Moon. It can be hard for him to fall asleep because he’s constantly stimulated/wanting that stimulation.

With Namjoon it’s just a matter of distracting/exerting himself enough in his daily life that he’s drained (tired) enough to go to sleep (Sagittarius Moon). Although when they’re both caught up on something (Scorpio Venus- personal interests) they can be awfully persistent in getting to the end of it. Thus why sometimes, that might possibly eat into their daytime/night-time cycle as well.

54 notes · View notes

thatweirdmod · 4 years

Text

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 2: Subject

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 2:

Subject

Street lights twitch above me as I walk down the sidewalk, not yet wearing the mask. My black backpack and all my clothes are nondescript, common brands. I wear no watch or jewelry.

This is so that if Mrs. Horatay braves the humiliation and tells someone about tonight, the police won't have good leads to go on. It'd be safer, admittedly, to keep a blindfold on her for the entire time, but that ruins it.

We are making movies here,after all, not just raping. We bring urges and emotions out of our subjects that most humans never get to see in all their lifetimes. The eyes convey a great quantity of that emotion, and I avow to commit as much of it as I can to film.

I gain base sadistic pleasure by doing these things, of course, and I'm able to relive those moments of pleasure by watching the recordings. However, this is also my legacy, and the internet makes it possible for me to share it with the world.

Well, not just the internet. I have a specific person to thank. Mitchol. I was on the school roof, when he showed up.

"You come here too?" And that was how it began. We talked during that lunch break, and many more.

Then one time, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and gave it to me. "I think this is something you'll be interested in, Jeeto. Check it out after school," he'd said.

On the piece of paper was a URL for a private site called "adesireisfulfilled", and a password.

Later, I went there and logged in. I was greeted by a dark page with 3 red boxes. They were marked as, "Local Files", "Files 2", and "Files 3", respectively.

I clicked on "Local Files", and to my surprise saw Nana, my class rep, naked and hogtied on a blue tiled floor. I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing as my eyes traveled over the rest of the thumbnails.

There were picture folders and videos, all of girls from nearby schools being molested, tortured, and raped. I continued to scour the website, getting harder and harder, until it hurt to leave my dick in my pants. I had to take it out and jerk off more vigorously than I ever had before.

The next day, Mitchol met me on the roof. "So, how was it?" He had asked. I knew exactly what he was referring to. I'd responded that it was awesome, and he'd looked pleased at that.

"It might say typical stuff like 'extreme bondage' and 'forced play' for a lose backup cover, but it's all real." He had said with a fiendish smirk.

Then, I remember him chuckling at my agape expression, and saying, "That makes it even hotter, though. Doesn't it?"

He'd then paused and looked at me thoughtfully, before saying the words that changed everything.

"You could do it too, you know."

I'm grateful that Mitchol took the risk of letting me in on this. And he's grateful now too. After all, I contribute just as much as he does.

I begin cutting through some woods that lead to the back of the Horatays' house. I only don my mask once I'm out of view for sure. I don't need anyone associating this thing with me.

I'm almost there when I spot a silhouette crouched down behind a tree. I approach as quietly as I can, but a twig snaps under my foot.

They suck in a quick breath and look back at me. A bit of light from the house catches their face, and I see that it's Kidney, wearing the same kind of mask as I am. I loose a breath, and approach.

"You scared me for a second there," Kidney chuckles.

"You scared the shit out of me too," I say.

He scoffs. "You were careless enough to leave criminal evidence on your shelf, but this scared you? I mean, who would it be other than me anyway?"

"'Who would it be’, eh?" I muse. "That makes me wonder if there are other guys like us around here."

Kidney shrugs. "According to the news, rapes are pretty rare around here. The problems most people worry about are burglaries and drunk driving."

I notice he's holding binoculars. "Were you trying to get a peak through the window?"

"Yeah," he responds. "She's still up in there. It's easier to catch them sleeping, so they won't hear us breaking in as fast and call the cops."

"Did you see if she's in her pajamas or not?"

"Yeah, she's getting ready for bed."

"Good," I say. "Now lets hope she's not an insomniac, or we'll be waiting here for a long time."

"It would've been better not to have to wait at all," Kidney says. "I told you it was kinda early, man. This is so boring. I didn't even bring my Gameboy."

"I guess you were right," I concede. "If you ask me though, it's no shame you didn't bring your Gameboy. Pokemon's like the only thing you have on that. I just can't get how people enjoy that tedium."

"Not 'tedium'. Momemtum," Kidney corrects me. "Sure it takes a lot of hours, but you're always leveling up and getting more Pokemon. It feels like a flow of perpetual progress."

"Boorrring," I drawl. "I'd much rather capture people on film than fake, pixelated animals on a Gameboy."

"Fine, suit yourself," he says, crossing his arms. Just one less asshole I've got to worry about competing with for the latest figures."

"Gimme those for second," I say gesturing towards the binoculars.

"Sure," Kidney responds, and hands them to me.

I squint through a space between the blinds. They've got the big, fancy kind. They're made of wood, and have kind of wide spaces in between them.

I'll take the tight, vinyl mini blinds I have at home over these bloated ass, big money ones, because I can see her sleeping all too well from here.

"Looks like we're in luck," I announce.

"What? She's crashed already?"

"Seems like it," I say, smirking. "Wait here," I tell Kidney as I hand his binoculars back. "And make sure Mrs. Horatay stays in bed while I go in."

He nods and says, "I'll text you pronto if she starts waking up."

With that, I sleuth around the corner to the window of another room. It's still facing the woods, but far enough away to not to wake her if she's an average sleeper.

I push up on the window- locked. No matter. I take the crowbar out of my backpack and, as quietly as possible, use it to pry it open. I flip open my phone.

No text. Jackpot. Screen still bars my entry, but I swiftly and noiselessly dispatch it with a few slices from my pocketknife.

I lift the blinds, thankfully less noisy than vinyl, and look around the room. It appears to be a bedroom that's been designated as an office or study.

What really matters, however, is that the floor is wooden. The open bedroom door is across from me, so I can see that the floor beyond is also wooden.

I click my tongue lightly in annoyance, take off my shoes, and put them in my backpack. I shoot Kidney a text saying, "Window open. Hard floor."

He appears around the corner as I'm climbing inside, and comes in after me. We quietly take out our "capture gear." With me holding the syringe of animal tranquilizer and Kidney holding rope and a gag, we pad down the hallway to Mrs. Horatay's bedroom.

As we approach cautiously, I observe her in peaceful slumber: strands of her mid-length brown hair strewn carelessly and perfectly across her fine features, silky, beige nightclothes covering her hourglass figure, the lines of nipples underneath as her luscious bosom rises and falls slowly.

Once we're close, Kidney pounces. By the time she's seriously started to make a stir, he's already gagged her and roped her wrists. He hops on the bed on top of her, pinning her legs down.

I lean over and plunge the syringe into her neck. I press down with my thumb, and fill her body with the potent chemicals. She only struggles for a few more seconds before falling under and going limp as a corpse.

I heft Mrs. Horatay up, and Kidney helps me stuff her into a large bag with straps. We feed our backpacks and the woman through the forced-open window, exit, and close it behind ourselves. Kidney puts on both of our backpacks, while I carry the woman on my back.

"Where'd you park?" I inquire.

"Just follow me. It's a few blocks down, in a private-ish spot right outside the woods."

We dash through the Horatay's lawn and back under and through the cover of the woods as quickly as we can. Once we reach the end, Kidney holds a hand up to me.

"Wait up. I'm gonna peak out to see if anyone's around."

I stay nervously, my back aching from holding the woman's weight all through the woodland trek. I should probably workout more.

"Okay," Kidney says. He waves me forward, scurries to the rental, gray mini van, and opens its trunk. "Hurry!" He whispers.

I toss Mrs. Horatay in the back, and then hop in the passenger's seat.

He presses moderately on the gas, obeying the low neighborhood speed limit. These speed limits have always annoyed me. You know it's for the dumbass brats running around on the street.

I say let the car engines run, and let natural selection run its course on the crotch goblins that are too stupid to stay off the road. They've all been told before. If they don't listen, why should that be anyone's responsibility except their own?

Once we're out of the bullshit zone, we take off our masks, that way, no one who sees us in the car will pay us any mind.

"This really is a whole lot of work," Kidney says with a sigh, as he presses down on the accelerator.

"I hope you're not thinking of quitting," I say to him.

His response is silence.

"Unlike you," I say. "There's no good sex that exists outside of this for me. Doing it normally over this past month would've been even worse than staying in my room with my hand and porn.

I can't stand either, though. I'd have gone nuts if I had to continue on forever like that."

"All the content on adesireisafulfilled isn't enough to fulfill your desire for this?" Kidney asks.

"That's way different than a real woman," I say. "Besides, I've already watched all the stuff on adesireisfulfilled. I need new content, and the other members need new content too."

"Where there's a demand," Kidney muses. "There's always someone cashing in by supplying. Have you ever wondered how much Mitchol's making off of the members?"

"Huh?" I question. "We don't pay anything."

"Well of course not; we're the suppliers, the content creators. We should be the ones getting paid."

I can sense Kidney's irritation.

"Look," he says. "As far as I know, there are only 5 uploaders on the site. Us, Mitchol, and the other two guys, Redhand Heriolt and my uncle, Stoulfer. But," he continues,

"Mitchol said before that there are about 600 members. You think they're all friends that he just gave the password out to for free?"

"Probably not," I admit.

"Yeah," Kidney says angrily. "I bet Mitchol's charging registration and membership fees. Maybe he's even charging for access to "premium content."

"But," I argue. "Mitchol's the one who pays the bills to keep the site online. He needs money for that. And for us, well, don't you think the work is its own reward?"

"Maybe for you it is, but that doesn't change the fact that the profits of our labor are being swiped out from under our noses. If I'm gonna keep doing this," he says as he veers onto the obscure dirt road, "It'll be for the full reward."

We put our masks back on and get out of the mini van. Kidney parked in a grassy clearing in the middle of a bunch of wild land. There's a rundown little house here, but the main purpose it serves is to be a distraction.

I go to the edge of the clearing, and move some "fallen" branches and shrubs to uncover the metal door of the underground bunker. I open it, and Kidney carries Mrs. Horatay over from the car.

We walk down the concrete stairs, and I flip on the light. Thanks to the house, it doesn't appear suspicious that electricity is being used in this middle-of-nowhere location. The company and the police would just assume that that's where it's going, I hope.

As Kidney and I set up our filming equipment, he says. "Hey, Jeeto. Check out this new camera and tripod my uncle gave me."

"Wow, it's super tall."

"Yeah, now we can get even better angles. If I set it up here," he says, rolling the tripod in front of the bed, "I can get a top down shot of her tits jiggling and the dick going in and out."

"Top down isn't a favorite of mine," I say. "However, interspersing shots like that would lend a more professional feel to the movies."

"Exactly," Kidney says, then looks over at the bag Mrs. Horatay is in. Moaning comes from it. I can see her weakly squirming around. She's just come to. I rush to grab a camera and start filming.

We leave her in there, allowing her state to progress naturally. Her muffled cries rise from confusion and fear to outright shrieks of panic and terror.

"Heermmmmpphhh!" Mrs. Horatay screams through the loosened gag. She squirms viciously in the bag, rolling and flopping over, her wrists and ankles bound.

Kidney and I both laugh heartily. Upon hearing us, her animalistic flight response slows down somewhat into human diplomacy.

"Hmmm errmm yeourr?" She attempts to speak again through the gag and the bag.

"I think she's asking who we are," I say.

"Well, I guess it's time to get her out of there," Kidney says. He goes over to her, unzips her prison, and pulls it off.

She's shaking violently. Salty tears stream down her face and soak the gag in her mouth as she looks up at the masked Kidney- petrified. I'm reminded of Kidney's earlier comparison of women to rabbits.

I zoom in on her face. Through the window of her eyes, I see the horror of the certainty of doom. Chills prickle up my skin.

"Oh, she looks good," Kidney says, unzipping his pants and freeing his semi-hard dick.

Mrs. Horatay bursts into a noisier fit of tears, pleading incoherently. I put the camera on the tripod, walk over, and finally take the gag off.

"Please, please, please." She says rapidly. "You don't have to do this."

I give her a perplexed look, which she can't see underneath my mask anyway. "I don't know why some of you women say that, like we're doing this out of some solemn sense of duty to you."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" She says, high pitched. "I never... I didn't mean it that way. I'm so sorry."

I laugh. "Looks like we've got an ass kisser over here," I remark to Kidney.

"Even if she wasn't tied up, she might be groveling down there anyway."

"Hmm, I think we can work with this... Hey bitch!" I bark at Mrs. Horatay.

"Ye-yes?" She answers meekly.

I squat down at eye level with her, and pull the knife out of my pocket. When I flip it open, she flinches.

"Hmph," I observe, amused. Then, I grab her by the collar of her silky night shirt, and press the blade up against her neck.

She gasps, and I laugh again. "If you keep shaking like that, I might accidentally cut you." I say this with sarcasm thick enough to let her know that I don't really give an iota of a shit about her well-being.

Then I switch to grave seriousness. "I caught your eyes when they darted around the room a moment ago. It's true-" I dig the knife in, puncturing her skin as I say the next words. "There isn't any way out."

Mrs. Horatay whimpers as tantalizing red blood trickles down her supple neck and stains her beige pajamas. I lick my lips, trying not to pant. She cries out softly as I pull her closer to me by the collar, slicing her skin more.

"And the worst places your mind went, the places it's going now, I could take you there." I feel unbelievable elation from the look on her face, and the fact that the camera behind me is recording it all. I soften my tone a mite.

"You're a smart woman, Mrs. Horatay, so let me do whatever I want to you. It won't even take the whole night."

She nods slowly.

I untie the ropes around her ankles and wrists, and she lies obediently, even once freed of the bindings.

"Stand up," I order her.

She stands nervously.

"Unbutton your shirt."

She swallows, and glances uncomfortably at Kidney, who's lightly stroking his penis.

I wait, a firm object before her. After looking up at my masked face, then back down to my shoes, she begins to undo her buttons. A sheen forms in her eyes.

"Hurry up and take it off," I tell her impatiently.

She pulls the shirt away, exposing her bare body. My eyes feast upon her voluptuous breasts, like ripe fruits hanging heavily on a tree branch. Her eyes widen when she notices my erection, bulging in the front of my black pants.

"Take off your bottoms too."

She slips them off. Pale pick panties with a little red bow in the front. Not very adult-ish, so it's kind of funny.

I step closer to her, and she stays still. I grab and squeeze a handful of her breasts with my left hand, while my right runs down her torso and dives under her panties.

Her pussy lips feel dry under my fingers. I fondle and rub her to my heart's content, then push two fingers inside her. I move them in and out roughly, and she gasps and groans at the painful molestation.

I let up once her body starts reacting, finally making her pussy slick. She looses a breath when I withdraw.

"Go to the bed, take off your panties, and bend over," I tell her.

Mrs. Horatay follows my instructions with a red face. She keeps her legs close together, as if that does anything to preserve her dignity. I can still see her pussy, but I say, "Spread your legs."

Kidney films her face, which must be twisted in shame and frustration.

Her legs open a few inches, and I click my tongue. I slap her on the ass, hard. "Spread them more!"

Tears trickle down her face as she scoots her knees out, splaying her legs enough to make her pussy lips part.

"Yeah," I say, rubbing her cunt and grabbing her ass from behind. "That's what I like to see."

I unzip my pants and whip my cock out. Without warning, I grab her by the waist and line her vagina up with my thrusting dick.

With one fluid motion, I plunge all the way inside her. Mrs. Horatay cries out at the sudden intrusion. Without giving her a moment to adjust, I begin a high tempo pounding rhythm. Kidney fixes the tall camera and tripod to get a better shot of me doing Mrs. Horatay.

I take my left hand off her waist and latch it around her arm. I pull, forcing her back to arch up, and giving the camera a good shot of her bouncing tits.

I lean down slightly while pulling Mrs. Horatay up against myself, then I grab her by her breasts. My nose is inhibited by the mask, but I think her hair smells nice. I would love to get my teeth around her ear or her neck, and bite while I'm thrusting into her.

I increase the force of my movements. The sounds she's making are enough to make me shoot my load all over her back.

"It's my turn," Kidney says. So, gather my bearings and go to man the cameras.

Mrs. Horatay is lying on the bed, shivering in the fetal position.

He climbs on with her, and grabs her by a fistful of hair. She groans sharply as he yanks, twisting her over onto her back.

"Does your husband ever do this with you?" Kidney asks as he sits over Mrs. Horatay's chest and slides his erect penis between her large breasts.

"Hmm?" He pries again as he moves his hips slowly, awaiting an answer.

Her eyes dart down to the head of penis, poking in and out of her cleavage. "N-no..." She says in a soft, broken voice.

"Oh," Kidney says, surprised. He tweaks her pink nipples and squeezes her breasts together around his cock. "That's a shame, because this is great," he tells her, moving faster now.

I make sure one of the cameras is trained on her face. When they talk about rape, they never tell you about the awkward expressions and the not knowing where to look.

The heavier feelings like horror and violation take precedent, but also, being naked in front of and doing sexual things with two complete strangers is uncomfortable, bizarre, and embarrassing for the average woman.

With a satisfied moan, Kidney spurts semen all over her face. Luckily for her, she closes her eyes in time.

While he's recuperating, I make scissors with fingers and put one "blade" in her anus and the other in her vagina. I chuckle when she moans in a whore-like manner.

With a camera zoomed into the action, I thrust my fingers in and out, making sloppy sounds. Once I've filmed enough of that, I lie on the bed on my back.

"Come sit on my lap," I say.

Mrs. Horatay obeys, tired and afraid.

"Show me what you'd do if I was your husband."

She abashedly begins moving her hips, dragging her pussy along my flaccid length to get me hard. Once I'm ready, she lifts herself up, then slowly impales her vagina on my cock. I smirk.

As she rides me, I trail my hands over her thighs and up her tight stomach, to the lovely breasts swaying above me.

I grope them fondly, before leaning up and taking a nipple in my mouth. She moans as my tongue twirls around the soft pink bud. I suck and clasp her breasts, occasionally nipping with my teeth.

When Kidney comes over, I lie back again and pull her down so that she's lying on my chest. We continue moving together as he spreads her asscheeks.

Mrs. Horatay groans through her teeth, close to my ear, as Kidney pushes his member inside her anus. My dick hardens and twitches inside of her.

"Fuck, she's so tight... and hot," Kidney groans as he struggles to push his cock in and out of her anal cavity. We time our thrusts together. The pressure of his dick on the other side is making her cunt feel even tighter.

"Ahh," I moan. "I'm gonna come again." Mrs. Horatay is whimpering in my ear in pain. There's no way I can hold my come back now that I feel the wetness of her tears on my neck. I cream inside her pussy. Kidney's climax follows soon after.

We put our pants back on. For the final sequence, Kidney gets a vibrator out of his bag.

"Lie back on the edge of the bed and spread your legs," he says to Mrs. Horatay. I lower the height of one of the tripods, roll it over, and focus the camera on her genitals.

For the next several minutes, Kidney carefully masturbates her. He licks, sucks, and rubs her red little clit while moving the vibrator in and out of her vagina at a steady, moderate pace.

One of the most frequent users on adesireisafulfilled recently left a few comments requesting a "spasm closeup."

So, I guess this is Kidney providing customer satisfaction. Going by what he said earlier, he does plan to get paid, after all.

Kidney finally makes Mrs. Horatay's body climax, forcing a strangled moan from her mouth. I make sure every undulation and twitch of her privates is recorded in perfect focus.

"Alright," he announces once her orgasming has ceased. "That's a rap."

I throw Mrs. Horatay's clothes and a roll of paper towels at her.

"As I'm sure you can tell," I begin as she re-dresses. "Everything that we did has been filmed." She frowns knowingly.

"Can you imagine what would happen if everyone in your life saw this? Your friends, your dad- it could even find the eyes of any future children you might have.

And your husband... some of this looks pretty consensual, you know."

She perks up at that. "Oh yeah," I say, huffing a laugh. "We could only release those parts. Tell me, how good is your relationship with your husband?" I don't wait for an answer before continuing.

"Are you positive he'd take your word that you were forced, against video footage of you on top of me grinding on my dick? Against footage of your pussy spasming in pleasure?"

Her eyebrows are furrowed, and it looks like she's going to be sick. "What do you want me to do?" She questions desperately.

"We want you to keep quiet about this. That's all."

Kidney tosses her the pills and water.

"Is this some kind of birth control?" Mrs. Horatay asks skeptically, examining the bottle.

"Right on. They're good too. Sure to work, with no awful side effects. Take 2 of them," Kidney says.

"No matter how you feel later," I insert, "Be sure to keep on the face you normally wear, and keep up with your usual tasks."

She cautiously twists open the cap and shakes 2 pills into her palm.

"Swig a shot of hard liquor. Sneak a smoke every now and then. Go punch around a bag at the gym. Do whatever you need to do."

Then, I lower my voice. "Just don't let anyone know, or you'll lose everything," I tell her as she swallows thickly.

"Did you know?" I say. "All the cells in our bodies are replaced every 10 years, but we don't say we're new people every 10 years because of that fact.

This is because who we really are is what's inside our hearts. This might sound like bad news for someone like you, so full of pain, shame, and confusion.

But, there are sayings: 'We are who we pretend to be, so we must be very careful what we pretend to be.' And, 'If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.'

If you pretend everything's fine, eventually, it truly will be. The act will transmute from second nature to first before you realize it. And, if you gaze into the abyss of wellness and happiness, those things will reflect back into you."

Mrs. Horatay looks as unconvinced as could be expected, but I go on with the drivel anyway.

"Your heart can be disciplined- molded and changed by your own will. You need only know what your will is. So... do you wish to be a victim?" I ask her.

"Another statistic, a shell being dragged along barren sand through days filled with pity? Do you want to live the rest of your life in the worst moments of your past, with your mind trapped in this bunker forever?"

Her expression is one of disturbance and confusion.

"You might think you have no choice, but that's a lie," I say. "Not everyone who's been belittled must be nothing, and not everyone who's been shoved down must wallow in the mud.

Despite all the media's talk of coming forward and closure, your contentment doesn't have to be chained by being hinged upon things outside of your control. You have the right to live freely from here on out.

You have a right to thrive, to leave the shadows of the past behind in the darkness, and to run straight ahead into the brightness of the future, without inhibition.

Your life is still full of positive possibilities, and the truth is, not a single one can be taken away without your releasing it."

I speak more firmly. "Hanging in the balances now are your marriage, your dignity, and even your identity, because no one would see you the same way if they saw these recordings. You can tip those balances in your favor, easily."

She blinks slowly, clutching her arms with her hands. I let the silence linger for a while until Mrs. Horatay quietly says, "Okay."

I grin, pleased. "I told you didn't I? You're a smart woman."

I actually have no idea what effect these speeches I give have upon the women we rape. They might even be destructive.

All I really need to say is, 'We'll show everyone you know these recordings if you tell anyone about what happened.'

Their minds would do the rest, and do a much better job than I ever could. I guess I just like having someone to rant at for a few minutes.

#kidnapping #crime #filming #movie #homemade movie

0 notes

uglymanchronicles · 7 years

Text

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Chapter 1: Hard Reboot

This hasn’t been edited yet, but I wanted to finally post it. I’ll update when it’s been looked over.

The first thing Evan realized was that something was halfway down his throat and he had no idea what it was or how it got there. As he choked and spluttered, spraying the liquid and coughing saliva all over the table in front of him, he realized that he didn't know where he was. He realized everything hurt to a startling degree and his gagging and retching weren't helping; in fact, he was pretty sure he was about to vomit. Looking around desperately, he spotted a door adorned with a faded stick-man symbol and lurched to his feet. What parts of his brain weren't trying to propel his uncooperative body forward dimly made the connection that he was in a bar, and a seedy one at that. Stumbling through the door on leaden legs, he fell to the floor in front of the nearest urinal and heaved something searing and foul into the shallow basin. Vomit was sticking to something on his face. What was stuck to his face? Why did it feel like he hadn't eaten in days? Why couldn't he remember yesterday? How did he get here? And, most presently, why was he touching a stained-brown urinal with his bare hands?

“Uueurrghh.” Evan had intended for it to be a groan of disgust, but a combination of confusion, exhaustion, and a wickedly sore throat resulted in a sound like a rusty gate with a drinking problem. He shoved himself up to his feet and half-fell into the sink. Was he drunk? No, this didn’t feel like drunk. Was he on something? He hoped it wasn’t coke again. If that was the case this was probably the come-down. No, that probably wasn’t it. Sitting alone in a dingy bar—or just sitting still—was not a usual cocaine activity. Could he have mixed a bunch of drugs and accidentally damaged his brain? Surely he was smarter than that!

He could figure that out later. First things first. The mirror was, unsurprisingly, a mess: cracks, stains, inane sharpie and/or car-key graffiti, stickers from shitty bands all around the edges. There was enough untainted glass to provide a reflection of his face, though, and what stared back at him was a good match for the mirror.

What he’d felt sticking to his face were bandages. A lot of bandages. Not a square inch of his face was free of gauze or cotton. On top of that, he was wearing a very bulky pair of dark sunglasses, a black baseball cap, and a dark gray hoodie with the hood up. He noted that the jacket looked like it had been sloppily repaired, but potential facial mutilation took priority.

Maybe he was thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe he’d finally had plastic surgery like he always considered doing. Maybe the reason he felt so messed up was because of painkillers or something. Great. Opiates. He didn’t want to think about the intestinal ramifications of that. But wait…

No, he hadn’t gone under the knife. Taking off the sunglasses for a closer look, he realized that, under the bandages, the shape of his face was still the same. His nose—broken for the first time before he even hit puberty and at least four times since then—still stuck out over an inch from his face at the bridge, then continued downward, juking from left to right to left again before ending in wide nostrils just above his weirdly plush lips. Said lips pursed in annoyance as Evan realized that his ‘aesthetic idiosyncrasies’, as his father had once called them, were still intact. He opened his mouth and clacked his teeth together, feeling around in his mouth with his tongue. Nope. Still didn’t close properly on the left. He tilted his head to up and to the right, trying to see his jaw. Yep. Still crooked from where it hadn’t healed properly.

Maybe he’d been in an accident. A lot of other parts of him hurt besides his face. He patted his chest gently, intending to feel if there were more bandages anywhere else on his body, and froze in place when something clanked. He was suddenly aware of the weight he was carrying, of contact against his skin. A sudden chill ran through him and he straightened up very slowly. Glancing around nonchalantly to make sure he was alone, he slowly walked into the solitary stall and closed the door.

Surrounded by scratched-out phone numbers promising an ambiguous good time and cast in shadow by flickering fluorescent bulbs, Evan took stock of the rest of himself. First, he pulled down his hood, feeling his ponytail unfurl as he did so. It felt greasy, which was no surprise, but it also felt like there was more of it than there should be. The possibility that he’d lost a significant amount of time was looking more and more likely.

Panic later. Figure out the here and now.

Next, he pulled off the baseball cap, noting that it felt weirdly heavy. He turned it over in his hands, examining it; it looked like a plain black snapback cap with a slightly curved brim, but when he moved it, the sensation of unbalanced weight and the slight sound of particles shifting drew his attention to the back of the hat. His fingers found a strange mass at the back of the hat, just above the opening. Heavy, dense, discrete. Just the right hardness and weight to break someone’s nose if swung correctly.

Why was he wearing a sap cap? For what purpose did he even own such a gimmicky ‘weapon’? That was the realm of the dangerously paranoid and the moronically edgy. There must be a reason. Had he been attacked? He’d known that was a possibility, but he should have been well off the radar. Had he gotten sloppy? Somehow leaked his location? More questions with no Goddamn answers. A long, exasperated breath slid between his lips as he ran his hand through his hair. A thought occurred to him mid-stroke. He seized a few strands of hair at the root and tugged. The strands between his fingers were at least a foot long, but what he was looking for was at the base. He grunted disdainfully. The last inch of his hair abruptly shifted colors from a nondescript medium-brown to a vivid corn-silk blond. Shit. That meant it had at least been a month. He remembered getting touched up in early February.

Christ.

So. A concealed weapon, massive injury to his face, missing at least a month of memory. This was going to get worse before it got better.

Evan returned his attention to his clothes. The hoodie had been roughly patched up on the left side of the chest, as he’d noticed earlier, but the damage was more extensive than he’d first thought. The cloth had been torn all the way under his left arm and around the back, and seemed to have been repaired by stapling a deflated football over the hole. Evan felt a surge of disgust at that. Such shoddy, slap-dash, jerry-rigged ‘sewing’ was so far beneath his abilities as to be nauseating. And he’d gone out in public like that! Had he lost his mind?

He unzipped the butchered garment and pulled it away from himself. Ah. That explained the weight, but for once it was something that didn’t fill him with a sense of panicked confusion. He’d taken to wearing a bulletproof vest since taking to the road, but… it didn’t feel as heavy he remembered. What was worrying was that it seemed to have actually seen some use. There were scrapes, scratches, and more than a few patches (much more professionally done, he noticed with some pride) here and there. He patted the vest down; uneven rigidity and weight lead him to conclude that several of the plates had been replaced. He felt his jaw clench as he accepted the logical conclusion: he’d been shot at least once.

He’d have to figure out the who, when, and why later. He was wearing something else, something hard and smooth, very close to his skin, under his shirt, but he couldn’t get to it with the vest on. Back to that later, then.

He was aware that he was being very systematic about something as mundane as looking at one’s own clothes, but he assumed he was in some sort of shock. Maybe going through this weird checklist would calm him down enough to figure out what was going on. He decided to just roll with it.

The pants were a welcome sight. Familiar and relatively normal. He’d designed and sewn them himself; a decent amount of pocket space without the bulkiness of cargo pants. Not exactly high fashion, but not something you’d glance twice at. Apparently gray was the color of the day. He was wearing some kind of hiking boot he didn’t immediately recognize, but that was nothing sinister. He probably wouldn’t recognize the socks he was wearing eith—okay, what was that?

Something was strapped around his waist, right around his navel, and he realized that another was running up over his shoulder, which mean they had to be meeting somewhere in the back… twisting his arm around under his jacket, he patted the small of his back until his hand met…

Oh, Jesus.

That was a gun.

A really big gun.

Like, borderline anti-vehicular big.

Okay, that did it. This was too weird, too scary, too much to handle at once. Screw personal inventory. He needed to get someplace safe to wrap his head around this. He had to figure out where he was. Phone! Phone, phone… he frantically slapped his pockets, trying to ignore what sounded like brass clinking against itself until her felt a familiar rectangular shape. His fingers shaking, he fished it out of his pocket, heart racing at the prospect of understanding…

The screen had a hole in it large enough to fit his thumb. It didn’t stop with the screen, either. The back of the phone had blistered outward and ruptured from the inside, the metal flaring out like a sharp-tipped flower.

Okay, fuck it. He’d seen a few people in the bar while he was doing the 50-yard stumble. He’d just have to get past the awkwardness and ask someone where the hell he was. The date would be easy enough to figure out, assuming he hadn’t somehow forgotten years and missed the death of print media. A small part of him made a note to chuckle later about relying on a cliché in real life, but humor was being supplanted by panic. It would have to wait.

Evan zipped the hoodie back up and left the stall, noticing as he moved that there were other weird weight distributions around his person. He wondered how many other instruments of personal unpleasantness he had strapped to himself, and hoped that none of them were too explosive.

Hesitantly, Evan stepped out of the restroom and surveyed the bar. Boy, he'd really picked a winner. The place was too depressing to even be called a dive. Dives, at least, had character; this place had a patina. The few patrons at the tables looked even worse than he did, but public day-drinking tended to do that to people. None of them looked particularly friendly or like the kind inclined to help a man who looked like he'd fought his way out of a mental ward.

There were two improvements on the scenery standing at the bar, however. Two young women stood with their backs to him, but even from an impaired perspective they stood out amongst the grime and human detritus. Some nearly-necrotized part of his brain noted that they were both very shapely, but this concern was immediately drowned in the rising tide of stress. Better to just get it over with.

Evan quietly walked up to the bar, making sure to stand several feet away from the women, and cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me, ladies, but--"

The hot asphalt didn't help the pain in his face. He groaned and rolled onto his side, then groaned louder from the dull pain in his ribs.

It had happened so quickly. Before he’d even finished half the sentence, the closer of the two women had yanked a bottle off the bar and smashed it across his temple with such speed and ferocity that he was barely able to even start to flinch. The hurricane force of the blow had knocked him against the bar and, disoriented as he was, he’d been unable to keep his footing. He heard the bartender yell as he hit the floor, and then he heard the second woman say something about how he’d grabbed her friend’s ass, and then he heard stomping footsteps as two of the staff approached to drag him roughly to the door, toss him out into the parking lot, and kick him, field goal-style, several times apiece. And then, while he struggled to breathe, the second girl had come out and rifled through his wallet, saying something sarcastic about ‘picking up the tab’ or something.

He was not going to forget those faces. Anger had temporarily overtaken fear and confusion and seared every detail he’d had time to notice into his brain.

“Well. I think that’s a vendetta,” he half-wheezed to himself as he pushed himself up on his knuckles and got to his knees. God, it was hot. He could see heat radiating off the pavement. It was starting to burn his knees through his pants, so he forced himself upward into something resembling standing. It didn’t quite take the first time and he stumbled sideways, catching himself on something metallic that scorched his fingers.

“Mother fu—huh. How about that.”

A newspaper vending box. Rusted and with what looked like a couple of spot-welded bullet holes in it, but still stocked. Evan crouched down for a better look.

The Arizona Daily Star. Tucson? What the hell? Last he remembered, he was bumming around campgrounds in Southeast Washington. It had been sort of boring, but it was peaceful. He’d started working on a few personal projects during the relative stability; It was the closest to normal life he’d had since January. Sure, it’d been barely above freezing most of the time, but he’d felt content. What made him give that up?

His eyes fell on the date and his heart seemed to pump backwards for a moment. May 11th. The last date-specific thing he could remember was from mid-February; he’d taken advantage of some cynical bar owner’s “singles awareness day” Valentine’s Day promotion and sat in the place for six straight hours, working on his laptop and drinking cheap liquor, surrounded by a strange mix of melancholy and manic patrons. Nothing particularly interesting happened, but the specific date stuck in his head.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

At least two months. A sizable fraction of a year, lost. Three states away. Lots of injuries. Weird clothes. Above-average personal armament. There were so many angles to the situation that he couldn’t even begin to try to put them together. Everything felt like clouds floating around the periphery of his brain. If he tried to focus on one, it would disperse and the others would engulf him, distracting him with suppositions, fears, and half-mad theories. He bounced around inside his own head in a numb and ultimately futile attempt to make sense of things, until he realized that he’d been standing almost completely still in the parking lot with a vacant expression on his face for several minutes. He looked like a homeless lobotomized mummy. He was probably lucky nobody had called the cops on him yet.

All the confusion and mystery finally gave way to absolute panic. Evan’s hands and lips were starting to shake, badly. His pulse started to race and he started to have trouble catching his breath. Desperately, frantically, he swung his head from side to side, trying to scan the parking lot while the color seemed to drain from his vision. Security, privacy, familiarity; these things felt so far removed from the situation that they seemed almost abstract.

Gotta get away

find somewhere to hide

to think

After what felt like an eternity, he finally saw it, a beacon of hope and safety in his rapidly darkening world. Heaven was a dented, dusty 2007 Gulf Stream Endura.

Home.

Evan tried to run, but confusion had suddenly become exhaustion and all he could manage was a determined stagger. He imagined he probably looked stone drunk, which was fine with him. It’d stop people getting curious.

His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t get his keys out of his pockets while walking, and could barely hold them when he stopped at the door. Trying to get the key into the lock felt like he was drowning, just inches away from the surface…

When the key finally slid into the lock, he gasped with relief so hard that he almost choked. He flung the door open and fell inside, pulling it closed as he collapsed. The relief was instant.

The smell was what brought him around the most. It had overtones of things that he didn’t remember being there, but underneath it all, it had the same subtle odor of lived-in familiarity. Facedown on the tile, he breathed in deeply, savoring even the disgusting undertones that came from having one’s nose pressed to the linoleum. This was an ugly paradise, but he’d take it.

After an interminable amount of time, Evan rolled onto his back. Sheer relief seemed to have made the pain from his earlier beating subside, as it was significantly less agonizing than his earlier rolling-over in the parking lot. It was surprisingly painless to push himself up and collapse onto the couch.

Evan slowly gazed around the interior of what he’d come to call home (and apparently had continued to for several weeks), hoping he could take in any changes in a calm, reserved manner and not immediately jump to pants-pissing panic again.

The first thing he noticed was a laptop, sitting on the kitchen counter. It was one he didn’t recognize, but that was no big deal, he tended to cycle through them really fast in the course of his normal routines. Nothing scary there. What was concerning was the piece of paper reading “EVAN: WATCH ME. PASSWORD IS THE DATE”, written in his own angular handwriting, taped to the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several more signs taped up around the cabin. He was instinctively trying to focus on and read them, but he forced himself back to the floor. With some adjusting, he was able to swing the carpeted panel up on a hinge, revealing a compartment below.

All of that can wait.

The lock’s keypad beeped as it opened, and Evan swung the safe open, ignoring the unfamiliar and frankly frightening objects that now occupied the space.

Only one thing matters right now.

He leaned down until he was flat on the floor, his arm extended all the way down into the safe. Things clanked, clinked, clicked, shifted, and on one frightening occasion, beeped twice, but Evan’s hand eventually closed around what he was looking for: a rough canvas bag.

Out came the bag, closed went the lid. Open came the bag, in went the hand.

And out came a weathered, worn, well-loved stuffed toy giraffe. Evan ran his fingers across the fur, shortened and decolored with time, and looked into its dull, scuffed glass eyes before hugging the toy to his chest as though he were trying to push it into himself. Still holding it, he turned himself to lie down on the couch, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

“It’s been one hell of a day, Mr. Nex.”

#Ugly Man Chronicles #Ugly Man Chronicles: Reignition #my writing #chapter

21 notes · View notes

junker-town · 5 years

Text

‘The Bachelor’ Recap: Love on the run

In Week 9, Cassie’s dad shows up and Colton jumps a fence. What is even happening.

We here at SB Nation realize that “The Bachelor” is very much sports. Therefore, each week we’ll recap all the heartbreak, drama, and excitement. If you missed anything, catch up on last week’s action here.

IT’S FANTASY SUITE WEEK!!!

Things kick off with Chris and Colton sitting down so the former can give the latter fatherly advice about the upcoming sexy-time. In case you hadn’t heard, Colton is a virgin, so the stakes are a little higher this week.

He says he’s open to the idea that he will “make love” with one of three remaining women, and I reflexively made this face:

Colton takes Tayshia, Cassie, and Hannah to Portugal, where they will all get solo dates and an option at the Fantasy Suite.

Tayshia’s Date

The duo meets in a gorgeous setting, and walk around a corner to find a helicopter waiting to take them on a tour of the area. That’s cool and great, but why the heck isn’t Tayshia wearing her jacket?

ABC

How does it stay on? Doesn’t that make everything harder? Is that remotely warmer?

Anyway, the duo picnics on a windy cliff overlooking some of the deepest blue water as they discuss last episode’s hometown visit. Things quickly turn to Fantasy Suite talks, and I can’t imagine the possibility of losing your virginity in such a public way. EVERYTHING IS SO AWKWARD — SEND HELP.

They spent the first few moments of dinner making sure that Tayshia’s boobs weren’t popping out of her low-cut outfit before Colton thanked her for helping push him out of his comfort zone this season. Tayshia shared that her husband cheated on her (I think that’s what she was saying) and then I kind of dozed off as they continued gushing over each other. Then ... TO THE FANTASY SUITE!

Like, you know you’re the first, but do you have any doubt that you’re only the first because you’re literally the first to get the Fantasy Suite date? If they take a one-way trip to bone town, does the second woman then find out? Does he say, Oh, no, you’re not the first? This is a whole new dynamic never before explored on this show.

Things get off to a rocky start as Colton fumbles over his words about actually doing the sex.

Colton: How hard can it be?

Every Woman Everywhere:

We rejoin the couple, and we find out — after a lot of beating around the bush — that they DID NOT do the deed. THE PLOT THICKENS.

Cassie’s Date

Cassie didn’t get a helicopter, but they took an old Mercedes convertible to a town called Tavira. The couple posts up at a quaint coffee shop, and my jealousy is through the roof. But much like Tayshia’s date, this one is horrifically boring for the audience as the duo just walks around making out and looking at pajama pants.

No, seriously.

The most scandalous part of the date was when this dapper old Portuguese man stole Cassie away on the dance floor.

ABC

Colton says that this day of making out in various places has helped him realize that he’s full-on in love with Cassie, which means it definitely WILL NOT work out. They climbed to a scenic overlook for another picnic where Colton told her that her father did not give him his blessing to propose at the end of this experiment.

Cassie was visibly shook, which isn’t a good thing when she’s the one clearly struggling with figuring out what her feelings are in this whole thing.

ABC

Colton and Cassie part ways to get ready for the evening portion of the date, and a mysterious black van shows up outside the hotel.

BAH GAWD, IS THAT CASSIE’S DAD’S MUSIC?

Cassie’s dad rolls up and fully carpet bombs all of her insecurities about the relationship, effectively ruining the relationship. It’s a little bit bullshit, tbh, but Cassie was one piece of advice from falling off this cliff and into a nondescript black SUV straight to the airport. Add in the fact it’s from her dad, who she loves, and her tenuous relationship with Colton doesn’t even stand a chance.

Meanwhile:

Colton: I’m excited for dinner, but I’m more excited for what comes AFTER dinner, and that’s the overnight date. Cass is the one. Outside all of this I can see this working...my heart is complete when I think of Cassie.

Me: Ohhhhh noooooooooo Colton noooooooo.

The night portion of the date is like watching an emotional train wreck coming, and you know you can’t do anything about it. She proceeds to tell him that her father came to visit and that she doesn’t know what she’s thinking. He effectively tells her that he wants to pick her, but she waffles more than an IHOP on Saturday morning before walking out. It’s basically this:

I won’t pretend to know what this experience is like, and I’m sure it’s incredibly difficult to figure out what feelings are real and what are “omg traveling with this super handsome guy with ABC picking up the bill is so totally amazing is this love?”, but girl, you knew you weren’t super into this after hometowns. Your “I don’t know, I don’t know” is just exhausting and unfair at this point. AND I WAS TEAM CASSIE.

Colton gets her to come back inside and pleads with her to stay, saying that when he’s with the other women, all he can think about is her. At this point, I don’t see how Colton can pick Tayshia or Hannah (especially after they see how this plays out on TV).

I mean, he flat out tells her that he is going to pick her and that he is full on in love with her. He even says at one point, “I don’t care if you leave, I won’t stop fighting for you.”

AFTER ALL OF THAT, Cassie throws up the deuces and heads home (which, of course, is her choice).

Finally...FINALLY...the moment we’ve been waiting for all damn season happened. After Cassie leaves in tears, Colton storms from his room, shoves a couple cameras out of the way, and heads for the front gate of the compound as Chris Harrison calls his name. Then, THE JUMP:

RT if you saw this coming ‍♂️ #TheBachelor pic.twitter.com/fnThoFSycm

— The Bachelor (@BachelorABC) March 5, 2019

Chris Harrison, the best host on television, gives us another amazing moment, saying, “He just jumped the f*cking fence. Is there a button that opens the gate?”

We get a “TO BE CONTINUED” to end the episode.

OK Y’ALL. What’s impressive is that the producers (and Colton on Twitter) teased this moment for the ENTIRE season, and it was still dramatic and awesome as hell.

Twitter was all about it, but this was my favorite tweet:

— ABC (@ABCNetwork) March 5, 2019

Here are the highlights and lowlights from Week 9:

Biggest Burn: Tayshia on Portugal

Damn, girl. Harsh.

ABC

Most Obvious Sign Colton Is a Virgin: The dead fish

ABC

Best Use of Object Innuendo: Champagne popping too early

ABC

Episode MVP: Accordion guy

I aspire to be 1/10th as cool as this dude.

ABC

Biggest Question Mark: Cassie’s dad’s luggage

Umm, pops? Where is your luggage? Are you not staying at this hotel? Did you not bring any luggage to Portugal? IS THAT THE SAME OUTFIT YOU WORE FOR HOMETOWNS?

Respect to Cassie's dad knowing what he likes...henley shirts. #TheBachelor pic.twitter.com/GTvzl2UWOm

— Caroline Darney (@cwdarney) March 5, 2019

Producer’s Worst Nightmare: Colton’s statements of love

Drama and anticipation is the name of the game here. Colton takes all that, pours an entire container of gasoline on it, and throws a stick of dynamite on it.

“At the end of this, I want to be with you. I. Love. You.”

Producers:

Most Awkward Portugal Experience: Whatever Hannah is doing

WHERE HAS HANNAH BEEN THIS WHOLE TIME?

like is hannah g still in a hotel in portugal

— The Smoking Musket (@smokingmusket) March 5, 2019

Imagine when someone finally catches up with her and they’re like, “Oh, yeah, Cassie just up and left and we don’t know where Colton is because he jumped a fence. What have you been up to?”

On the flip side, maybe she’s having the time of her life hanging out in Portugal and just eating good food and drinking great wine. Or coming up with new “raps.”

hannah g coming up with her next rap for colton, unaware he just jumped the fence #thebachelor pic.twitter.com/Iiqll5hZHw

— anna (@annaholbrook_) March 5, 2019

0 notes