#kept all loose in a specific bathroom drawer

[the-hinky-panda]

The Dog: Part IV

Author’s Note: So if you guys follow @bullet-prooflove​, you know that The Dog and The North Star take place in the same fic universe. The vet in this story does have a name (Meredith) but I will continue to write her as a reader by using you/your and have Mike refer to her by using nicknames only. All this to say I’m not sure how to label this now since she has a name but it won’t be used in this fic.

Another note, I do use physical descriptions in this chapter (freckles and red hair) but I do it for a bigger purpose. Yes, no descriptions are more inclusive, however I wanted to make a point that she is self-conscious of her looks because don't we all have something that we don't like about ourselves? Don't we all have something that we want to change? And how wonderful is it when we surround ourselves with the right people that love us and all our imperfections? So please forgive the physical descriptions in this chapter as they were only done to deliver an important message: love your freckles!

You stand in front of the mirror and inspect your face. Your fingers trail over the splashes of freckles across your round cheeks, your face framed by your red hair. You’re not beautiful. At least, not by social media standards. No one is going to stop you on the street and want to take your picture, make a model out of you. You’re not destined for Instagram fame. It makes you wonder what Mike sees in you, what prompted him to ask you out to dinner at a local brewery. Mike, with his roguish good looks and witty sense of humor; warm brown eyes and easy smile. And dear lord, those adorable dimples. 

You dig out a tube of concealer, specific for freckles and other skin blemishes. Your ex, Kevin, had found it for you. He hadn’t been a fan of your freckles and often urged you to cover them up as best you could. You always kept a tube of the makeup on hand in case he wanted you to join him at a pharmaceutical rep party or just go out for drinks with some of his friends. Holding that small tube in your hand, you wonder if you’re really ready to try out another relationship with someone new. All the masks that need to be worn and maintained, you just didn’t know if you had it in you. 

So, why try? 

If Mike is going to like you, it’s going to be for you. You drop the make up back into the drawer and continue with your normal, basic routine. Simple make-up, a loose twist to keep your hair back from your face, and small gold hoop earrings. Shasta watches you curiously, her head cocked to the side, not exactly sure what this new routine is. It’s pretty sad when the dog is wondering why you’re dressing up. You pat her head as you leave the bathroom. 

“You’re coming with me, don’t worry.” 

Shasta follows you into the bedroom where the second struggle of evening occurs: what to wear? Your wardrobe consists mostly of scrubs. It’s been about six years now since your divorce and you’ve never really gotten back onto the dating scene and your clothes show that. You’re able to find a green blouse to go with your jeans and flats. You grab a navy blue cardigan since you’ll be sitting outside at the brewhouse. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, releasing a long sigh to try to dispel some of the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach. 

You had forgotten this part of life. This nervous thrill that makes you feel nauseous but you can’t wait to see what the evening is going to bring. It’s a knife’s edge balancing act of being yourself but just the likable pieces. Honest, authentic but keeping the odd and messy parts of yourself still hidden from view. You pick up Shasta’s harness, try to get the dog to stand still and it takes three attempts to wrestle the harness on her body. It doesn’t help that her short tail is wagging so excitedly, you struggle snapping the enclosures. You stand up, grab your keys, and look at the dancing dog in front of you. 

“If Mike doesn’t like me, it’s your fault,” you joke. “Maybe Bono can teach you some manners, you wild red dog.” 

You get Shasta secured in the backseat of the Subaru and make the ten minute drive over to Mike’s place. Any nervousness that you may have felt while getting ready completely dissipates when you see him, sitting on his front porch, Bono sitting next to him. He’s dressed up his regular henley with a plaid button shirt and has his suede jacket thrown over his arm. You’re struck once again with what a handsome man he is with his confident gait, wavy dark hair, and warm brown eyes. Maybe you should have worn the concealer this evening and you silently chide yourself as he gets Bono situated in the backseat next to Shasta before sliding into the passenger seat of your car. 

“You look nice.” 

You turn your head to hide the nervous, pleased smile that erupts on your face. “Thanks. You look nice too. Have you ever been to the Bronx Alehouse before?” 

He shrugs halfheartedly. “Once or twice.” He glances behind him at Bono. “Guess I better get better acquainted with it.” 

“You know that Bono can go into any restaurant you want. You don’t have to go to dog friendly ones only.” 

“I certainly don’t want to leave Shasta out of the good times though.” 

“That’s very kind of you. Shasta appreciates it.”  You glance to the side and catch his smile that’s just large enough to cause that dimple to appear in his cheek. If it were even possible, you fall more in love with the man. You park a couple blocks away from the restaurant to give the dogs a chance to walk off some of their energy. Well, for Shasta to walk off her energy. Bono trots right at Mike’s side, the perfect gentleman. 

They seat you outside on the sidewalk patio where they provide water bowls next to the table for the dogs and your waitress slips both dogs a small treat when she takes your drink orders. You chat about what has transpired in the last week of your lives, what has happened since that beautiful day spent at Orchard Beach. Your update is short and sweet: working overtime at the clinic. Although the finding of a litter of fox pups did make for an interesting day a couple days ago. His update is more interesting. 

“My sister from Maryland came up for a few days.” 

You know from the texts and calls that have been going back and forth between you two that he has three sisters along the East Coast. “She’s the teacher, right?” 

“Right,” he picks up his beer and takes a sip. “So she cleaned the house, stocked my pantry, and fussed over me for three days before heading back to Baltimore. Then I paid a visit to the training center where Bono came from, learned a bit more about what goes into training a service dog and what they’re capable of doing. There were some dogs there that were being trained to sniff out cancer in people.” 

“I’ve heard of that but haven’t seen any dogs in action yet. Dogs are incredible animals, extremely adaptable to a variety of situations and environments. They’re loyal, loving, dedicated. It makes me wonder what we humans did to deserve them.” 

He laughs but there’s very little humor behind it. “Certainly nothing that we’re currently doing. The world’s a mess.” 

You get it. You understand his bleak world view at the moment. Colin had it too after his accident. But Mike’s nihilistic vision comes from years of seeing the worst of humanity while on the police force. The last five years he’s spent chasing down Oscar Papa certainly hasn’t shown him the best of humanity either. “Maybe that’s why we have them. As reminders that we can be good enough people to deserve the love of our dogs.” 

“How do you do that?” The bitter edge of his perception dissipates and there’s genuine curiosity behind his words. “How do you stay so positive after all the horrible shit you see too? The animal abuse? Abandonment?” 

You shrug. “I guess I take peace in the thought that I’m not one of those people. I care for the animals, treat them, heal them, rehome them. I can’t stop people from being jerks and assholes, but I certainly can help fix what they’ve broken. You can’t make the world a better place without someone out there trashing it.” 

The warmth comes back to his smile and his eyes. “That’s a commendable attitude then.” 

“Thank you,” you raise your beer glass in his direction before taking a sip. He starts to say something else when your name is shouted across the patio and your blood runs cold. You can’t believe he would be here, in the Bronx, at this restaurant, at this exact time. But you hear your name again and when you turn, your eyes are immediately drawn to the extremely well-dressed blonde man who is waving at you. 

“Who’s that?” Mike asks, a sense of wariness creeping into his tone. 

“My ex-husband, Kevin.”  You hope against all hope that he and his bubbly little girlfriend go back inside the restaurant but that is not your luck. The two of them, arms draped over each other in their high-end clubbing gear, make their unsteady way over to your table. 

“Hey, babe.” 

You twist the corner of the napkin in your lap. “Not your babe, Kevin.” 

His blue eyes land on Mike. “Yeah,  I can see that. Kevin Bradford.” , the ex. This is Wendy.” 

“Mindi,” she corrects with a high-pitched giggle.

Mike reluctantly shakes his hand. “Captain Duarte.” 

Mindi emits a small squeal of surprise. “You’re that police guy who got hacked up by-“ 

“Yes, I am,” Mike cuts her off. 

Kevin grabs two chairs from another table and pulls them up to your table. “That’s fucking rad, man.” 

“Kevin!” You feel the tips of your ears heat up with a flash of anger. 

“What?” He shrugs. “How many dudes can say they went a few rounds with machetes and lived to tell about it? Like, that is fucking badass, legendary.”  Kevin lightly smacks Mike’s arm. “Bet it gets you a lot of action from the ladies, am I right?” 

Mike gives Kevin a sharp smile. “Not quite.” 

“Oh,” Kevin shrugs.  “Guess you haven’t gotten your strength back yet. In that case,” he points to you, “she’s a good one to break you back into the game. Doesn’t ask for much but puts out-“ 

Abject humiliation overtakes you to the point that you’re practically strangling the napkin that is still in your lap. Mike’s eyes flash and he starts to say something when Mindi interrupts  him. 

“Awww,” she coos and reaches towards Bono. “What a cute doggie!” 

“Please don’t touch my dog.” Despite the directness of the command, Mike does soften his tone with the young woman and she immediately withdraws her hand. 

“Sorry. Is he a service dog or something?” 

“He is,” Mike answers.  “I forgot his vest tonight. It’s okay.” 

You’re once again impressed with how easily Mike can read a situation, measure people up, and respond to them. He’s like a social swiss army knife. You do take pity on the poor girl and scoot your chair out slightly. “You can pet my dog if you want. Her name is Shasta.” 

The woman’s face lights up as she gives Shasta a vigorous rub on her back. “What a good girl, Shasty. I’m Mindi.” 

“Hey, hey,” Kevin leans over  and bumps her shoulder with his. “Save some of that hand energy for later, babe.” 

You roll your eyes and look over apologetically at Mike. He responds with a “what the hell were you thinking” look but where there should have been judgment in his eyes, there was a soft mirth. Some of your humiliation fades. The sun has set enough that the lights on the patio turn on and brighten the outside area significantly. Kevin looks over at you and motions to your face. 

“You run out that concealer? I can get you more if you want.” He motions towards Mike and lowers his voice. “You know, since you’re trying to impress someone new. Trust me babe, no one likes looking at…that.” 

“Oh, is that the stuff you got me?” Mindi pipes up and turns back to you. “It’s fabulous and will totally cover all those freckles and spots. It’s a miracle in a bottle.”  

Freckles and spots. You want to disappear again. You and your freckles and your red hair and your odd sense of humor and…

“She’s not trying to impress me,” Mike’s sharp tone draws all three sets of eyes to him. “I’m already impressed.” He picks up his beer. “Besides, I love her freckles.” 

Kevin bursts out laughing. “What is this, your first date? Shit, man. You don’t have to try that hard with her. You already got a cool dog. If she hasn’t slept with you yet, trust me, she will soon.” 

“Kev, be nice,” Mindi says but it’s quiet and half-hearted. 

He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “Honey, you do realize this is my ex-wife. The one who dumped all my things in the front yard, in the rain, for no reason.” 

“No reason?!” You’re halfway out of the chair when you realize your anger has moved you to your feet. People’s heads have turned in your direction and you slowly sit back down at the table. You remember that horrible night in vivid detail. You and Sam dragging Kevin’s Armani suits, fifty pairs of shoes,  and exercise equipment out of the house. You still don’t know how the two of you managed to move a full size treadmill but rage at his behavior that night certainly was a solid motivator. “You showed up drunk to Colin’s funeral.” 

“Who wants to go to funerals?” Kevin counters. “So I knocked a couple back at the bar down the street. Me and half the people there that night had been drinking before showing up.”  

“Yeah but you were the only one that leaned his fucking elbow on my brother’s casket.” The disbelief and fury you had felt when you had seen that, his lean frame casually leaning on the highly polished wood of Colin’s casket roars to the surface again. You want to punch him in his smug face but instead you ball up the napkin that you’ve been twisting in your lap and throw it at his head. 

Mike stands up from the table and tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Okay, we’re done. Enjoy the table, Kevin. Mindi, my advice would be get the hell out now.” 

“Dude,” Kevin throws his arms out. “What happened to bro code? Bros before hoes.” 

Mike grimaces. “Exhibit A, Mindi.” 

You’re humiliated and angry. You had been looking forward to this evening, excited for this new start with a charming, kind, and good man. And you’ve ruined it because Kevin decided to darken the door of this restaurant and bring out the worst of you. Mike has his phone in his hand, most likely getting ready to call an Uber and retreat from this clusterfuck. You don’t blame him at all. You’re so lost in your thoughts, berating yourself for your outburst, that it must take Mike a couple times of saying your name until you hear him. 

“What?” 

He smiles at you, warmly, and extends his hand that isn’t holding Bono’s leash. “Come on. I know a better place.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and take his hand before he changes his mind. His hand is warm, broad and it helps ground you in the storm of your fury. It takes a couple tugs for Shasta to follow you, as she doesn’t want to leave her new, loud and giggly, friend but eventually you, Mike, and dogs soon find yourselves back on the sidewalk. 

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I had no idea-“  

“Don’t worry about it. I have an ex-wife, I get it. They call it baggage for a reason.” 

You sigh and drop your shoulders, the tension finally releasing as you start moving down that sidewalk back towards your car. “Thank you, for understanding.” 

You walk a block and stop to wait for the light to change when he squeezes your hand. You realize you never let him go from the restaurant. You give him a small smile and he leans over and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I like your freckles. Don’t ever cover them.” 

Oh yeah, you were completely and utterly head over heels for this man.  

#mike duarte x you #mike duarte x reader #mike durate #captain mike durate #law and order svu #mike duarte x ofc #maurice compte

[idatenjumpfanatic]

I Got Your Back (Begrudgingly)

Loosely inspired by this thread here

Specifically about the Samejima siblings. We all have our own chance to make up backstories for the side characters of the show, but I wanna flesh out what yall already wrote about Gabu, plus some thoughts of mine with those headcanons on the end of this oneshot.

No word count bc I just wrote everything here. Not proofread, so this is basically word vomited before I lose the idea (and motivation)

Notes are that this happened far before the show. Anyways enjoy!

=================

Gabu never did house chores. He was never really fond of them. It was boring, tedious, and above all, not worth his time at all. There were better things to invest his time on, and it was definitely not on those. And besides, Taiga's there to do them instead of him.

However today Taiga was sick.

The older sibling was terribly bedridden, unable to leave his room levels of bad. He said just yesterday that he wasn't feeling well, and then it just got worse now. Gabu would've first thought he was faking it, both have done it before in the past (and neither snitched each time), but the vomiting sounds he heard earlier that morning behind the bathroom door was plenty enough to convince him otherwise.

"Mom, Tai's sick."

"Well, we're still busy at work. Just let him rest, okay?"

"Are you serious?!"

Gabu would've started an argument with his parents about this given the chance, but said parents were too quick end the telephone call before he got another word in. He growled, crossing his arms.

He didn't want to deal with sick brother quite frankly. It's just another chore before school.

Or, I could skip school using Taiga as an excuse.

That thought made Gabu grin. He'd say his poor older brother was down with sickness and he took the liberty to take care of him today, as his parents were really of no use in that aspect, but really he'd just go MTB riding at the trails. Yeah, that'll do it.

Though he needed to wait for a few more minutes to make sure his parents wouldn't catch him.

While he did though, he could hear coughing from the second floor.

Gabu frowned, listening as Taiga's coughing continued for a good few seconds before it stopped. He stayed where he stood even after the house fell into silence. Without even realizing, he was squeezing his own arms as he found himself double guessing.

He stared at the door for a long while, subconsciously humming quietly as he did so. His humming then turned into a grumble, and once he finally made his mind up, he threw his hands and groaned before walking away from the door.

Meanwhile Taiga, he wasn't in the best shape clearly. Every limb felt like lead, and his head was throbbing. It would've been a lot worse if not for the menthol ointment he kept in his bedside drawer, but even then it wasn't enough to alleviate everything else. It didn't help too that every time he wanted or needed to get up he felt like throwing his insides out.

Whatever he got, it was bad.

But still, he knew it was best to just power through it as much as he could. He didn't need to worry about convincing his parents; lately neither would notice if he or Gabu missed school, or if they were even home at all, because neither would be at home either. Sometimes it was for the better, oftentimes it was just depressing to think about, and right now it was the latter.

Gabu at least was told that he was sick, but Taiga knew his brother wouldn't be be able to take care of him. He loves him, but he's also well aware how incompetent Gabu was when it came to basic things. He once set something on fire in the kitchen when the Four Kings were trying to teach him, and whether that incident was in purpose or by accident the fact still stood that Gabu was no longer allowed to try to cook anything.

Which meant Taiga was left by himself.

Taiga heaved a sigh at the thought, but already accepted it ever since he felt the first signs of sickness. He just wasn't expecting that it'd get this bad. Whatever scolding he'd get for not cleaning around the house, despite his condition, he'd take, but for now he would rather try to get a shut eye and think about the aftermath later on. Food and water he'd figure out on getting later on once his body would cooperate.

He turned to the side where his unclogged nostril was up, pulling the blanket some more over himself as he tried to go back to sleep. That part, at least, wasn't that hard. He didn't even realize that he did fall asleep until he woke up in a coughing fit.

Slowly sitting up, Taiga rubbed his throat once the coughs finally died out. He grumbled to himself, disliking the idea of needing to get up for some water, but alas he couldn't blame anyone but his past self for not preparing sooner.

He was already willing himself to get off the bed, but once he was one foot down he spotted an unopened bottle of water just sitting on his nightstand. He stared at it for a long while, wondering if he actually left it there before. Though, his own body didn't let him think about it for any longer as he felt another round of coughs crawling its way up his already parched throat.

Downstairs, Gabu was still staring intensely at the pot of water that sat on the stove. Through rummaging the pantry, he found the easiest thing to cook: packets of chicken broth soup that was just needed to be put in boiling water. He read through the steps earlier, but he was now met with the roadblock of not knowing how to operate the stove.

During this he heard Taiga coughing again, which signaled that he was awake once again. It only meant less time for Gabu, unless his brother went back to sleep right after. His staredown with the inanimate kitchen equipment continued.

Gabu thought about calling one of the Four Kings, if one of them weren't at school, for assistance, but the thought of asking for help for such a menial task only made his cheeks flush with embarrassment. The Four Kings were by no means judgmental towards him, but the issue lied with him and not them.

Damn him for his issue of either serving his ego or knowledge.

"Okay, think about it this way," he began telling himself, "it'd suck if I have to say I still don't know after all this. And if I figure it out myself, I get to stick it in Tai's face."

Yeah, seemed doable. He grabbed one of the stove's knobs and started experimenting.

=================

Taiga laid still, blankly staring at the ceiling. The water helped for sure, but now his stomach was rumbling. He couldn't tell if it was hunger or wanting to vomit, but either way he needed to resolve it with food first. If he were hungry that was it, and if he needed to vomit it meant he needed medicine, and he couldn't take that on an empty stomach.

The stillness was really him psyching himself to get up despite aching all over. He took a few deep breaths (while hovering his ointment over his mouth and nose), before wrapping the blanket around himself as his slowly got up. Sitting up he could already taste the bile coming up his throat, but he pressed his lips shut as he swallowed it down.

Finally he was standing, despite all odds. He fought his urge to hurry as he took little steps, keeping his eyes down on the floor to avoid worsening his migraine. Though, in the few steps he'd taken he heard his bedroom door creak open.

"Ugh, why are you up?"

Taiga tilted his head up and saw Gabu standing in the hallway holding a tray that seemed larger in his tiny hands, and a mask over his nose and mouth.

"Go back to bed," he demanded.

Taiga stood and stared, blinking in shock while Gabu made his way into the room. Gabu was fast to notice his brother not responding, his scowl behind the mask deepening.

"Hey, are you deaf? Go back to bed!"

He didn't wait this time. Gabu quickly set down the tray on the table before he marched forward and practically shoved Taiga back to the bed, and yet despite his sudden actions he still did them with carefulness.

Taiga didn't give him much hassle though and shuffled back. He didn't have the energy to argue or fight back either, so he sat back on his bed and let his sibling do whatever he was planning to do.

"I called mom in her office today telling you were sick, but she didn't care. 'Too busy with work' as always," Gabu scoffed while retrieving the tray.

"And dad?"

Gabu gave him a half-lidded stare. "If mom's busy then he is too, duh," he replied sourly. He set the tray on the nightstand, adjusting it so that it wouldn't tip over since the table was smaller. From there Taiga could see what his brother brought.

A small thermos, a large bowl of soup with a spoon, packs of saltine crackers, a new bottle of water, and multiple sleeves of medicine tablets.

"I heated too much water so I made tea too, but yeah there's more soup downstairs, just let me know."

"You... made this for me?"

"Yeah, don't overthink it."

Normally making a bowl of soup wasn't much of a feat, but for Gabu it was an accomplishment, and Taiga knew that. He was impressed, actually, that Gabu was able to not only gather all of these, but to make some food unsupervised without burning anything down (at least, he hoped. His nose was a little stuffy at the moment to smell anything burning) as well.

Taiga smiled, picking up the bowl as he muttered Gabu a thanks. The warmth of the broth was welcoming to his hands, he'd been getting the chills so the hot food was such a relief. Before he took a scoop though he realized something.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school right now?"

"And so?" Gabu shot back with a shrug.

Taiga looked at him for a little while before he gave a defeated sigh. No way he'd be able to convince Gabu to try and catch up with school for the day. He went back to the soup, and while he started eating he could hear Gabu rummage through the tablets.

"You're welcome, by the way. Don't say I never do anything for you."

Taiga couldn't help but grin again. "Of course, I appreciate it," he said with full sincerity. Gabu glanced at him but then quickly looked away.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm calling the others though after their class to look after you this time. At least they're more reliable."

The last part fell into a mumble, but Taiga still heard it. He wasn't sure who Gabu was referring to, but he was hoping it wasn't a self-inflicted insult. A bit of a reach of course, but it was still a valid concern for him. He didn't know how to comfort him either, as words often didn't translate to what he wanted to convey; a problem for the both of them, in all honesty.

He genuinely wanted to thank Gabu again, since his sudden decision to stay actually solved so much of his concerns, but he also knew his brother was terrible with handling compliments. So instead, he reached out and ruffled Gabu's hair.

Instantly a complaint. "Ew! Get your sick hands off me, I don't wanna catch whatever you have."

Taiga laughed, though it quickly cut into coughing. While his little brother reached for a bottle, the same thought ran in his mind:

Yeah, it may be hard that mom or dad weren't there when he needed them, but Gabu always was, no matter how much he says he doesn't care. And of course, he'll always be there for Gabu just the same.

=================

After writing that last paragraph I realized that the headcanon of Taiga and Gabu having such a tight-knit relationship prior to everything is so much more devastating considering the events of the show.

I like to believe that the brothers are genuinely close, in tandem with the headcanon that their parents are neglectful to an extent, so blood-wise they don't have much besides each other. Also, I like to think that their parents are rich or at least holds a high status, since Gabu does a lot of stuff he gets away with (particularly with the stealing school equipment incident), but because they work first before their own kids, they've become blissfully unaware of what their children are up to. Which is tragic.

One last thing, I initially titled this one-shot as "Love Language" because I headcanon that both the brothers' love language is act of service (mostly through bossing other people). Seeing how Gabu is so bad at handling verbal compliments, I take it he's more of a "show, not tell" kind of person, and on top of neglectful parents it's more likely for him to pick that up from Taiga.

Also as siblings, especially in an Asian household, verbal show of genuine affection, gratitude, or sorry is difficult to do so at times. Often it's expressed through other means, like food or asking the other if they wanna hang out outside after a fight. Those kinda stuff

#mod writes #gabu samejima #idaten jump #taiga samejima #gabu #taiga #idaten jump fanfic #fanfic #mod speaks #i forget how much i enjoy word vomit writing #minimal plot all nonsense just thoughts pouring out

[adonis-koo]

tease

| 19 |

↳ Summary: You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

↳ Pairing: Stripper!Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, drama, slice of life, relationship problems without the relationship, reader is such a shy baby protect her, MUTUAL pining, so much sexual frustration,

Word Count: 11k

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Song Mood

Warning: This story touches on both sexual harassment and abuse, please read with caution if any of these things are triggers to you. Additional warnings will be given when a chapter presents them.

Music gently echoed through the living room and the smell of jasmine wafted in the air mixed with the smell of fresh rain from the open windows. Your home hadn’t changed much in your week-long absence yet you on the other hand felt...different. Not a bad difference, or a good one. It was just hard to believe you were home again. 

The plane ride was over fourteen hours and it gave you and Jungkook a very long time to talk about what had happened throughout the week at Seasonella and of course the afterparty....which you couldn’t help but cringe at, thoughts filtered your mind as to what had even possessed you to do that with Jimin? You had apologized relentlessly to Jungkook when you realized just how inconsiderate you had been, no matter how much he kept trying to play it off.

The more you thought about it the more you felt even worse, no matter how much Jungkook tried to tell you it was fine, because it wasn’t fine, especially when he admitted at first, he did feel hurt watching you do that after he had opened up about it. Not only this but Jungkook had confessed it was difficult to even admit in the first place. 

You could tell he was seemingly at war with himself internally and was holding back some of his own feelings still, but you wanted him to take his time and open up when he was ready too.

Moving the books off the shelf you began to dust it down as you sighed. Jungkook had gone on to explain that he wasn’t hurt by the action anymore, in fact, he had only felt hurt for a very brief moment before realizing what you were doing was, how he interpreted it, a challenge to his authority in your relationship. 

At the very least you were relieved he interpreted like that rather than you just being an inconsiderate ass to his feelings, which is how you felt about it, even though in those moments it hadn’t been your intentions as all and you secretly vowed you would never do again, Jungkook more than anyone, didn’t deserve that. You never wanted Jungkook to feel like he couldn’t open up and be honest with you with no judgement at all. 

With that all being taken into consideration you told him every little bit on how you felt and of course apologized for minimizing his feelings about what could have been possible with Jimin, which he had accepted. And in the end Jungkook had simply asked to just let you both move past this and last what had happened in Vegas, stay in Vegas.

Jungkook had asked though, if it was okay to drop you off at your apartment once you got in, as he wanted some time to himself.

Which is why you were here alone, but the decision was mutually agreed upon. Being alone was giving you a lot of time to think over all of your actions throughout the week and with each memory you couldn’t help but berate yourself over...well everything, what had come over you...? You sighed as you thought about Seulgi’s message and what she had said the night you had been prepping to go on stage….maybe...maybe she was on to something. You frowned as you checked your phone.

Jungkook was supposed to come over in the morning with the pregnancy test but....maybe you just had a lot of PMS? 

Sitting down on the couch you let out a brief dry laugh, wouldn’t that be ironic? Everyone freaking out about you being pregnant for the past week only for you to be PMSing. It would explain why you had been so emotionally charged the whole week…

Your emotions, specifically anger, were always heightened when you were a week away from your period and it always led to you doing and saying things you typically wouldn’t. You certainly weren’t looking for an excuse as much as an explanation for how things unfolded the way they had. 

Once again, you weren’t late for your period, so the idea of being pregnant was possible, but a slim chance. You sighed as you laid down on the couch, could you really be pregnant….? You didn’t even wanna think about it. You didn’t feel pregnant, no matter how ludicrous that sounded, you didn’t and if you were...Your head was fuzzy and you knew the timing wasn’t right, but you also felt conflicted…

You knew Jungkook would stay no matter what but...being possibly pregnant meant having to tell Jimin and if it was his...You rubbed your head as you felt a whine escape you, your eyes nearly blurring from just the stress of thinking about it because truthfully...You didn’t want to have a baby if it meant this much stress in your life.

Rain pattered against the windows as you rubbed your head, no longer wanting to think about the possible future that was nobody’s fault except your own. It was nearing ten PM and you were beginning to feel the jet lag of the plane ride as you stretched out with a soft sigh, what good would overthinking do you anyways? 

You wouldn’t deny you somewhat missed Jungkook’s presence, you’d probably be curled up against him right now in front of the TV. But having some alone time was good, it was healthy. And god knew you both needed a little bit of that. Or maybe just you so it seemed these days…

Walking to your bedroom with a yawn you changed into some comfy pajamas before curling up in bed, your mind beginning to calm as rain poured outside. If anything being back home makes you feel more grounded. Jungkook has done leaps and bounds in changing for the better, you’d do the same if not for yourself then for him. Being back home, it’ll be like a new start. 

Groaning your eyes cracked open, your alarm clock blinking at four in the morning as the bed shifted making you roll over, arms wrapping around you as you squirmed, nearly jolting right up, “Easy baby.” A deep voice murmured making you sigh in relief, rubbing your eyes as you mumbled, “Jungkook? What are you doing here?” It was so late at night, didn’t he want the day to himself?

You couldn’t see his face and your eyes were too tired to keep them open but you knew it was him by his hands and voice, he shifted once more to get comfortable. Obviously letting himself in with the spare key he knew was above your door.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He mumbled against your hair, it was his voice that made you force your eyes back open shifting a little away from him to try and get a look at his face. It was his voice, that sounded...docile? Maybe a little shy? 

You could tell it wasn’t just a regular insomniac night, “You wanna talk about it?” You asked delicately with a frown, reaching out your hand to run through his hair, soft sigh escaping him as he melted into your touch, shaking his head as you frowned, “Alright it’s okay, c’mere.” Jungkook scooted in, letting his head press against your chest, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist. 

His muscles relaxed as your fingers tenderly stroked through his hair as your eyes closed once more, it seemed like a light switch, whatever difficulty he had going to sleep was gone and quickly replaced with him nearly rolling on top of you in his sleep. Yawning it didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep either. 

…

Pain, no not pain. It was more like a dull ache as you groaned, eyes cracking open to sunlight streaming in and...When did Jungkook get here? His body was on top of yours, nearly crushing you as you wheezed. Memories of last night began to surface as you sighed softly with a frown as you rubbed your eyes, did he have a nightmare? 

It was hard to ruminate when you felt another dull ache in your stomach and something uncomfortably wet against your underwear, “Ah...Jungkook, hey sleepyhead. C’mon, wake up.” Ignoring it temporarily you whispered as you shook him, you wouldn’t care about him sleeping on top of you if you didn’t feel like absolute crap. Your head began to throb and it felt like your body was drained of all energy. 

“Mm mornin’ ba’girl.” Jungkook’s words were slurred and deep as he rolled off of you, stretching out as he let his hands rest above his head. Eyes still closed as you let out a silent breath in relief. Not nearly as uncomfortable as before as you rubbed your eyes before realization dawned on you. 

Jungkook looked like a disturbed cat when the bed suddenly bounced at your jolt. 

Opening his eyes he pressed his brows together in confusion as he frowned, watching you scramble out of bed while swearing up a storm, that was unusual. Sitting up right he yawned as he rubbed his eyes, mild concern washing over him, were you okay? Was the baby okay? He had never seen you jump out of bed so fast...Well okay he had seen you do it a few times when you were hung over but…

You trudged out of the bathroom and he could immediately sense annoyance on your face as you sighed, unable to look at him as you opened your dresser drawer, “You good baby?” Jungkook frowned in confusion. 

“Well I’m definitely not pregnant.” You mumbled grabbing a new pair of panties, bland and black, comfortable and above all else not cute. You turned to face him as you frowned, Jungkook seemed...frozen almost, like he was still processing your words, “Oh…” Was all he said. 

Your once annoyed expression at your ruined panties softened at the tone of his voice, tilting your head in confusion and you intended on asking him if he was okay until you felt another drop of wetness against your ruined underwear. 

Knowing it would be better to freshen up first you gave him a moment to himself before quickly heading for the bathroom you changed yourself and freshen up a little before making your way out of the bathroom. 

Jungkook was laying back down, staring up at the ceiling blankly as you sighed softly a small frown forming on your face as you crawled onto the bed ignoring the dull ache in your stomach as you spoke, “Jungkook?” He hummed as he closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see your face, this in it’s self made your lips quiver a little before curling up beside him you reached out as you let your fingers run along his jawline as you asked gently, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...I’m great!” Jungkook tried to make his tone peppy, a painfully obvious forced smile on his face as he turned to look at you trying his best to look happy, “I mean, you’re not pregnant so…! That’s great, it’s- it’s good.” His smile faltered as he sighed as if not having the energy to fully commit the clear lie he was telling, turning to look back up at the ceiling as soon as he noticed your expression unmoving.

Your expression was soft as you frowned a little as you scooted up against his side, “Jungkook…” You mumbled, glancing at his somewhat melancholy demeanor in worry, you understood he was the one that firmly believed you were pregnant so you weren’t fully surprised to see his somewhat downcast demeanor but it still worried you nonetheless, “You don’t have to lie, what’s wrong?” He shifted a little, somewhat uneasy at first as he sighed, bringing his hands up to his eyes as he rubbed them.

“I just…” He paused somewhat hesitant before mumbling, “I was so sure you were pregnant...Is it...is it bad I was hoping you were…?” His voice sounded small as he coughed suddenly rushing, “I mean like I said! It’s good you aren’t, we just got into a relationship and we couldn’t really have a baby or afford to have one right now and we’re both still in college and-” 

“Jungkook,” He paused at the sound of his name, unable to look at you as you felt a small smile tug on your lips, despite the sad tone of your eyes, “You're allowed to feel the way you do about it.” You could tell by the way he was acting he was obviously upset about it. Maybe upset wasn’t the right word, but he was certainly melancholy. 

He sighed as he closed his eyes once more, “I was so sure…Maybe I was just projecting, I don’t know.” 

“I don’t think you were projecting,” You spoke softly, letting your fingers tangle into his hair as you lifted up a little to press a kiss on his face, his nose scrunching as he cracked his eyes open to playfully squint at you. Snorting you couldn’t help but let a shy little smile tug on your lips as you pressed another kiss onto his nose before straddling his stomach to collapse on top of him, “I think,” You mumbled against his skin, “You had every right to be concerned. But pms symptoms and pregnancy symptoms are hard to tell apart.” 

He sighed as he wrapped his arms around you, “So the cravings, the mood swings, the head aches…? All just pms?” He sighed somewhat dramatically as he mumbled, “You’re kinda mean when you’re getting ready to start.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you shoved him a little, feeling somewhat flustered and embarrassed because he was right. You were absolutely mean. 

“I’m sorry again,” You mumbled somewhat shyly, nudging against the crook of his neck, “If I had been tracking a little better I could’ve given you a bit of a heads up.” 

Jungkook snorted as he pressed a kiss against your neck, “It was my fault I jumped to conclusions. You said it yourself you weren’t even late. I just got carried away at the idea of you being pregnant.”

“Nobody is at fault here Jungkook, everyone assumed I was pregnant, and for good reason I mean....I was just oblivious and hadn’t even gave it a single thought,” You lifted your head with a weak smile, you didn’t genuinely blame the group either as they only had your best intentions in mind, but really it was just another lesson of communication between you both.

You shifting against him a little as your gathered your thoughts before continuing, “It didn’t even cross either of our minds about pregnancy until they said something. I mean really, given what symptoms had shown up I know everyone only brought it up with our best intentions in mind but this kind of got blown out of proportion. It would’ve been one thing if my period was late, but I was still a week away from starting when they brought it up...”

Jungkook sighed before groaning, “Seriously. Still feel somewhat bad though, I don’t know. I really liked the idea of having a baby there for a second…God what have you done to me?” He joked a little, as if not wanting to linger on the topic seriously much longer making you smile somewhat bashfully as you rolled your eyes. 

You could feel your face becoming somewhat hot as you crawled a little closer to his face, feeling a wave of boldness enter you before leaning against his ear, “We could always still have a baby.” You immediately felt flushed as you tried to shy away but it was too late. 

Jungkook’s grip on your body already tightened and he effortlessly rolled your both over, “Is that so?” Jungkook nipped at your neck making you squeak, “You shouldn’t be saying that unless you’re ready to make it happen sweetheart.” His hands clamped your legs making you squeak as you scrambled. 

“No! No! No! There is BLOOD down there-” 

“What you think I’m scared of getting a little messy-” 

“That is disgusting!” 

Jungkook was howling against your stomach in laughter, was it your tone of voice? Was it how frantic you were to get away from him? Was it your expression? Maybe it was all three, whatever it was it knocked Jungkook out as he wheezed against you, “Alright, calm down baby I was joking.”

“But you were half serious weren’t you!” You scowled in embarrassment, feeling your face become hot and your ears burn as you squirmed to sit up as you glared at him. 

Jungkook looked up at you fondly, hands reaching up to smush your cheeks as he sighed, “Okay maybe a little-” 

“I knew it!” 

“But!” Jungkook cut you off, “You don’t seriously expect me to go seven days straight without being inside you right? Like I’ll wear a condom if it grosses you out but-” 

“We are not having period sex.” You were rapidly shaking your head as he whined against your thighs. Of course he was willing to get his dick messy if it meant cumming inside you. Why was he like this? “Jungkook…! I’ll give as much head as you want but we are not doing it inside me…!” 

“Why do you have to tease me like this, it's not fair baby!” Jungkook groaned as he rolled over, a snort escaping you at the sight of his half hard on, his eyes cutting into you with a sulky pout, “Don’t laugh at my semi boner! It’s your fault talking about wanting kids and shit.” 

Smiling you reached up to brush the hair out of his face as he huffed, “Jungkook,” You clacked your tongue, your smile becoming a little shy as you murmured, “I didn’t bring it up to give you a hard on. I just meant to say that, just because I’m not pregnant doesn’t mean we can’t have a baby in the future.” You glanced away feeling somewhat bashful as you mumbled, “When it’s planned and we’re both prepared for it...and maybe when we’ve been together a little longer. It’s not like we missed our only chance…” 

Jungkook sighed softly, a small smile tugging on his lips as he shrugged, “I know...I don’t know what my problem is. I guess I just, really liked the idea of having a family. I really was hoping you were pregnant.” He groaned as he stretched out, “I mean like I said, I do think it’s better this way. Your uterus saved us a lot of stress between having a baby and between us, and an awkward conversation with Jimin.” 

You winced at the sudden stabbing sensation in your stomach, a whine escaping you making Jungkook jump up immediately worry in his eyes as you waved your hand, “I’m good...just hurts...Anyways…” You wiggle around a little to get comfortable before offering him a small smile, “Like I said, it’s okay to feel sad about it. But remember what I said, we can always have a baby in the future. Maybe if we’re married,” You shifted as you gave a weak smile, “I don’t know how my parents would react if I got knocked up while we’re just a couple.” 

“Mm maybe we’ll test that out in a few months.” You rolled your eyes making him laugh as he sat up, pressing a kiss against your forehead as you winced once more, the pain becoming more prominent in your stomach, “Alright, I’m gonna go get you some pain killers then start on breakfast baby.” 

“Thank you.” You mumbled, lifting up a little to meet his lips as he gave you a quick kiss before you crumpled back against the bed. Pressing your brows together as you grabbed the pillow he had been previously sleeping on and cuddling it close as pain began to flush and throb harsher. 

You were relieved to find out you weren’t pregnant but dear jesus, at what cost?

You didn’t expect your relationship to change despite becoming officially girlfriend and boyfriend. Most people said it changed nothing. Feelings remained the same and so did the problems that seeped into your relationship over time. But...you couldn’t help but feel like things had changed. Even despite being back for a few days things seemed more….

Natural? Calm? You weren’t sure but you liked it. The once dramatic passion you craved in a relationship wasn’t your interest anymore. You found out, passion meant being emotionally charged, heartbroken, arguing and all of the above. But it wasn’t like that with Jungkook anymore. It felt like home. You loved it.

Coming back home to Korea felt like a second chance in a way, like you were coming back with a clean slate and a new start. That didn’t mean all of your problems were magically gone. But whatever happened in Vegas would stay there. You liked this. Holding Jungkook’s hand while he looked like there were stars in his eyes, excitement brimming at his seams as he tugged you along down the walking path. 

“Come on we’re almost there!” Jungkook looked like a little boy as he pulled you along in excitement making you giggle as you stumbled over your feet to catch up. He had been like this since you got back. You had been learning more about Jungkook in the past few days more than you had within the three months of knowing him. 

Particularly how he had a nice camera he loved scoping out in the early mornings and taking photography, he loved printing them out into polaroid photos and keeping them in photobooks, Jungkook had a real fondness for taking morning walks and finding new trails to walk down. You always assumed he was just extremely energetic but he was actually just a morning person. 

He hummed when he cooked and he wasn’t good with his spices but he was more than happy for your help in the kitchen, especially when you found out he can’t really cook, at all, but he’s always enthusiastic to learn. He seemed so open? Happy now? His eyes always had that look in them now, the same look you saw all those months ago outside the diner when he first met your parents. It was your favorite look. 

Trying to catch your breath Jungkook paused as he let go of your hand, letting out a content noise as you glanced up, “Oh wow…!” You were delighted to meet with the beautiful scenery of a stream trickling down against rocks that made it look like a little waterfall, light beams streaked through the lush flora and the wind made the branches sway so beautifully. Unable to keep the smile off your face as you glanced around, “It’s so beautiful here! Why isn’t this marked on the trail map?” 

Jungkook nearly beamed with pride like a little boy as he walked towards the stream, “Probably because they marked it off this trail,” He gave a somewhat sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his neck, “But it’s a really good spot! It’s just hard to go any further from here because the woodland is so thick ahead.” 

“We aren’t trespassing, are we?” You bounced while wringing your hands nervously suddenly feeling concern wash over you making Jungkook laugh as you clenched your fists, huffing as a pout began to tug on your lips, “I don’t wanna get arrested Jungkook!” 

“Baby,” Jungkook tutted as he walked back over to you, pressing his hands on your cheeks before smushing them, practically beaming down at your pouty squished face, “Why do you always assume we’re gonna get arrested? For what it’s worth I never saw a ‘No Trespassing’ sign…” He snorted at your flailed arms as you and you stomped your foot, of course he’d say that!

“Fine, I guess as long as there aren't any signs…” You mumbled, still not completely sold as you glanced around, letting a small smile tug on your lips as you added shyly, “It is really pretty out here. I loved walking on the trails back at Kimhae, my dad use to show me what all of the shrubs were and he could spot a flower a mile- Hey!” You paused when you heard a click, whipping around to face Jungkook who was cheekily smiling, camera held up as you flusteredly flailed your hands, “Don’t take my picture! I’m not even dressed up!” 

“You always look good.” Jungkook flirted wrapping a hand around your waist as he tugged you closer. An embarrassed squeak escaped your lips, no matter how hard you tried a smile graced your lips as you let out a whine, pressing your hands to your face as Jungkook chuckled, “What? It’s the truth.” You could feel his warm breath against your neck before the invasion of kisses peppered against your skin, his thumbs rubbing against your waist as he hummed against your skin, “Sounds like you're close to your dad.” 

Wrapping your arms around his neck loosely you let out a breath in contentment as you nudged against his neck, looking at him with an endeared smile as you shrugged a little, “Yeah, I learned a lot about gardening and plants when I was younger, it was our thing to go out on trails and hunt for little mushrooms.” You smiled fondly as you let your head rest against him, “Min Ji and Nari always complained it was too hot and too many bugs so they’d always end up going back to the house. But we’d stay out there for hours. During the summertime mom would always make watermelon lemonade for us when we got back. I miss those days sometimes.”

Jungkook rested his chin on top of your head, fingers trailing through your hair as he murmured, “Sounds nice... sounds like you and your family are close.” His voice seemed somewhat reserved, as if he were in thought. 

“Well, we have our ups and downs like anyone else but...yeah, we are pretty close.” You pulled a little bit away from Jungkook to look at him, his eyes seemed somewhat downcast as you frowned a little, “Was it not like that for your family?” 

Come to think of it, you don’t really know anything about Jungkook’s home life other than what he said in Vegas, which was about his younger sister. Jungkook frowned a little, not replying right away like he usually would before shrugging a little, “Not really. I’ve never been close to either of my parents.” He parted his lips for as if he was going to further elaborate before cutting himself off, choosing to look at the soft ground beneath you rather than at you, “I wanted too when I was younger, for what it’s worth I guess.” 

Your frown furthered at his dim expression as your expression softened, your arms wrapping around him as you squeezed tight, letting your chin rest on his shoulder as you murmured softly, “Not everyone is close to their families and they almost always have a valid reason Jungkook. You don’t owe anyone that reason.” 

Jungkook sighed, closing his eyes, his body weight slumping a little against you as he mumbled against your skin, “Even you? You can’t tell me you don’t want a reason or an explanation at least.” You pressed your lips together, unsure of where all of this was coming from before ultimately humming, letting your fingers twist into his hair. 

“Of course I do,” You agreed gently, but it wasn’t just wanting to know for the sake of knowing, but it was simply because you just wanted to know everything you could about Jungkook, you wanted to understand him at his core self, “But only when you want too. When you feel comfortable enough too. Nobody wants to openly talk about anything bad that happened in the past. Don’t push yourself so much Jungkook. You can talk about it when you’re ready. I’ll always be willing to listen.”

“I know,” Jungkook mumbled against your neck, “I just wish it could be sooner.” You weren’t sure what was holding him back but it wasn’t like you were in a rush to get to know one another. You could afford to take your time and go at a slow pace. You certainly didn’t mind. Pressing your lips against his neck you squeezed him tight as you gave a shy little smile, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll always wait for you.” 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You pressed your lips together in dismay, it wasn’t that you didn’t trust Jungkook, because you did, you had absolute unwavering trust in him. But given where your relationship was at...well...you didn’t want to cause any more harm to it then you already had. Not that you thought you would but-

“Nothing scandalous is going to happen babygirl I promise,” Jungkook replied, pressing a kiss against your temple as he wrapped a hand around your waist, giving you that dumb boyishly charming smile of his, “It’s just been awhile since I’ve seen Yugyeom, besides Hyerin will be there as well. If it makes you feel better this dungeon has a pretty strict no sex policy.”

You sighed as you pressed your hands into your face, trying to not let yourself whine as he pressed another kiss against your face, “You could always regress again, I still have that last picture you drew for me, you were such a sweet girl.” He cooed out before laughing at the sight of you stomping your foot. 

“Jungkook stop!” You covered your face feeling somewhat embarrassed, his hand squeezed around your waist in reassurance before leading you into the dungeon. The lights were low lit but the environment seemed much more tame, Jungkook kept a steady grip on you, not too tight but not too loose, just enough to let you know he wasn’t going anywhere. 

There were still a few here and there who were dressed in latex and masks but otherwise if someone walked in without knowing what this was they’d assume it was another club. Apparently according to Jungkook most dungeons weren’t exclusive but given it was a daunting environment most newcomers usually came with someone who was already acquainted. 

You supposed you were on that list. 

“Hey man! Long time no see,” Yugyeom waved you both over to the booth he sat at, Hyerin smiling as she waved, not looking nearly as broody as she did whenever she was regressed. So this would be just like a double date! You concluded, for some reason you felt nervous. Even despite working as a stripper you still didn’t fare well with small talk. 

You felt more comfortable at least with Jungkook who was a social butterfly in and outside of work, sitting down across from the couple, “How was Seasonella?” 

It was quiet for a moment, both Yugyeom and Hyerin raising their brows as they watched you and Jungkook exchange glances while shifting in your seats, “It- ah…” Jungkook offered a weak smile before chuckling, “Well, there won’t be one next year. To summarize, the mafia and police got involved, Y/n almost got sold into a prostitution ring and everyone told me at the worst time possible she could be pregnant. Which she isn’t by the way, but yeah. Busy weekend.” Jungkook wrapped an arm around you both looking at you with a toothy smile as you pressed your hands into your face.

Both Yugyeom and Hyerin were speechless- not that you could blame them before they began laughing, either because this just sounded like a normal part of Jungkook’s life or they didn’t believe you, regardless Yugyeom snorted, “Right, so you’re just gonna leave us on the edge of our seats now?” 

Jungkook didn’t hesitate to dive into all the gruesome details on what had happened at Seasonella and the couple looked vastly entertained if not somewhat worried when Jungkook revealed Eva’s speech she had given him just before he found you. You had butted in a few times to correct some of the events that had happened only for Jungkook to give you a dumb smile that made you flustered and ultimately shutting you up. 

“So yeah,” Jungkook finished recalling the weekend as he shrugged, thankfully leaving out details of what had happened at the after party, “How was your guys weekend?” He hummed as if he had just talked for the past twenty minutes about a normal weekend date. 

“Is this just normal in stripping?” Hyerin asked, a smile mustered on her expression but you could tell she seemed a bit exasperated and admittedly you couldn’t blame her. 

You rubbed the back of your neck as you muttered, “I’d hope not.” 

Jungkook pressed a kiss against your hair as he chuckled, “No, it’s usually a lot more relaxed but Seasonella has always been a high stress event. At least if we’re still stripping by next year we won’t have to worry about it. I can’t help but wonder why Cherry ever got involved to begin with…” The air at the table seemed to turn a little tense as Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, deciding to deflect as he shrugged, pulling a smile back on his lips with ease, “Anyways, doesn’t matter now. It’s all over.” 

“Hey!” Everyone’s attention was drawn to a new man entering the conversation, tilting your head he seemed a little familiar...Wasn’t he the one who intervened the last time you went to a BDSM club? “Yugyeom! I can’t find the rest of the guys and I could uh- really use some help...It’s Shownu…” Yugyeom immediately perked up and your memory was drawn back to Shownu, yeah! That was his name, he tried to creep on you and Hyerin when you were regressed. 

“I’ll go too.” Jungkook immediately puffed up as he and Yugyeom stood up, a viscous grin on his face at the sight of both men about to reject him, “I still have a few words for him.” Sighing the man waved them both along as you frowned, watching them disappear into the thick crowd. 

“Shownu has a pretty bad rep in most dungeons,” Hyerin hummed as she curled up in her seat, “I don’t think he’s a bad guy but…” She trailed off before offering a weak smile, “But I think he has a hard time knowing when to stop, he’s pissed off a lot of dominants and often causes trouble between couples.”

You frowned as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “Can’t people get kicked out if they cause enough trouble though…?” There had to be some kind of system right? Jungkook didn’t go too in depth about how everything works but you made sure to make a mental note to ask him whenever he got back from his... ‘talk’ with Shownu…

“Well…” Hyerin parted her lips but she paused for a moment as if to gather her thoughts on how to explain, “Yes and no, people can only get directly kicked out if it’s by the dungeon master, or, in other words the owner. But Shownu knows a lot of the club owners and is on pretty good terms with most so, getting kicked out is pretty hard, for him at least.”

Glancing out over the crowd you weren’t sure what possessed you to ask, “How long has Jungkook been coming to places like this?” You could ask him yourself sure, and you probably would but...you were admittedly curious to hear from a different perspective. 

Hyerin tilted her head as she tapped her finger to her lips in thought, “Longer than me. Yugyeom said they met at a munch and got on great. I didn’t meet Yugyeom until about two years ago and he started taking me here because I was interested.” 

She paused for a moment before offering a weak smile, “Your boyfriend’s an interesting character, he’s a regular but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him share a scene with anyone before. Kind of weird considering he calls himself- and I quote- ‘ a very proud exhibit’-” Hyerin began cackling as you groaned, facepalming as your memory shot to the sloppy rough sex you shared for all of your friends to see, “He usually just...watches....he knows a lot of people here but I don’t think he’s ever participated in anything. Not that you probably care…!” She hurried as if not wanting you to get the wrong idea, “It’s just interesting, almost everyone who frequents dungeons are usually here to...well find someone to do a scene with…”

You hummed, unsure of how to reply because you weren’t sure yourself, it didn’t sound like the Jungkook you knew at least, he was never afraid of women and he always jumped at the opportunity to get his dick sucked, especially when you first met him, shrugging you ran a hand through your hair, “I don’t know...it is kind of weird but maybe he had his reasons? How can you be so sure he hasn’t done anything?” 

Hyerin looked a little flustered as she began to rapidly flail a nervous laugh escaping her as she fumbled, “I never slept with him if that’s what you’re asking!” “Woah wait I never-” “I- I um…” She rubbed her neck as she tried to calm herself, your eyes had to be dilated at the way she forced a laugh, “I mean um…! Look,” She took a deep breath, “People here...talk…” She refused to look at you now, obviously embarrassed, “A lot. Yugyeom told me all of this, apparently he tried to set Jungkook up with a few people but it never really took off…? This was way back before I even met Yugyeom...I’ve met a lot of women who have wanted to do scenes with Jungkook, and I mean…” 

Hyerin seemed to calm down a little as she let out a more natural laugh, “A lot. But apparently Jungkook would always tell them he wasn’t interested or he’d start sending mixed signals before abruptly cutting contact. I don’t know. I can’t say I’m positive but...from what I’ve heard, it just seems that way. Uh- I’m sorry by the way- for what I said earlier…” 

She offered a weak, yet again embarrassed smile, “I’m sure that’s not what you meant but...a lot of women here get jealous. Jungkook and I aren’t even friends really, I’ve only ever talked to him because of Yugyeom but a lot of women get mad at the fact that I’m even in association with him. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, nobody seems to believe it.” She gave an awkward smile as she rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Oh…” You pressed your lips together before giving a small smile, “Well I believe you, I mean...I…” Closing your eyes you pinched your brows as you forced a laugh, “Definitely know what you’ve been through…” Sighing you looked out, trying to find Jungkook’s figure in a sea of people but you knew it was useless, “Being his trainee at Cherry Bomb was not as easy as some might think it would be. Our relationship has been...anything but easy.” 

Hyerin frowned a little as she tilted her head before offering you a smile, “Look...It seems kind of weird to apologize but uh...I am sorry for when we first met! I’m not really uh- the most outgoing person when I’m regressed but…! I want to get to know you when we aren’t little so…! We can exchange numbers if you want? It sounds like you could use someone outside of work to vent too.” 

Your lips parted in surprise, you hadn’t even given it any thought from last time, Hyerin was completely different from when she was regressed and so were you, “Of course!” You bounced in your seat in excitement, always happy to have a new friend, digging out your phone, “It actually would be great to have someone outside of work I mean…! It’s nothing against all of my friends there but, it can get a bit frustrating at times.” 

“I can understand that,” Hyerin snorted as she typed her number into your phone, “Or I can at least imagine. Yugyeom and I have visited Cherry a few times and a lot of the girls are um…” She raised her brows as her smile tightened a little, “I’m amazed you have the patience, that’s all I’ll say. Here!” She handed back your phone, “Now we can stay in touch!” 

“Seems like these two are getting on at least.” You both jumped at the sight of Jungkook and Yugyeom returning, Jungkook rolling his neck as if he had pulled a muscle as he sat down next to you, pecking your lips as you scooted away to try and get a look at him, “Hey! C’mere!” Jungkook grabbed you, pulling you back immediately as you wiggled to try and get away to get a better look at him. 

“I just wanna see your hands!” You replied as Jungkook managed to wrap his arms around you, squeezing you tight making you yelp as you began to laugh, “Let me see your hands! You didn’t beat him up did you?” 

“Fine, fine, fine!” Jungkook replied, rolling his eyes with a smile as he showed his hands which were impressively just as flawless as they were before, “I said I was gonna talk to him baby, and that’s all I did. Yugyeom can vouch for me.” 

Yugyeom snorted as he wrapped an arm around Hyerin, “Only because it took both me and Wonho to hold you back,” Jungkook looked like a deer caught in the headlights before he glared, “Hey!”- “What? I still vouched didn’t I?” Yugyeom offered a playful smile, “Besides, what counts is you didn’t.” 

You couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes, “It’s better than doing it. We can’t have you all bruised up back on your first night at work.” You cooed, reaching up to squish his cheeks as he tried to bat your hands away. 

“Don’t worry babygirl,” Jungkook stretched out as he wrapped an arm back around your shoulders, “Everything’s taken care of.” 

“God I hate it here.” You told Jungkook that you both should get home at a decent hour and he agreed, but somehow, two am didn’t sound that late last night and somehow either you or Jungkook thought it was a bad idea. You had been so used to sleeping in over the past week you forgot how awful your regular sleep schedule had become.

“Hey, at least Seasonella is over.” Taehyung was stocking up today looking bright and chipper as he offered a boxy grin, “Now all you gotta do is focus on SSU coming up, I mean, it should be a lot more fun and relaxing at least. You aren’t aiming to win right?” 

You were collapsed at the bar as you swiveled the glass of water Taehyung had been kind enough to get you, not that you were hung over but you had definitely been dehydrated, “True,” You sat up as you rubbed your eyes with a yawn, “That’s the idea at least. Me and Jungkook are supposed to start working on my routines today, he said since I have soloist experience I should be able to do a lot on my own but you know him, always happy to be hands on.” 

“Mhm,” Taehyung grabbed a few more empty bottles from beneath the counter as he set them all out, “It’ll be fun! Once you get used to the whole schedule again. Besides, the worst is over now, everyone can just calm down and relax.” 

You couldn’t help but give a tired smile as you nodded, it was nice to be back at Cherry Bomb again. You could have never imagined yourself feeling this way before you started working here but, you liked being home again and in your own environment. 

“Doubt she’ll calm down.” Yoongi walked past you with a mutter as he held up the simply vodka box, setting it down on the ground as he grunted, “She keeps glaring at you.” Frowning you straightened up a little before looking in the direction Yoongi nodded. True to his word your eyes met with the one person you had nearly forgotten about altogether. Seulgi. 

Her eyes were mean and cut dry as she whipped away from your figure, talking to her two little cronies as you rolled your eyes, “I don’t know what I did!” You pressed a hand against your chest as you sighed, “She thinks Jungkook has changed me. Or he’s been a bad influence or...fuck if I know at this point.”

“I think she’s jealous.” Yoongi replied as he leaned back against the counter as you tilted your head, sighing as you rubbed your head, you knew it was the only logical explanation but...It just didn’t feel right to accuse her of being jealous...Or maybe it just…

It just seemed hard to understand, Seulgi was…she always got everything she wanted. The best boyfriends, all the most amazing friends, everything. The idea of her being jealous of...you...just you...it was difficult to wrap your head around. Why would she ever be jealous of you? 

“I don’t know what her problem is,” You shrugged with a frown, unsure of how you were going to handle dealing with her. It would be one thing if you left one another alone but...you had seen Seulgi in action before, you had been the one beside her before. If she has a problem with someone, she won't hesitate to find an opportunity to let them know, “I mean…” You pressed your lips together before shrugging, “Maybe I’ll just find a moment and talk to her about it.” 

Yoongi groaned, obviously not agreeing with your idea as he began unpacking bottles, “It’s best to just ask! Right? I’d rather us talk about face to face then over a text message” You glanced at Taehyung for confirmation as he shrugged, pulling out his inventory list as he began scribbling. 

“Sure I guess,” Taehyung hummed, “It really depends on if you think it’s going to change anything. And if it does, will it be beneficial to moving on or repairing your friendship.” You paused for a moment, having not thought about his words...Would you gain anything out of talking to her…? 

Pressing your lips together you glanced back at Seulgi who was stretching with her friends, you supposed if anything, it would give you confirmation that it was time to move on if she couldn’t at the very least, be happy that you were happy, “I’ll talk to her later today.” You nodded to yourself before sitting up a little straighter, “So I guess you haven’t proposed to Yeri yet?” 

Taehyung nearly knocked over the bottle of gin next to him as he fumbled with his inventory list, “Propose!?” Yoongi was wheezing with laughter as he slapped the counter. 

“No, he’s been sulking the whole time you guys have been gone,” Yoongi wiped the non existent tears from his eyes as he sighed with amusement, “Keeps making excuses like oh her mom called, I had to go get groceries-” 

“Shut up!” Taehyung hissed as he shoved him, his cheeks were bright red as he groaned making you and Yoongi laugh as he melted against the counter top, “I’ll ask her I will! I just…! Give me like another two weeks!” 

You watched Jimin enter the room, teaching today's lesson as you rolled your eyes with a smile, “Yeah sure, okay…I’ll know in two weeks though, Yeri would be blowing up our chat if you proposed. Don’t wait too long!” You called out as you got off the chair, everyone beginning to make their way over as Jimin greeted everyone. 

Class wasn’t mandatory by any means, but who would turn down a teaching by a soloist? The one difference you had noted was Chan Hee had yet to make her presence noticed by you. 

Rather she seemed to stay with her group of friends, looking somewhat...meek? You frowned a little, you weren’t sure if it would be welcomed but you just wanted to make sure she was okay, walking over the group silenced as they watched you somewhat warily as you waved timidly, “Hey…” you offered a small smile as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I just came over to see ask how you guys were. I know Seasonella was pretty rough for everyone.” 

Chan Hee looked away, not saying anything as she pushed a strand of hair away from her face as her two friends squeaked a little, “It was!” The blonde of the right chirped, “Thank you so much for looking out for our girl.” She grabbed your hands with a bright smile as you jumped a little, having not expected this to go as well as it was.

The blue haired girl clasped her hands as she nodded, “Yeah! Seriously! No matter how rivals here are, girls need to look out for one another. Thank you Y/n!” You offered a small smile as you sheepishly rubbed your neck, “Of course! I’d do it for anybody. Stay safe guys, I’ll see you later tonight.” You were waved off with smiles as you walked back to the private room where everyone was currently. 

Opening the door what you didn’t expect was Seulgi shoved up against Jungkook practically eating his mouth, just as quick as you saw it she was suddenly shoved away, Jungkook’s expression cold as he snapped in a low voice, “Don’t ever fucking do that again. Get out of here. This conversation is over Seulgi.”

Her face was twisted vehemently as she sneered back, “We’ll see about that you asshole!” Whipping around her expression only soured further at the sight of you as she snarled, “Get your boyfriend on a leash Y/n.” You couldn’t even find the time to reply due to the shock of the whole situation. Jungkook only glared at her back before the door shut.

Looking between him and the door you swallowed thickly before pushing your hair away from your face as you tried to comprehend what happened, “...What...what was that?” You asked incredulously, twisting to face Jungkook as his jaw clenched. Whatever had happened obviously put him in a bad mood but you couldn’t help but be completely side swapped at what you had just witnessed. It didn’t upset you as it was clear how Jungkook felt about it but...it left you rather confused and mildly concerned.

“Doesn’t matter.” He snapped, running a hand through his hair as he looked away from you, tongue pushing against his cheek as he began walking away, “Come on we have better things to focus on then her.” 

Your lips were parting and closing several times as you pinched your brows together, but…! Something was obviously wrong, while Seulgi and you weren’t what you’d consider friends anymore, it still didn’t sit right with you the feud they both were having, if it could even be called that, “Jungkook what happened!?” You raised your voice a little still in shock, you may not have been close to Seulgi anymore but she was still your friend, you didn’t want her and Jungkook at each other's neck. 

Jungkook’s jaw was clench as he whipped around, fire in his eyes as he growled, “Can’t you ever fucking leave something alone when I ask!?” Frustration was evident in his expression as it twisted in anger, “Why do you constantly just push? I am not in the mood to talk about it! How many times am I gonna have to say it until you drop it!?”

For the first time in your whole relationship with this man, you were rather speechless, feeling somewhat meek as you looked away from his seething figure as you rubbed the back of your neck, the silence was thick and you could feel the lingering gaze of your friends all curious.

You could feel specks of embarrassment knowing everyone was watching you both closely, as last time this had happened you chose to engage in an argument that ended in you almost quitting. And you really didn’t want to argue today and if he really wasn’t in the mood to talk about it then- “...Okay…” You drawled after a moment, somewhat exasperated as you let your voice soften a little, “You don’t have to talk about it. I just...she is my friend Jungkook.”

That argument that...kiss...whatever it was, you didn’t like it. Not because it happened but more so whatever lead up too it. And more than anything you didn’t like it being kept secret from you. You had already learned your lesson in not pushing Jungkook when he really wasn’t in the mood to be open but...it wasn’t fair, especially when it directly involved your friend. 

Jungkook seemed to relax a little at your words but his expression darkened a little as he muttered, “She isn’t your friend. That’s for damn sure.” 

Something about his words rubbed you the wrong way, you got it, he obviously had a falling out with her, but the way he was speaking. It was as if his words were law, as if just because he said she wasn’t your friend, it had to mean she wasn’t and you needed to stop acting as if you both were. That was your decision, not his. You understood he cared but...

Frustration immediately spiked as you inhaled sharply, gaining his attention as you raised your brows trying your best to keep a good attitude as you spoke, your voice a little more on edge, “Listen...you said you didn’t wanna talk about it. Let’s just…” You looked away to try and get yourself to relax, he probably didn’t mean for it to come across the way it did after all.

You were well aware Jungkook said things he didn’t mean in the heat of the moment, and even if he did it was always poorly worded. Sighing as you rubbed your face, “Lets just focus on SSU, right?” You held up your hands, trying to redirect your energy into something more positive as you offered a weak smile, “You wanted to go over some pointers with me today about it.” 

If anything, redirecting the conversation to work always seemed to get things a little more calmed down between you both and you had been excited to learn from Jungkook about his own experience with SSU and how it would be tailored to suit you. 

Jungkook tucked his tongue into his cheek before relenting as he waved a hand for you to follow him as you walked further into the room, “Right,” He sighed before following up, “SSU is basically a big popularity contest, it isn’t a guarantee that you’ll be promoted to a soloist- just don’t tell fillers that. It’s really just a big marketing ploy to try and get new people to come.” 

Frowning you tilted your head, you supposed it made sense, but it still felt somewhat slimy to not be transparent about the reality of winning, “So, what? What do they gain by winning if you don’t get a promotion?” 

Jungkook shrugged, offering a weak smile that you could tell wasn’t his usual energetic self, “Money, a lot of money, not from Cherry Bomb, they don’t work like that. But again, it’s a big popularity contest, the winner is by crowd choice so most voters are usually throwing a lot of money at the leading person. Promotions are solely based on when we need new soloist’s and who the best person would be. Great example was Hoseok and Taehyung, they went up against one another during SSU. Taehyung won that year but Hoseok got the promotion as well because two of soloist’s previously left a few months before.” 

“That still seems a little shady to me. Isn’t this supposed to be every dancer's fair shot at becoming a soloist?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, you couldn’t help it, this just seemed a bit...dishonest. Really dishonest. Had Jungkook not told you this you would’ve been like any other filler and assumed this could be your one shot at a promotion, not that you held a lot of stock in it to begin with but still...

Jungkook shrugged as he tossed an arm around you, “Supposed to be, yeah. But that’s just how the stripping world works, nobody ever bothers to look at fine print. We are looking for a new soloist this year though.” Jungkook answered pointedly, “So Sejin is going to be looking through votes very carefully this year. Who knows, maybe another Taehyung and Hoseok will happen again.” He tossed a wink as you felt a smile tug on your lips as you rolled your eyes. 

“Well I’m not gonna get my hopes up.” You rolled your eyes as you smiled, wrapping your arms around yourself once more as you both paused, now at the end of the room where you used to work on your form when you first started dancing. 

Jungkook paused for a moment, his expression twisting a little as he looked away, “You could though,” Looking at him you tilted your head as he continued, “I mean seriously Y/n,” Oh no, he was using your name now…”You have everything going for you, why not just go for it?” 

Why was he acting this way? 

Setting down your bag you gave an awkward smile, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with how he was acting as you shrugged, “I mean I could but that’s....not what we agreed on…?” You kneeled down, avoiding his gaze now as you shrugged somewhat timidly already knowing he was in a bad mood and you didn’t want to make it worse with the wrong wording, “I mean- if I get 1st place that’s great! Of course that’s the biggest goal but-” You fumbled a little with your wording as you looked at your hands, “But we talked about it a lot when I first started and we agreed to just focus on getting a following for me so…”

“Yeah, when you first started,” Jungkook replied immediately putting emphasis on ‘first’, “But you aren’t new anymore and you already have a following as it is, you could destroy the competition. You’re just what we need Y/n.” 

You appreciated Jungkook’s words, you really did, but this...it didn’t sound like him. It was one thing for Jungkook to advocate for you to go for it, he had done this every single time you doubted yourself or needed that gentle push from him, he even did it when you were too humble or shy to try and he loved teasing you lovingly in a way that would make you come to the conclusion to change the original plan.

But you didn’t need a gentle push right now, and any other day he’d know and respect this and would still of course bring it up in a light hearted teasing way. But this? This wasn’t him. He would never go about it like this, and especially not so seriously, grabbing your journal of choreography from your bag you stood up as your lips twitched a little disheartened, “Jungkook! I don’t…!” You paused as you sighed, rubbing your neck as you mumbled, “I don’t want to destroy my competition...I just...Can we please focus on choreographing? We can always talk about this later.” 

You’d be more up for debating this topic when Jungkook wasn’t in a mood, when he was his normal peppy self and you could figure out what was motivating his reason behind the sudden aggressiveness he had displayed. And it wasn’t that talking about it now was off the table but, you could sense a shift in the air that always happened when things could get volatile easily.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, his expression looking semi irritated as he replied, “You can, you could if you’d just have confidence in yourself-” 

“I do have confidence in myself!” You had up until this point tried to be as passive as you could but he had hit a sore spot that made you immediately defensive, cutting him off feeling mildly offended at his words, only to be ignored as he continued- “Then what’s holding you back?” He asked sharply, his expression narrow and short tempered as he questioned, “Other than this…! Frustrating mentality you have about always wanting to be nice to everyone! You’re the only person I know that would go out of her way to befriend the same backstabbing manipulative bitch that works here!” 

You felt utterly offended and upset by his words, people could change! Was that not something he and you were both a product of? What was wrong with trying to make amends with people who wanted to set differences aside? 

Your voice quivered in an attempt to try and remain calm as you gritted your teeth, “Are you finished?” You whipped around to face him your anger quickly growing and your patience now gone as you asked, “Or would you like to add more to the list of things you find annoying about me,” “That’s not-” “That's exactly what that sounds like Jungkook!” 

Your expression contorting between upset and anger as you snapped, admittedly feeling mildly hurt by his words, “I don’t know where this is coming from! I’m- I’m sorry that you find it frustrating but that’s who I am! These backstabbing and manipulative bitches are still people Jungkook!” 

You curled your fists as you glared, emotions rapidly coiling in your chest as unpleasant memories of your own dark moments at Seasonella arising as more emotion filled your voice, “You wanna know why I befriended Chan Hee? When I was at Seasonella, you wanna know what happened? She got raped and the shit beat out of her!” 

You ignored the way Jungkook’s body stiffened at your words and his gaze shooting away from you as your eyes blurred only by a little as your lips twitched in anger, “I-...I would never leave someone like that alone by herself! Never. That is not who I am! I would never turn my back on someone- anyone who needs help,” You were rapidly blinking back the tears of your own strong emotions, you always treated others how you had always wanted to be treated, how you had wished someone would have intervened for you and Diego…. You pushed the ugly thoughts away, your lips quivered in bubbling anger as you glared down at the floor “And you bringing up my self confidence…?” 

You inhaled sharply before letting out a weak laugh, “Jungkook,” Your gaze turned more pleading, it was a sore spot! He knew it was a sore spot and it wasn’t fair for him to bring this up every time you didn’t do something he wanted! “I thought you more than anyone else would know this, I didn’t become a stripper for money or fame. You said it yourself, anyone going in with that mentality was an idiot. I became a stripper because,” 

You forced yourself to take a breath, not liking being under so much pressure to present a case for yourself as you pressed your hands to your face, “I became a stripper because for once in my life, I wanted to see if I could do it. I did it to help my self confidence. This- this stupid notion of me being a soloist, I’m glad you think I can do it! I probably can! But that wasn’t and never will be the reason I got into this. I have nothing to prove to anyone, I understand your frustration right now but dammit Jungkook I’m not going to be your verbal punching bag!” 

You grabbed your bag from the floor as you glared at him once more, “I don’t know what you talked about with Seulgi- and you know what? It doesn’t matter! I don’t care! It’s the fact that you’re taking it out on me right now! And that’s what sucks the most about this stupid argument! This isn’t even about me being a soloist, or SSU. I don’t know what the fuck this is about! And- and questioning my character! When the hell have you ever done that before!?”

“Wait, wait, wait! Where are you going.” Jungkook immediately stepped in front of you, eyes widened as you began to walk towards the door, “I’m leaving!-” “No you aren’t, look! I’m sorry okay? I just, hey come on, stop,” “Jungkook! I’m being serious!” 

You paused, irritated at the way he side stepped you to get you to stay still, Jungkook grabbing you by the arms, not tight, but firm enough that you couldn’t push away, “I’m sorry!” Jungkook replied again, louder this time in an attempt to stop you, “I just, don’t go for god's sake can- can we work this out?” 

“You didn’t wanna talk about it!” You shouted, your chest filled with unfairness as your lips parted in disbelief and hurt in your eyes, “I tried asking and you said you didn’t wanna talk about! And that I was always pushing you to open up! I can’t…!” You pulled away from him, grabbing your head as you turned away from him “I can’t win with you Jungkook! I left it alone- so- so we wouldn’t argue!” You hated the way your eyes began to water as frustration boiled in your veins, you were so angry! Why couldn’t you ever do anything right!?

“C’mon don’t cry baby, look let’s just…” Jungkook grabbed your bag from your shoulder as he set it down, quickly turning you back around to face him guilt written across his face as the tears slid down your cheeks. 

“If- if I’m so frustrating and- and pushy…! Why even date me!” You curled your fists as you vehemently rubbed your eyes, “Why do you even like me if I’m so annoying! If I’m just a- a whiny insecure bitch!” 

Those were all his words, you knew he said things he didn’t mean in the heat of the moment but that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt, that it didn’t linger and make you wonder in the back of your head. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair as he sighed, his hands cupping your cheeks as you gritted your teeth in anger before defeatedly closing your eyes. 

His thumbs rubbing against your wet cheeks soothingly as he sighed, “I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have picked a fight.. I just…” Something lingered on his face, as if he wanted to tell you something but couldn’t, his lips twitched as he huffed, “I hate seeing people take advantage of you.” 

Letting his head rest against yours as he closed his eyes, “I fucking hate it. I hate seeing people use you for their own gain and I hate hearing the way people talk about you, and believe me I hear a lot, I hate it all of it. I just- I just want so fucking badly to show the world that my girl can do it, and that she isn’t just some fucking doormat they can walk all over. You might not get upset over it but I do, I can’t stand watching you be treated like this by people!” 

Wiping your eyes you sniffled as you replied while shaking your head, “You can’t fight all of my battles Jungkook!” You had calmed down a little, hearing his reasoning, you could understand now why he was acting like this, why he was obviously frustrated by you at times but taking it out on you like that was not going to make you change those things about yourself, “I appreciate it, you know I do!” 

You nodded as you sniffled again, leaning away to get a good look at his tired expression that looked at the ground, “But at some point you just have to ignore them Jungkook. We- we can’t keep fighting over stuff like this! There will always be people in this world who don’t like me or you and there is nothing that can be done about that. If you give that negativity a voice in your life then they’ve done everything they could’ve ever wanted. Because they genuinely think what they say about us matters when it shouldn’t.” 

Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you, his chin setting on your shoulder as he mumbled, “I just want the best for you. I’d do anything for my girl.” His arms squeezed around your waist as his nose rubbed against your neck. Sighing you curled against him, “I know...but your dedication scares me a little sometimes.” Your tone was light and you could hear a snort from him, successfully calming the air between you both. 

But...you wouldn’t lie...it did scare you sometimes...Jungkook was so intense and passionate, you could help but get caught up in the heat of his personality, you didn’t want to be burned by it. Pressing a kiss against your neck Jungkook hummed, “If we’ve hit our daily quota of arguing can we work on choreo now?” You pulled away from him with a childish glare as he smiled softly, his hands cupping your face as he smushed your cheeks, “My precious little cry baby.” 

“For better or worse.” You mumbled. 

Note: I was a glutton and couldn’t wait any longer, so lemme know how you guys enjoyed the chapter and all of your thoughts!!!

(Taglist CLOSED)

Taglist: @rkivemagic @megladon1616 @pearlneedstosleep @sincerelyjeohn @epiphany-playwithfire @maboiisuga @kookphoria91 @taehyungiev13 @134340ismybitch @appreciatethefoolishness @hanhannguyen98 @lurkerarmy @lovelyjikook @serendipity-secrets @kimvantaee @timestandstillalittle @yanmi1 @expensive-bangtan-girl @blxckeffect @kimcheeeeeeeeee @rather-not-sayy @pastel-i-decay @taeass @caitlinmarieeblossom @jishookedout134 @rjsmochii @lovethatforme97 @kthstrawberryshortcake @anonymous2505 @rainbow-zebra-unicorns @namjoonies-dimple @keyaqua123 @kai1697jeon @mochibabycakes @min-chimchim03 @rosewxterbts @zazaluvbts @thekookiecorner @copa-c-havana @rapperkookz @xhg-btsx @intrepide11 @bts-army46 @jimintaendem @sleepyje0n @vidaficrecs @purplelady85 @jeonsbbgirl @loveyourselfbangtans @ausjeons @hajimaoppaa @l4life

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #bts scenario #bts au #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook

[catgrump]

consider: 4 (when did u last eat?) with naegami? //byakuya voice: food is for the weak, coffee is superior*

I did consider and I decided on something else lol

It’s still Naegami tho don’t worry 🥰😌

And it’s Post-Canon! This is like pre-SDR2’s events so uh mild DR3 Anime spoilers and some SDR2 spoilers!

🌻🌻🌻

Makoto looked over his desk and felt absolutely overwhelmed.

The recovered Hope’s Peak Academy files were strewn about and the words were all melting together in his mind.

He went to school with these kids, and it frustrates and agonizes him that he can’t remember who they were.

He picked up the nearest sheet of paper and looked at the name and ID photo printed on it.

“Where are you?” He begged the parchment for answers, as if it could speak back to him.

He looked at the face of this guy. The printer ink distorted it a bit, but he looks like he would’ve been such a nice person.

“Why can’t I find you in particular? Are you hiding?” He whispered his questions even though the office was bare, “It must be the Luck.”

He stared into the eyes of the shoddily printed black and white photograph, somehow hoping the one thing that tied him and this other former Hope’s Peak student together would send him a sign.

And the longer he looked and stared, the more his peripheral vision caught up with the other black and white photos on his desk.

The former students’ faces all spun around in his head, laughing at him. Taunting him.

His head was heavy and light at the same time. The room felt like it was spinning. The ticking of the clock’s second hand grew louder and louder and louder and louder

“AAAAHHHHH GOD DAMMIT GOD DAMMIT—“ he shouted from deep within his gut, slamming his fists down on the wooden desk, but suddenly caught himself, holding his forehead to attempt to stabilize, “god... dammit...”

His eyes were fluttering shut. He barely comprehended the door in front of him opening.

He could barely make out Byakuya’s look of panic and fear as Makoto’s vision went black and his head slammed down onto the desk’s surface.

———

“Makoto?”

“... huh?” Sound barely escaped from Makoto’s mouth as he came to.

Makoto’s eyes drifted up and shifted into focus to see Byakuya sitting beside him.

He just connected that the warmth on his back was Byakuya’s hand.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” Makoto hoarsely told Byakuya’s worried eyes

“I was about to leave when I heard you scream,” Makoto trembled when he realized Byakuya’s fingers were softly brushing back and forth across the fabric of his blazer, “You passed out for a few moments; when did you last eat?”

“Hah,” Makoto weakly chuckled, “Even now you find a way to criticize me... that’s so like you...”

Makoto felt his head get heavy again but was snapped back when Byakuya’s other hand held on to his cheek and jaw, trying to balance between fight and flight

“I’m not criticizing you, Makoto, I’m asking about your physical health,” Even now, his words had their signature venom and his face, as perfect as it was, had its signature scowl, “I don’t think I ever saw you leave this office today.”

“I made so much progress, Byakuya,” Makoto deflected, trying not to exert anymore energy than was necessary, “I found three of them. They travel in a pack; if one is around, the other two aren’t far behind—“

“Makoto—“

“And I think one of them is the source for the weaponized Monokumas loose in the city—“

“Makoto—“

“He’s the Ultimate Mechanic, Byakuya; if we get him, we can at least stop any more machinated monstrosities—“

Byakuya’s hold on Makoto’s face strengthened and he tilted Makoto to be at his level, “Makoto. I admire all the work you’re doing, but I’m worried you’re killing yourself.”

Makoto didn’t want to admit it, but Byakuya was right. He can’t remember the last time he had water to drink. He’s been in this room since early this morning, piecing together tips and clues and trying to disguise it all as routine business just running on cups of coffee.

The fact that this plan is being kept so under wraps is driving him mad enough.

But when he looks at Byakuya— a man he never expected to be the comforting hand— he feels confident in what they’re doing.

And then he felt his face heat up. He couldn’t determine if that was from embarrassment or exhaustion or... attraction.

“Byakuya?”

“Yes?”

“You never call me that.”

“What; your name?”

“I can’t...” his words were fuzzy and went from his brain to his mouth in milliseconds, almost as if he weren’t processing them at all, “I can’t remember you ever calling me Makoto.”

His hands were still there.

“Ridiculous,” Byakuya scoffed, “I’m sure I’ve—“

“I can’t remember, that’s all,” Makoto’s eyes were being drawn shut like curtains and his head was jerking forward with Byakuya helping him resist, “Maybe you have. I just can’t remember.”

“Makoto, I’m taking you to your room. You need to rest.”

“H-hide the papers, please,” Makoto asked, giving in to Byakuya’s care as he felt his body giving in to shutting down

Through his exhaustion, Makoto guided Byakuya through securing the documents from any other Future Foundation members’ eyes.

Byakuya carefully took Makoto’s arms and helped him up, making sure to go slow to avoid any vertigo

They were close. Makoto felt his body pressed against Byakuya’s as Byakuya held him up, leading him out of the corporate sector of the HQ, toward their rooms.

As tired as Makoto was— as much as Makoto’s body was screaming for rest— his mind was occupied by ‘close’.

He’s close to bringing in the Remnants.

He’s close to pinning down the locations of three of them specifically.

He’s close to Byakuya.

Makoto hasn’t had too much time lately to worry about this attraction that’s been in the back of his mind for... he doesn’t even know how long it’s been.

But every time Byakuya surprises him somehow— tonight especially— it comes back.

I guess pining can’t be repressed, he thought.

Makoto fished his room key out of his pocket and Byakuya snatched it out of his hand, unlocking the room for him.

He continued to aide Makoto in settling back down, gently bringing him to sit at the edge of his bed.

“What do you have in here to eat?” Byakuya practically demanded, starting to sift through Makoto’s drawers

“Huh?”

“I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay,” he insisted, “You must have some sort of food in here.”

Makoto focused his eyes a bit and remembered, “there’s a sleeve of crackers in the nightstand.”

Byakuya aggressively opened the drawer and found them instantly, shoving them toward Makoto.

He also took note of the empty plastic water bottles littering the surface of said nightstand and grabbed one, crinkling the plastic in his fingers and storming into the bathroom

Makoto’s brain was suddenly processing.

Bed.

No, eat crackers.

Then bed.

He heard grumbling coming from his bathroom followed by a faucet turning on as he finally let his body eat.

As soon as he swallowed, the sleeve of crackers kind of just fell out of his hands as his body crawled into fetal position in bed, shoes still on.

He shut his eyes and wasn’t quite drifting off, but he didn’t have enough energy to turn around to face Byakuya as he came back from the bathroom.

“Drink some—“

Byakuya must’ve cut off his train of thought when he saw Makoto laying like that.

After a few moments, Makoto heard the water bottle’s base rest on the nightstand from whence it came.

Then, he felt the mattress sink a little further.

Then, he felt a hand hesitantly brush through his hair.

That was followed by a sigh.

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” Byakuya spoke softly as his fingers soothed Makoto to sleep, “I guess I’ll have to do that for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping a better watch. I’ll do better from now on, darling.”

And in a daze, Makoto smiled, and prayed Byakuya would stay by his side.

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#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa spoilers #danganronpa fanfic #danganronpa fic #naegami #makoto naegi #dr makoto #byakuya x makoto #makoto x byakuya #danganronpa makoto #byakuya togami #dr byakuya #danganronpa byakuya

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2686 Warnings: none unless you count awkward/cringeworthy moments

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is a slow burn people so sit tight! A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 2 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

You paced in your apartment for a few minutes, debating what you should do. The gift card was a lovely gesture but you can’t accept it, Bucky is a stranger even if he’s your neighbor, and even though he inconvenienced you it would be wrong to take this.

But then again, maybe he really meant no harm at all and it would be rude not to accept this. It certainly would be put to good use.

All of these thoughts raced through your mind as you walked the length of your apartment. The walls truly were thin and you knew Bucky was home, meaning if he heard you come home then he knew you had the gift card. Was he expecting you to thank him?

Fuck it, you’re going over there. You went to the bathroom to make sure you looked alright. You aren’t sure why you cared so much but you quickly brushed your teeth and dabbed a bit of perfume on your pulse points. With a final look at yourself in the mirror you put your phone in your back pocket, grabbed your keys and the gift card and shut your door.

Your teeth were clenched as you made a fist and knocked at Bucky’s door, holding your breath as you heard him shuffle towards the door to answer it.

“Y/N, hey!” Bucky seemed surprised to see you.

His hair was loose, falling on his shoulders. The blue of his t-shirt brought out his eyes, even in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“Hey Bucky,” you replied easily, as if the words fell naturally from your lips. Holding up the gift card you smiled and Bucky mirrored the gesture.

“I see you got it.”

“Yes, thank you. This was really sweet but honestly you didn’t have to do this.”

Bucky lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, exposing part of his waist as his shirt ran up. Your eyes couldn’t help but catch the deep V line sculpted on his body, making you unconsciously lick your lips. As Bucky spoke you lifted your eyes to meet his again.

“I felt really bad. I didn’t mean to be a shitty neighbor. I’m not really used to this.”

“Having neighbors?” you asked with a giggle.

Bucky smiled. “Not ones so close.”

“That’s the city for ya,” you said awkwardly, looking everywhere else except Bucky.

“So listen,” Bucky began, clearing his throat. “You just got back from class right? If you wanted, how about I make you a cup of coffee? I definitely owe you a lot, even more than the gift card.”

The thought of having coffee with the embodiment of sex on legs made your knees wobble. You politely said you couldn’t impose.

“You wouldn’t be. I was about to make a pot myself, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

There probably should have been more insisting on your end, saying that you couldn’t come in because you also have a lot of work to do but somehow your mouth had a mind of its own as you agreed to coffee.

You wanted to keep things light, and so as you followed him inside you joked, “How do you get any work done with all that music?” but the moment you stepped into his apartment you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Bucky’s apartment was a mirror of yours with his bed and couch placed in the same spot against the wall, though it felt smaller with the dark taupe covering the walls, but what really made things feel cramped were the instruments scattered all over the apartment.

Several guitars were hung along the brick wall with a variety of amps on the floor. A large keyboard was laid out on the trunk that served as his coffee table in front of a black leather couch. An electronic drum kit sat beside a large desk, with wires attaching to a device beside his computer.

“Music is my work.”

You were stunned into silence, feeling completely stupid for asking him to not play music when you were home. You wanted to turn around and go back to your apartment where you could shake away the cringey feeling that rooted itself into your bones.

“Ohh,” you managed to squeak out.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, baring his teeth for an awkward smile at your revelation. “But don’t worry about the sound, I went out earlier and got headphones.”

Bucky turned to hold up a bag from the floor and you recognized the name of the professional audio shop.

“I never needed them before. My old landlord had lost most of her hearing so my music never bothered her.”

Bucky turned to the small kitchen counter to start preparing the coffee. He hadn’t offered you to sit, not that you saw a chair, so you stood watching his shirt cling to his muscles as he reached up to open the cabinets. They were different from yours, their honeyed tone showing a little age but not old by any means.

He pulled down a small coffee maker that was clearly made for a single person. You’ve already had more cups of coffee today than that tiny thing can produce in a sitting. Bucky was an obvious bachelor, even if you didn’t know about the revolving door of women you could see it in the way he kept his place.

He had been here just over a month but the apartment looked as if he had been settled in for years. Beside the bag he previously held up were others filled with things that hadn’t been put away. His bed wasn’t made, but the dark blue comforter was mostly strewn over the mattress with just the corner pulled a little too low.

His TV was opposite the bed on a dresser whose bottoms drawers hung open, with a bunched up shirt preventing the middle one from fully closing. Things weren’t dirty, it just needed a good tidying. Behind you was a large bookcase, with each shelf overstuffed with books and graphic novels, loose music sheets spilling out from the top, a few Funko Pops and some other knick-knacks.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, turning around as one hand gripped the handle of the refrigerator.

You nodded with a smile as you continued to observe his apartment. Above the couch was a large framed poster of the movie Psycho and briefly recalling the conversation you heard this morning you really hoped he was actually talking to his mother.

“Shit.”

You turned around to find Bucky watching you stare at the poster, though his eyes moved to the couch.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked you to sit down,” he said, apologizing for his manners as he moved the keyboard off the trunk and on to his desk. “I don’t usually have people over.”

You both know his statement was a lie; he has people, women specifically, over every night but what he meant was he doesn’t usually entertain.

The couch scrunched under his weight as he sat beside you, handing over a mug of steaming coffee. He warned you it was hot and so you held it as the ceramic heated your skin before placing it on the trunk. Bucky had done the same and so you felt comfortable enough to do so as well, even though asking about a coaster would have been just as simple.

“So you mentioned you’re in school. What are you studying?”

You were aware of how close his knee was to yours as he turned to face you. Nerves made you grab the cup of coffee first, sipping on the still too hot liquid before answering.

“I’m going for my MSW. I’m nearly finished too, I just have this last class before I somehow have to fit a ton of hours for an internship into my schedule which is a little difficult to figure out.”

“You work full time too, right? It must be hard doing both.”

Bucky’s blue eyes were focused on you, deeply staring into your own. All you could do was nod your head in response. He was enchanting, clearly a great listener; it’s no wonder he can charm the world into his bed.

You fell into a conversation about Stark Industries and how you came to work there, going to school part time as you worked to pay the rent.

“It feels like I’ve wasted so much time because of the road I had to take. I keep picturing myself at the end, finally graduating, knowing all the stress and sleepless nights were worth it.”

Bucky watched as the passion you had for social work poured off your lips. There was something deeper than wanting to be handed a diploma, he could see the fire burning in your eyes that you had for this field, something you left unsaid.

“I’m sorry, again, if my music kept you up and distracted you.”

“No, I’m sorry Bucky. I was rushing to class this morning and I probably could have said things in a better way.”

You shared a quick smile with him, bringing the mug up to your lips to mask the way your cheeks wanted to stay pulled tight to cement the smile on your face. Staring at Bucky made you feel giddy and warm all over.

You suddenly realized how long it’s been since you’ve hung out with a man that isn’t Steve. With all your school work keeping you busy you hardly had any time to notice what was missing in your life, not until now where you felt butterflies fluttering away in your stomach. Wow, you definitely needed to get out again.

“So you said music is your work, what do you do?”

Bucky tipped the mug back to finish the last drop of coffee, before smoothing his fingers over his lips.

“I’m a composer actually.”

Well that was unexpected. You definitely judged Bucky too quickly, with the loud music and louder women. Without seeing him you figured he was some punk in a band, who stayed up all night and didn’t give a shit about his neighbors because he wanted to live out the party lifestyle of a wannabe rock star. But as Bucky explained you found out he was so much more than that.

From a young age he was musically gifted, picking up melody and sounding it out by ear as he sat in front of the piano. His mother Winifred had also played and taught him what she could until Bucky’s enthusiasm for playing outgrew the time and knowledge she had to teach him. She and his father George hired a piano tutor who noted how talented Bucky was, especially for a young child.

Bucky’s ambitions grew as he wanted to learn more instruments, guitar, violin, percussion.

“I can’t do horns,” he joked, not having the patience to practice proper breathing for the brass instruments.

Bucky has been composing music since the days you were pining over boy bands, selling his first work to a commercial for an international airline.

“Wow, I feel like the biggest asshole for telling you to stop.”

Bucky chucked at your admission, “It’s okay Y/N, really. I should have realized I’m not in Long Island anymore. I promise to use the headphones for every instrument that I can.”

“Thanks Bucky,” you smiled, sighing a breath of relief although you still felt embarrassed. While trying to lift the weight of guilt you somehow made it worse. “I’m sure our other neighbors would appreciate that too.”

Bucky’s face twisted with concern. “Shit. Have they complained too?”

Your palms covered your face as you shook off your stupidity. Why was this man making you say all the wrong things?

“No, not in a bad way,” you tried to convince him. “Have you met Clint? A bit shorter than you, dirty blond hair.” Bucky shook his head back and forth. “You must have seen his fiancée then, beautiful redhead, Natasha?”

Again, Bucky shook his head. “Well they live above you.”

Bucky cringed at the thought. If you heard all the noise they certainly have as well.

“So it’s actually kinda funny…” you began, telling Bucky that Clint takes his hearing aids out when he was playing. “They’re both really nice, you should say hello if you see them. Plus now I can tell Clint I won our unofficial bet.”

Bucky’s head quirked with curiosity. “Well, he called you the Guitar Hero,” you admitted, watching a smile form on Bucky’s face.

“I don’t just play guitar,” he said proudly.

You smirked, “I know. That’s why I was calling you the Music Man.”

Bucky’s hair blanketed his face as he tipped his head forward to laugh at your nickname. When he sat up again you noticed the crinkles around his sparkling eyes, and the way he smiled from ear to ear showed off perfect teeth, beautifully bright against the beginnings of dark stubble that started to fill in along his jaw.

Butterflies swirled around your stomach like a tornado as your heart rattled against your chest. This sensation was bubbling up the longer you stared at Bucky. Why were you feeling this way? You couldn’t distract yourself, not with a man, especially not this one.

“I get it now, the walls are thin,” he stated, still shining that beaming smile.

Your brain jolts to life again, as common sense starts to combat the small army forming to defend your developing crush. Your brain wins this round however, as you remind yourself the noise wasn’t just about the music.

“Oh yes they are. Our beds are on the same spot on the wall,” you said, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes to infer what you were talking about.

Bucky’s cheeks blush a deep shade of pink with embarrassment. “Oh… I’m….” He’s too nervous to apologize for what you both know you’re referring to.

“I wear headphones to sleep to drown out the noise.” Great, just keep making it worse Y/N. “But on the bright side, the banshees all sound like they’re enjoying themselves.” Nope, that didn’t help at all.

Fear of saying something even worse had you quickly fumble up an excuse to leave, telling Bucky you had a paper to work on so you thanked him for the coffee and practically ran back to your apartment, dreading every future interaction you would have with him.

Later that night Bucky opened the door for a woman who swayed inside with determination. He offered her a beer and with lust in her eyes Dot licked the neck of the bottle before bringing the top to her lips. Bucky turned away, shuddering with embarrassment at how hard this girl was trying.

He knows what she wants, what they all want but Bucky hasn’t believed in relationships for a very long time. It’s something that works for other people whereas he enjoys the physical connection; release your needs and move on.

Bucky wished he cancelled tonight. He felt… awkward after you left. It made him shift his bed forward a few inches away from the wall. He didn’t realize just how much his entire presence has affected you.  

With his arms caged beside Dot’s head he moved above her, thrusting his hips and checking to see that the bed didn’t touch the wall as his motions rocked it. Her nails dug crescents into his back as she began to cry out in pleasure. Bucky forced his lips against hers, an action she felt in her heart but Bucky just wanted to shut her up, hoping you hadn’t heard her.

Shutting the door behind Dot who begged to stay Bucky went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his heated skin. His reflection stares back at him but he doesn’t want to look, wondering why his mind has been wandering to places he doesn’t want it going. He dries his face, letting the towel hang over the sink as he shuffles back to bed, staring at the wall for a few lingering moments before he turns over and hopes sleep will come quickly.

PART 4

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

[se-ono-waise-ilia]

Hinata’s New Toy Chapter 2

Summary: Kiba has some new thoughts about his beloved kunoichi after her breakup with Naruto. Hinata has new thoughts about Kiba too. Mature & smutty content, NSFW.

Read chapter 1 here on fanfiction.net

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto

----

Incessant knocking sounds startled Hinata as she lifted her head from her pillow. The need to squint her eyes indicated it was a sunny day, and the pounding of her head indicated she was extremely hung over. Reaching for her clock, she noticed it was 7am, Who on earth could that be?

Lifting her fingers to perform byukugan, she felt a wave of pain that went straight to her forehead, I suppose this is what peep holes are for.

Bracing her hands on the bed to push herself up, she noticed her beloved new toy was still there. Unwashed. The almost always appropriate heiress crinkled her nose in shame at the white crusty bits clinging to the silicone.

The awful sound of her door being beaten continued. The person behind it did not demonstrate the common courtesy of announcing oneself. Thinking it best to not clearly indicate she was home, she silenced the groans of discomfort she yearned to make, and tip toed to the door.

"Open the door, Hyuga. I'm here on behalf of Naruto."

It was Uchiha Sasuke.

Hinata thought ill of very few people, but the one person she could say that she truly wanted to call crude and inappropriate names was Uchiha Sasuke. She never liked the way he looked down at others as a child, and envied how easy most skills came to him. After he joined Team 7, she was concerned about the way he treated Naruto, and jealous that he soaked up all her crush's attention.

Now she understood that the intense relationship between them was just a precursor to, well, their current relationship.

Then of course he betrayed the village, joined a terrorist organization, then reconnected with Naruto and was announced "good" again, but went traveling, and then came back to steal her boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend, she was still correcting herself.

"Hinata," was the only explanation she got through the door.

Fortunately, there was a mirror by the door that told Hinata to re-do her bun, which she quickly did as the admittedly afraid kunoichi opened the door to the ex-terrorist/ boyfriend thief, "Uchiha-s-s-san."

Oh, how she hated how meek her voice was when she felt insecure.

The blast of cold wintery air was warmer than his presence. He look extremely inconvenienced, "Naruto said I need to apologize to you."

Hinata couldn't decipher if it was the pounding hangover headache or the audacity of this entitled man that had her internally fuming, Apologize?! For telling me to "get out" so rudely when I arrived to see Naruto. Or stealing him from me. Although, it's not like Naruto was completely innocent. He LET you act that way and it only took him over a week to decide something should be done about it. Where's Naruto then?! He's the one who was complicit in your rudeness and didn't respond to my break-up note in any way, shape or form. As if us breaking up was nothing worth discussing. Why isn't he here now, apologizing alongside you. The fucking nerve!

Alas, Hinata didn't say any of these rational thoughts. All she could muster was a simple, "Oh."

The 25-year-old wasn't one to say what she really thought regarding uncomfortable and negative situations. Avoiding personal confrontations was a key part of her social strategies (work related confrontations were another matter, the structure of the ninja work culture made her feel more comfortable voicing her opinions). And when involved in a social confrontation of the harsh sort, her strategy was to say or do anything to deescalate the problem at hand to make the entire confrontation go away as quickly as possible, even at her own expense.

So no, she regrettably did not demand answers regarding Naruto's absence in this matter, nor did she call Uchiha Sasuke the asshole that he was, is, and will forever be.

He seemed irritated at the awkward silence that he likely thought was her fault. Hinata tried to inhale the heavy lavender scent that always permeated her apartment, but was startled to find her apartment had many other contrasting smells to it that weren't entirely calming.

Memories of last night flooded her hurting head. Feelings of embarrassment, shame, and anxiety went straight to her nervous system.

Sasuke must have notice her nose twitch amongst her other symptoms of freaking out. He sniffed, and looked repulsed, "Your apartment smells like lavender, female genitals, and dog."

The blushing nin couldn't help but nod her head in a shocked, mortified daze. She wanted to breathe heavily (three count inhale, six count exhale), but Uchiha was right. Her usually spa-like apartment did smell like ... those things. The lavender and dog notes actually weren't new. But the middle part, how embarrassing!

Scrambling her known social strategies for a way to deescalate, she chose to change the conversation to focus on someone else, "N-naruto's place smells like stale ramen and sweaty men's clothing."

It wasn't intended to be a dig, but Hinata found herself proud that it came out with that tone.

For her efforts, she was gifted the response of an agreeable scoff.

To keep this remarkably successful change in conversation going, "It's worse when he makes clones. That one time he did sexy no jutsu in the apartment, it was overwhelming."

It came out so fast she didn't even stutter. It also came out so fast, it took her a moment to realize what she had implied. With significant terror, she looked into Sasuke's eyes to see accusatory confusion, "Explain," he demanded.

Vigorously shaking her poor hungover head, "I-I-I should air out the ap-p-partment and put on proper c-c-clothes."

Suddenly, one specific memory from last night came to the forefront of her mind. She squeaked with an even higher level of mortification as she patted her shorts, No underwear, oh no, "Kiba!" she squeaked and started to fan herself as a hot flush of embarrassment took over.

She was sure Sasuke was still looking at her with unnecessary critique, but no longer cared. The fact that she gave Kiba not just her panties, but her worn post-vibrator panties, with the implicit specific purpose of him smelling them while he...

Hinata leaned against the doorframe as she started rubbing the spot in her hand that was an anxiety reducing pressure point.

"If I get Inuzuka, will you convey to Naruto I apologized... and will you explain the sexy no jutsu incident?"

She found herself staring into his mismatched eyes, blinking in confusion. He nodded, then teleported away.

What just happened? Did he leave? Or is he going to get ... oh no!

Slamming the door in a panic, she used chakra enhanced speed to open all the windows in her apartment, put all used laundry into a basket with a blanket covered over it as at least some form of scent containment, sprayed an obscene amount of perfume on it (peony scented), put the still unwashed vibrator and lube into her nightstand drawer, and rushed into a shockingly cold shower with her toothbrush. Not knowing if she'd have enough time to wash her hair, she left it up as she hastily brushed her teeth sans paste, and scrubbed herself raw with lavender & vanilla scented soap.

The aggressive knocking at her door minutes later startled her, resulting in her hair getting an unplanned rinse, Maybe it's just Sasuke. He'll have to wait at the door.

"Hinata!" shouted a voice that was absolutely not Sasuke's, "Are you OK?! This asshole pulled me out of bed and said you needed me. I'm coming in!"

Informing Kiba of of the location of the emergency key was now a deeply regrettable decision.

Hinata managed to hastily throw on her luckily modest bathrobe before Kiba burst through the door. Then the bathroom door. Only garbed in pants.

He sniffed her, gave her a quick body scan, turned off the shower, then grabbed her cheeks with his warm hands to aim her face up towards his, "Are you OK?"

Even though her cheeks were already flushed with the exertion of prepping her apartment and the cold from both the open windows and the freezing shower, Hinata knew she was likely turning a strange mix of blue and beet red, Kiba cares about me and he's so handsome.

These observations weren't new to Hinata. Kiba has always cared for her safety, and he was objectively a ruggedly handsome man with an intentional curation of impressive muscles. But since last night, Hinata all of a sudden felt attraction to these qualities.

"Hinata-chan?" Kiba asked again, rubbing her loose wet tresses out of her face with his gentle fingers.

Gulping, she managed to nod. Her shirtless friend let out a sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, He was actually worried something had happened to me. It was just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry you felt scared on my behalf, Kiba.

She felt herself sink into his warm and dry body, feeling the dusting of chest hair tickle her cheek.

"Our deal?" Sasuke interrupted their moment. Hinata truly hated that man. As much as she loved that this weird situation brought Kiba to hold her, the poor nin had to run through the cold without shoes nor a top in fear that something was wrong.

I never agreed to any deal with you, you presumptuous rude man. You never even actually apologized. And I have no desire to discuss your sex life now or ever. I hope Naruto spills boiling hot ramen on you. A whole bowl, she mentally insulted him with all her might.

Alas, she kept it all inside. A growl vibrated from Kiba's chest as he tightened his grip on Hinata. Honestly, the flushed girl was more than happy to allow Kiba to demonstrate anger and resentment on her behalf, as he often did, "What the actual fuck, Uchiha?"

Hinata also appreciated that while she had extensive internal private thoughts describing her more negative expressions, Kiba was able to edit it down into concise and direct phrases.

"Tch," the awful man emoted, "Naruto sent me here to apologize-"

"And did you?!"

Sasuke paused, then directed his eyes to Hinata, "I apologize."

Kiba rolled his eyes, "Asshole."

Hinata couldn't help but nod in agreement against Kiba's delightfully firm pecs.

"Hinata, please explain the other part now."

"What's this fucking deal?" Kiba barked at him, tightening his hold on her. Possibly in a protective manner, or affectionate. Or both. Either way, Hinata was in heaven being held by a shirtless Kiba who was also talking back to the scariest ninja in the world without a hint of fear.

Sasuke narrowed his mismatched eyes, "She accepts my apology and gives me information, in return she indicated a need for you."

"Me?" was the detail he prioritized. Burying her head into his chest seemed like the best response. Her hands may or may not have found a comfortable resting position on his obliques.

"I have places to be, Hyuga," it sounded like Sasuke was gritting his teeth in annoyance. In Kiba's arms, she felt safe ignoring him.

Kiba growled during most conversations, but he was particularly consistent in this one, "No, she does not accept your apology. Not like yours matters to her anyway. Naruto's the negligent ex-boyfriend who didn't appreciate her, and let his new boyfriend toss her to the curb on his behalf. Fuck you, Uchiha. Go deep throat Hinata's ex."

Kami, did Hinata want to drag Kiba's face down to her face and give him the hottest kiss of her life, like the ones she reads about in romance novels. And her robe would just happen to fall off during this steamy kiss.

The aroused girl wanted to keep this fantasy going, but she knew if her body reacted, Kiba would definitely smell it. So she finally looked to Sasuke, and felt all sexy vibes disappear.

Sasuke didn't seem affected by Kiba's excellent speech, nor did he leave. He was doing that thing where he glares at people while thinking through his next move. Always intimidating, even when he's simply thinking.

Kiba had no time for that, "Kami Uchiha, what will it take for you to not be a prick to Hinata and leave?"

Folding his arms, "For the information I seek from Hinata, I will use more courtesy in the future."

Then he scanned Kiba's body with a look of ... appreciation?

"Is there any practical application of exercising your body to feature that many abdominal muscles?"

Kiba must have been surprised, as Hinata had to restrain a whimper of loss when he separated his sinewy body from hers to look at his own stomach. Not growling for the first time in this conversation, "Ninjas don't really benefit that much more from them, I just do the extra exercises and diet to make them look this way," he eyed Sasuke mischievously, "You checkin me out, Uchiha? What will Naruto think of that?"

Sasuke blushed, and it was Hinata's absolute favorite face he had ever made. And then he pouted, pouted, as if his pride withheld him from saying what he really wanted to say.

"Full offense to your pride intended, I'll teach you the exercises some other time if you leave," Kiba grinned as if he was absolutely confident in his ability to win this confrontation.

With extreme reluctance and minimal eye contact, Sasuke nodded.

Kiba made a shooing motion, but not before Sasuke looked to her with expectance.

Covering her face with her hand, "Just have him do the jutsu, but stay in his male form."

Sasuke only blinked with a "Hmm," before teleporting away.

"He's the actual worst," Kiba sighed, "but having him check me out was the weirdest ego booster. Is it OK if I hate him slightly less for it?" He looked to Hinata for approval.

She embraced the chance to blatantly check out Kiba's body herself.

Kami, he is ripped. In her line of work, she's exposed to fit men all the time. But Kiba...he did the most creative sorts of crunches to sculpt his body.

She felt her mouth salivating as her eyes drifted further down to where a V shape made an arrow to his manhood. The trail of hair helped guide the way, but that V...

She noticed he shivered, and realized all her windows were open and wintery air was coursing through her apartment. Shaking herself out of her inappropriate staring, "C-c-ccould you c-c-close the w-w-w-windows while I-I-I get-t-t dressed?"

Her stuttering was doubled by the clattering of her teeth as she felt ice-like hair penetrate her skin and frigid air wrap around her exposed skin.

He shook his head in a dog-like manner, and left to do her bidding.

The freezing girl shuffled and shivered to her bedroom and closed the door. The need to be warm overcame her sexual cravings that had dominated this past week. Ripping through her dresser, she donned her warmest shirt (dark purple), leggings (light purple), and socks (sparkly dark purple). The long-sleeved shirt clung to her curves in a flattering manner, so she resisted to the urge to cover herself with a heavy sweater for the possibility of ... does Kiba like my body? I don't quite know if he covered his eyes last night, oh Kami, why did I do that?

Her hair was an inconsistent mess of wet and dry, so she restyled it into the thousandth messy bun of this week.

Worried for the comfort of her half-naked teammate, she went to the travel section of her closet to pull out an extra change of clothes for Kiba. He used to have this endearing habit of forgetting climate changes when they traveled as genin, and Hinata brought backups for such occasions.

But that was when they were still teenagers. Before Kiba filled out. With broad shoulders and a trim waist. Unsure if the old black sweater and socks would fit, she hesitantly exited the safety of her bedroom in her warm monochromatic clothes.

All her windows were secure, and Kiba was in her kitchen with the kettle on the stove and his face buried in her tea box.

"I don't know if this still fits, but..."

He smiled smugly at the sweater, "You can have that, Hinata-chan," as he took the socks.

Her half-naked friend seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her and her body. Feeling slightly rejected, she chose to use a tactic she often read in her favorite steamy novels: putting on the male's clothes. She tugged the black sweater from Kiba's younger years over her head, and found it snug around the chest.

Alas, her tactic seemed to fail as he swiftly turned back to the kitchen without a second look, and brought his face unnecessarily close to the tea box. Why was he taking so long to pick his tea? Hinata then felt shame at her previous thoughts, Oh no, I'm so desperate for him to give me the savoring look I gave him earlier. Does he feel awkward about last night? We did drink a lot, and I said a lot, and I seduced him maybe a little, took off my pants and panties...

Holding her groans of embarrassment within, she used her social strategy of picking a neutral topic of conversation, "Where's Akamaru?"

Holding a bag of chamomile tea extremely close to his face, he continued to avoid eye contact, "He'll be along soon enough. I yelled to him to bring my travel bag to your place while he was growling at Uchiha," he scrunched his eyes closed and ran his non-tea-bag hand though his gorgeous bedhead, "Kami Hinata, when he showed up, I thought the worst. Uchiha is an asshat, but the missions he deals with are serious shit. More horrifying than ANBU shit. Seeing him and hearing your name..."

Hinata went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. Forgetting her attraction to this man, she simply held her teammate of near thirteen years in the most soothing manner she could think of, "I'm OK, Kiba. It was a misunderstanding. A very strange misunderstanding. I'm so sorry."

He covered her arms wrapped around his middle with one of his. Speaking with almost a whisper, "You're important to me. So important," and he gently squeezed her wrist.

Tears lined her eyes. She felt touched he cared this much about her. Hinata returned Kiba's squeeze around his middle, "You're important to me too."

The moment was sustained until the tea kettle whistled, as did Hinata's anxiety that always found ways to interfere with beautiful moments.

Her anxiety brutally made her realize she should be ashamed for desperately throwing her body at one of her dearest friends last night and earlier in her bathroom.

Kami, last night she treated him as a ticket to her next orgasm. Not the kind and caring teammate she held in her arms.

Letting go of her friend, she moved to the couch to smother her face with one of her less embroidered pillows, I did that awful thing I read about in books when the self-serving girl treats the man who's crazy about her as a dick to ride rather than a person. How shameful.

And where her anxiety failed to punish her, the miserable hangover picked up the work. In addition to the pressing headache, her stomach growled with an uncomfortable hunger for greasy and spicy food.

Fortunately, Kiba was one of the few people who was familiar with hungover Hinata. She heard a mug being set on her coaster on the coffee table, followed by the clamoring of pans and cabinets. How on earth was Kiba the better host out of the two of them? Not only has he spent years adding decor to her apartment with gifts, he also cleaned her kitchen last night for Kami's sake.

Not feeling quite closed in on by all her mental, emotional, and physical feelings, Hinata dragged her weighted blanket on top of herself and curled up into a ball.

----

The next thing she knew, she felt a tentative hand rubbing her back through the heavy blanket, the smell of spicy fried rice filling her nose. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, Did I fall asleep? Was it a dream?

Upon clearing her eyes, she was treated to the site of a shirtless Inuzuka making the table with two bowls of steaming fried rice with lots of red chili flakes decorating the surface, "Kiba?"

"You fell asleep. Itadakimasu," he chuckled at her before shoveling rice into his large, oh so large mouth.

Might as well be a dream, she mused, forcing herself to have a sip of tea and sit properly for a meal, "Itadakimasu."

The scrumptious mix of fried rice and egg with spicy seasonings allowed Hinata a period of peace she hadn't known in the longest time. Meals from these past few months have been overcome with unresolved tension, the pain of denied and buried emotions, or the misery of loneliness.

But not with Kiba. Although he didn't have the most sophisticated culinary skills, he made the basics with that laid back feeling that all too often eluded Hinata. He balanced her so remarkably well.

With that thought, about halfway through her bowl, Hinata actually did succumb to her emotions. Dropping her bowl on the table, she attempted to cover her face as hot tears poured down her cheeks and her body shook with the waves of loud sobs.

A pressure dropped the couch cushion under her as warm and safe arms enveloped her.

She didn't know if the break up had finally sunk in, that the man of her dreams was an underwhelming disappointment as a boyfriend. Or, if it occurred to her that the artificially inspired orgasms this past week via her vibrator and unrealistic romance novels had been empowering and delightful, but also a fantasy unlikely to come true.

Or, the terrifying realization that Kiba meant everything to her.

And she didn't want to treat him as eye candy, her next orgasm, her rebound, or anything of the things that she had been treating him like since last night.

She wanted him to officially be her everything. But she already fucked that up with her impulsive, drunk, and lust clouded actions.

Needing to atone, she turned her body around and wrapped her arms around his neck with a possibly suffocating hold, "Kiba!" she cried. Sorry wasn't a word worthy of his heartfelt ears regarding the way she had treated him. So she cried his name over and over again into his hair as he held her with a proportionally tight grip, his face also buried in hair. She might have considered loosening her strong grip if it weren't for the encouraging way he cupped the nape of her neck, as if telling her to stay as long as she needed.

So she stayed, and cried until her sobs regressed into deep breaths, until her tears had stained her cheeks and she found herself blinking away the few remaining, until she realized Kiba had been rubbing her back with soothing circles, until she realized his other hand was squeezing the back of her neck in an effort to ease tension, until she was able to focus on Kiba's heartbeat as a calming beacon.

She felt herself melt into his arms as the last of her tears fell. And that's how they stayed for an unmeasurable amount of time.

When she felt stiff from the way she had been clinging to him, Hinata slowly released her arms and sat back on her haunches to fix his tear stained hair. She met his eyes and was surprised to find they were lined with silver, as if he too had needed an emotional release of his own.

Hinata brushed a lone tear from his eye with her thumb, and he leaned into her touch. She felt herself breathe shakily at the intimacy of his reaction.

Kami, she wanted to kiss him. But...

Wiping her cheeks and nose with the sleeve on her other arm, "Kiba, last night was ... I don't want you to think," he looked into her eyes with the wary search for something she couldn't identify. Hinata needed to finish a sentence, so she chose the one thought that truly counted. Not an apology, a truth: "You mean everything to me."

If felt good to finally voice a vulnerable thought. Kiba had always been a safe place for those.

Kiba's animalistic eyes pierced hers, as he remained as still as she had ever seen him. And Hinata wasn't afraid to stare right back.

She felt a shiver pass through him, not unlike the one from this morning, "You are everything to me, Hinata, and I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner."

Her heart soared out of her chest.

As if he realized what he had said and implied, he retreated his hands and began to shift away from her, nervousness painting his face.

Hinata had never kissed with such urgent instinct before.

It wasn't until she felt Kiba's lips moving against hers that she came to and realized what she had done.

Retreating with an embarrassed squeak, she felt heat rush up to her ears as unfiltered thoughts poured out of her, "Kiba you mean everything to me and I don't want you to feel like a rebound because you are so much more than that and I know you caught me staring at you so many times because you have such a beautiful body and you are so handsome but that's not all you are, you cooked such a lovely breakfast and you take care of me by buying me treats for my anxiety you are the sweetest man I've ever met and I hope I didn't ruin anything by my actions last night, I can't believe I gave you my panties but I wanted you to think of me the way I began thinking of you and I would never do such a thing for anyone but you and that's because I see every part of you and adore every part of you and want to please your nose as much as I want to please the rest of you and-"

Her rant was cut off by his mouth. He kissed her as she only thought people in books could be kissed: with passion and hunger and desire. She returned in kind as she held his face with her hands.

As Hinata wondered where his hands could be, for they weren't on her, Kiba broke the kiss with heavy breathing and his own unfiltered rant, "Fuck. Wait, no, I don't mean it like that. Hinata, I'm wild about you. You mean so much to me and I don't want to fuck this up by going too fast. You're too damn good for that. I feel like I need to court you and romance you like they do in all those slow burn erotic books I privately read too. I want you, Hinata. I need you."

Hinata found her face dangerously close to his again. She finally noticed his hands were destroying two of her lovely embroidered pillows with his claws. Then her eyes followed the trail of devastatingly tendons and veins bulging from his strained forearms, to his chiseled shoulders, and sculpted chest, "Fuck, Hinata, when you look at me like that, it makes me want to touch you. I know I shouldn't say this, but...I want to..." he bit his tongue to hold back.

Nothing in the world existed but Kiba and his evident desire for her, and she hadn't even looked down yet.

Taking it slow sounded like a practical idea. In theory.

In reality, she desperately needed to know what he wanted. Leaning forward and again cupping his face in her hands, she simply kissed him, lips against lips, no movement, inhaling via the nose, heavenly. Parting with barely any space between their lips, "Tell me," she ordered.

His eyes roamed to her mouth, to her neck, her her chest, to the place between her legs. Her sitting position on her heels kept her legs closed, keeping the scents on her arousal safely trapped. For now.

He seemed to only be capable of vocalizing a defeated whine.

Hinata knew this was a moment to prove she could take it slow, to make Kiba feel like he meant more to her than a spontaneous fuck. If Kiba and her were serious about this, which she knew in her heart they were, she could take it slow. She would.

As she placed one foot on the floor, opening her legs. She heard the fabric of her long gone decorative pillows rip even further as Kiba's pupils dilated and he snarled. Snarled.

Daring a look down at his pants, she saw the physical evidence of his desire. And she wanted to snarl back.

She didn't know if she launched herself to straddle his lap or if he finally released the pillows to pull her onto him and tightly grip her backside, but the reality was that they were now breathing each other's air as their bodies ground together. The barrier of clothes didn't stop the wondrous pleasure and excitement that coursed through them.

This rubbing was so intense it had Hinata's jaw loose and fingers weak as she rode her man. Kiba's strong and controlling grip had her moving up and down his length at just the right pace. His teeth were bared as his forehead almost touched hers, and Kami did it turn her on.

"Kiss me," she moaned. She felt his mouth capture hers, hot and claiming. It slid to her jaw, her neck. Then she felt claws pierce the fabric of her leggings with an erotic pressure against her skin.

Then she felt it. That crawling sensation through her body starting from her core that indicated she was on the edge, "Inuzuka," she whimpered. His face arrived in her line of sight, and his eyes were full of lust and adoration as she came undone.

Everything stilled except the hands that continued her movements against him, as she felt her brain connect to her center in a burst of pleasure that had her gasping.

Draping her arms over his shoulders as the glorious sensations lessened, the instinct to please him took over and she leaned in to bite his earlobe and whisper, "Inuzuka, cum."

She found herself on her back with his arms wrapped tight around her. He thrusted into her, hard. He tilted his head to gaze at her, eyes half-lidded, and she watched him experience his own mind blowing orgasm.

When his body ceased its jerking motions, he shifted his weight to the side to rest his head on her breast as they both just breathed. She lazily played with his hair. He slowly rubbed her hip bone.

Then there was scratching at the door with a recognizable bark.

Neither of them made a motion to move.

Another bark. Kiba half heartedly shouted, "Give me a minute."

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at her, a goofy smile plastering his face. She giggled back at him, and leaned up to meet his lips with an appreciative and happy kiss. She felt him grinning as he nearly collapsed his body on hers, if it weren't for the third bark. Kiba ignored it as he peppered her jaw with kisses.

Feeling exceptionally happy yet also concerned for her dearest canine friend, "Kiba, Akamaru might be getting cold!" She chided while her fingers betrayed her, weaving their way through his messy hair. His mouth found one spot at the juncture of her jawbone that made her want to squirm.

"The Hokage wants to see us," A flat-toned Shino said through the door, immediately quelling their affectionate activities. She motioned for them to get up, and he pouted.

Slithering off the couch, she made her way to the door as he covered his stained pants with her blanket.

The mirror informed her that her already messy hair was officially a disaster, especially the back part that had rubbed against her couch cushion. But it was just Shino, so she took the hairband out as she answered the door to let her two teammates in.

"There's been a change in our mission squad, and we are to report to Hokage-sama," Shino greeted them in his usual business-first, mannerisms-second style, "Good morning. Did Kiba sleep over?"

Hinata was attempting to fix her hair by brushing and braiding it, "No, he arrived early this morning for unexpected reasons."

Kiba held the travel pack Akamaru gave him strategically over his front as he made his way to the bathroom, "I thought Hinata was in trouble. False alarm. Uchiha Sasuke's an asshole."

"Kiba stayed to make me breakfast, and then..." She felt herself blushing. Should Kiba and her remain discrete? But Shino is their teammate, and deserves to know about the change in their relationship for a variety of reasons. Yet, the idea of announcing their confessions and activities so casually didn't seem quite right.

Fortunately, Shino's blunt perceptions saved her the hardship of handling the situation, "I see. You two are good for each other."

Smiling shyly, she put on her ninja sandals as Kiba came out with his usual ninja garb. They made eye contact, and the tension between them brought her to him. She felt her face smile widely without her consent as he leaned down to nuzzle their cheeks together and he whispered in her ear, "We'll talk later," she felt his nose twitch, "As much as I adore this scent, I won't be able to focus around the Rokudaime."

"Oh, of course!" she squeaked as she took off her sandals and dashed into the bedroom for fresh panties and pants. Speaking of which, she was reminded that these leggings now had claw marks in a quite noticeable place. Biting her lip, she put them and her panties to the side to give to Kiba later.

----

Fuck, was it hard to focus on the Hokage when Hinata was fiddling with her braid oh so cutely.

The memories of last night at her place, last night when he was in his room, and this morning on the couch flooded his brain. Most significantly, the confession of how much they meant to each other.

But that's the part he's trying to comprehend with as much maturity as possible: she cares about him on an emotional level, but her body is pretty much in heat.

Kiba knows what he wants with absolute certainty: Hinata.

But he doesn't want a fling, or a short term relationship. He wants her for the long run, and he wants it to be romantic as fuck.

Here's the problem: although she doesn't want to treat him like a rebound, her body is showing all the signs of a person who's craving some fantastic fucking.

Could Kiba do that? Yes, but it would ruin his long game strategy of the cliche slow burn plan. He wants his relationship with Hinata to be like one in his romance books. Which he realized he admitted he reads to Hinata during his rant this morning.

Yes, he reads romantic and erotic novels. They are very entertaining and educational. As a teen, is mom and sister not only gave him the talk about safe sex, but also a talk about how to have good sex. And reading about it via these books was his favorite way to up his game.

Admittedly, their dry humping this morning threw off his plan. But damn, it felt amazing. He also owed Hinata some new embroidered pillows.

"Hinata is to be removed from your upcoming mission. We will place another sensory nin on your team to compensate," The Rokudaime's words shocked Kiba into focus.

"Why the sudden change? We leave tomorrow," Shino questioned.

Kakashi sighed, "Apparently, the Hyuga clan have been invited to the Winning-of-the-War anniversary event in the Cloud a month early. As a gesture to make amends for past conflicts, among other agendas," he stared as the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with his subordinates.

Kiba looked to Hinata, who was staring back at him. Her face indicated she had no idea about this invitation. She blinked her eyes at him with a hint of disappointment.

She was going to miss him.

Then her eyes drifted further down his form, and she let out a wistful sigh.

...And his body. Kiba never thought there would be a day when he wanted to shake Hinata out of her sex-crazed state. But here he was. Simultaneously turned on and resentfully objectified. Is this how girls feel when he hits on them with hookup intentions? Now he gets it.

----

The day progressed with Shino and Kiba working with their replacement team member, Yamanaka Ikuyo, while Hinata went to her father discuss her family vacation to Kumo.

Kiba hoped she started the conversation with, "What the fuck?"

He chuckled and continued his day dream while Shino went over their usual team formations and adjusted them to the Yamanaka's sensory style. Ikuyo seemed to be a seasoned pro, and was excited to have a detective style mission, so her motivation made her easy include on their plans.

The sun was setting after a long day of planning, so Ikuyo parted from them to independently study the mission scrolls and her new teammates strengths. Kiba didn't understand such a level of discipline, but appreciated it as it gave him an excuse to invite himself over to Shino's for dinner. Bug boy didn't mind.

Even though they all had clan households they could reside in, modern Konoha culture had this new trend of adult ninja taking a few years to live on their own before settling back into clan households for good. Kiba was the first on Team 8 to get his own place, Hinata followed suit with tremendous encouragement. But Shino didn't lean into the trend. He hated feeling left out of social things with his friends, and the possibility of being left out of family events made him even more depressed. So he happily resided in the Aburame household.

Which was the safest place for Kiba to go. Hinata and Kiba would only be in the same village for one more night before her trip. Such a one-night-only situation was the ideal vibe for a steamy and desperate sex-fest. Which sounded spectacular and like the night of his dreams.

Unfortunately, it would not only ruin his long game of romancing Hinata properly, but it may also ruin their romantic potential entirely. And that idea scared the shit out of Kiba.

What if after a glorious night, Hinata felt like she got-it-out-of-her-system? What if they didn't talk afterwards, and she went to Kumo thinking they are now just casual fuck buddies? What if it enabled her to see him as only a sexual object, and not a viable romantic partner? Or what if she did what she said what she wouldn't do: treat him as a rebound, and then after a month apart, she just wouldn't be interested in him?

These insecure thoughts plagued him every time he drifted into a day dream of all the ways he wanted to touch her, and all the ways he fantasized about her touching him. Instead of playing attention to Ikuyo's explanation of her skills (he would figure it out in real-time), his thoughts alternated between sexy images, the consequences of them sleeping together too soon, and then the best part: what if he stuck to his plan and he truly had everything.

Visions of endless handholding in the village, cuddling in her spa-like apartment, walking Akamaru together at sunset, buying her fresh flowers, moving in together and taking care of her, cooking for her his greasy friend rice whenever she wanted, saving money to buy her a very special and very dainty piece of jewelry...

Those were the fantasies that made Kiba feel invigorated, motivated, and most seldom seen: disciplined. He would stay with Shino tonight as an extra measure, maybe write Hinata a romantic note, and dream about her for a month until he could truly have his shot with her.

Maybe this month apart would be a good thing. She'd have a respectable amount of time to get over the break-up with Naruto, simmer down her rebound seeking sex drive, and then he could commence with his ultra-romantic slow burn plan. Just like in the books.

Just as Kiba was feeling confident in his fantasies and plans while drinking tea with Shino on his porch, all was foiled when Hinata landed in front of them.

"Tea?" Shino offered without a second thought. Kiba was clenching the edge of the porch, trying not to mouth breathe as he stared at the woman of his dreams, who was wearing a lovely yukata reserved for clan meetings. A yukata that had fallen off one shoulder with the abruptness of her landing.

"Yes, please," she replied in a frustrated manner. Not frustrated at them, but by the the undoubtably disagreeable meeting she had with her family. She took her graceful body to lean against a nearby pillar, and stare at the night sky.

The silvery light of the moon bounced off her milky skin, and Kiba wanted to confess all his desires to her in that moment.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Shino helpfully offered as Kiba unhelpfully gazed at his angelic beauty.

Said angel shook her head, "I'd rather not,"

Her eyes then met Kiba's, and the tension from this morning snapped into place. It felt like slow motion when she stood up straight, walked to him, and offered temptation, "Walk me home?"

Yes, of course. He'd do anything she asked. He'd walk her home, kiss her forehead goodnight at her door. Kiss her neck goodnight her living room. Kiss her lips goodnight as he languidly made love to her under the moonlight streaming through her bedroom window.

He found himself falling into these fantasies as he stood in front of her, staring into her twin moon-lit eyes, showing how much she yearned for this as much as he did.

"Kiba requested to stay here tonight," Shino interrupted. The emotional nin wanted to simultaneously throttle him and shower him with thanks.

Hinata's eyes drifted to Shino, then back to Kiba's in confusion.

Shino, never failing to bluntly insert his perceptions into awkward moments, "I don't think he wants to be your rebound hookup before you leave for a month. That would hurt his feelings."

Even though every word out of his friend's mouth was the truth, it made Kiba lower is eyes in shame that he couldn't find those words for himself. Hell, if it weren't for Shino, he might go home with her to avoid telling her how he really feels.

"Oh..."

Then an unexpected pain hit Kiba's chest. She didn't deny any of Shino's words. No matter how much they meant to each other, the reality was that the timing of their feelings of affection overlapped with Hinata's desires of needing a validating night of sex.

Kiba went to Akamaru, who was lounging against the house. He sat cross legged next to his beloved partner, and pet him in a self-soothing manner.

Shino didn't stop being blunt, "Hinata, although you and Kiba are good for each other, perhaps now is not the time to kindle such a serious relationship, considering you and Naruto only broke up a week ago."

He could feel her grow uncomfortable with the unwanted observations and advice. Kiba wanted to pummel Shino for saying such cutting truths, "Shino, enough," he growled under his breath.

But Kiba couldn't face this anymore. Now was the time to wish Hinata well, give her a platonically affectionate wave, and leave to the guest quarters.

Standing up and forcing his face into his classic arrogant look, "We have a mission first thing, Hinata-chan. Shino and I are a bit caught off guard not having you with us. We'll miss you."

Whistling to Akamaru, "We'll say goodnight, and see you in a month after you show those Cloud nin how badass the Hyuga clan are," he forced out a wink and a toothy grin.

But then he noticed her eyes were welling with tears, and he felt his own eyes begin to water as well. They would figure it out after her mission. Dropping the inauthentic arrogance, he allowed himself to use a more affectionate tone, "See you later then."

Oh, how he wanted to hold her. But he knew if he did, he wouldn't let go without revealing his most vulnerable thoughts. So, he turned away from her with a wave.

"Kiba!" she cried before her scent surrounded him just before her arms did.

His hands instinctively covered hers as she held him from behind as she did this morning. After telling her she means everything to him. He interlaced their fingers together and squeezed. He felt tears through the back of his shirt, "Kiba, I-I-I didn't mean to treat you like that. P-P-Please forgive me."

He didn't know how much more his heart could take today, "It's OK, Hinata. I understand," he found one of her anti-anxiety stress points on the inside of her arm, and rubbed it gently.

She pressed harder against his back, and he wasn't going to let go of her arms until he knew she had recovered.

"Kiba, maybe when I've returned, you and I could..."

Before he knew what he was doing, he used one of her arms to bring her to his front, one hand cupping her cheek, the other holding her hand against his heart, "No way am I gonna let you say that now. When I get to Cloud for the celebration, you and I are gonna party our asses off and drink all their good sake," He saw a hint of smile on her face, "And when we get back to the Leaf, I'm gonna ask you out on a proper date. It's gonna be romantic as fuck."

She leaned her cheek into his hand and gifted him with a lovely smile. For the second time today, he brushed residual tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He wanted to end it there, but he sudden'y realized that there was one important thing that she should know, "And while you are in Cloud," he took a shaky breath and stepped away from her. He couldn't hold her for this next part, "You recover from ... that guy... however it makes sense to you. It's OK."

In other words, he was encouraging her to find a rebound there. The details of what that would mean made him sick to his stomach. But it would be OK, because he would ask her out in a month and they would have their chance then.

That's at least what he told himself.

Her eyes did that thing where she looked concerned with eyebrows scrunched together and up, eyes big and blinking, lower lip jutted out in protest. Yet she managed to nod in understanding.

He wanted to run away and destroy something. But he couldn't let that be their last interaction. Grounding himself with the thought of their first date to come, "What kind of flowers would you like?"

Oh, the things those fluttering lashes did to him. His angel smiled up at him, "Peonies."

Not trusting himself to say anything else, he nodded and returned her smile.

"I'll walk you home, Hinata," Shino's timing was often too on the nose, and Kiba was grateful.

She nodded to him, then looked back to Kiba. After a moment of thought, she grew on her tip toes to lean into him. He didn't dare move as she gave him a tender and warm kiss on the cheek. And then, the new light of his life was off with Shino.

He didn't know how much time had passed between when he was standing and when he was on his knees. At some point, Akamaru sat in front of him and pressed his head against Kiba's.

It was probably only 24 hours since she gave him those perfumed panties. And somehow a day later, he felt like he had given her his heart. Kiba shrugged against Akamaru's fur, "Not quite the romance in the books seen in books, but we'll get there."

Akamaru gave a bark of agreement.

----

A/N What a day in the life of Kiba and Hinata!

So, this story might be longer than the originally intended three chapters. Oops. I have the next chapter half written. The smut tho... yeah.

Also, the way Sasuke checked Kiba out?! The thought of them being work out buddies brings me so much joy. It's like a bro-style crackship.

Reviews please!

#kibahina #naruto fanfiction #kiba inuzuka #hinata hyuuga #hinata hyuga #hinata kiba #sns #Sasuke Uchiha #sasuke #naruto shippuden fanfic

[midnightactual]

@mysteriousshopkeeper submitted:

“Yoruichi-san! I’m glad I caught you. I… thought you might be on a beach somewhere by now, since you just hosted a significant holiday party. In any case…” His fingers were idly tapping on something clasped between them as a subtle change came over his demeanor, like curtains being drawn open. “There are some… things I’ve been meaning to say. And considering my track record… I thought it best to let someone else say them.” His hands moved forward, and before she could object, he’d captured one of hers and pressed his gift into it.

Once she’d unwrapped it, she’d find herself holding a vintage, authentic Sony Walkman WM-D6C, in perfect working order, pre-loaded with a cassette – not just any commercial label, no, no – but a genuine, bona fide, old-fashioned mixtape. He’d invested considerable time and effort in selecting songs that suited his sentiments, first building a playlist on Spotify. He hadn’t even known all of them before he started searching, but he certainly did know them when he heard them. A tentative smile encroached on his lips. “At first it didn’t have tangible form, but as you can imagine, it proved difficult to wrap, so… I made this.”

The exercise had presented him with a delicate balance to maintain. His relationship with Yoruichi was… complicated. Lately, he’d come to the reluctant realization that what he’d been giving her was not what she needed from him, at least not here, not now.  But disillusionment had proven a sticky, time-consuming process. Would-have-beens and could-yet-bes clung like lint to an old sweater; every time he looked, he found more, and some were nearly indistinguishable from the knit. He’d begun the process at the outset of what had become an unexpectedly eventful couple of weeks, but it had been time well-spent; the effort had had a clarifying — and surprisingly calming — effect. Each day was a process of refining and crafting, loosely following a rubric laid out in a movie he’d seen once. As a finishing touch, he’d even added liner notes, just to arrange specific lyrics into a unified narrative. The result was a musical, emotional journey that moved through a spectrum of humor, introspection and encouragement.

Because there was still, at the base of it all, that deep and abiding foundation of their friendship. The pedestals and shrines he’d erected in her honor weren’t serving either of them; it was time for a little iconoclasm, a little restructuring.  Perhaps they could begin afresh and he would, again, be dependably her friend. He was aware that this playlist may not reflect her musical tastes, but it wasn’t so much about winning her heart as revealing his —she’d long deserved that much from him. Besides — at this point, what had he to lose? He’d quit castles in the sky for solid ground.

“Happy birthday, Yoruichi.” His face met hers with a soft, bright smile. “If you go, you’ll have something to take with you. And if my company would be welcome…” And here, the smile grew a bit dubious. “—I’d offer to go with you. I’d even make the arrangements; I could use a change of scene myself. You’d get good massages given on good behavior, with no lip service—” He smirked grimly, realizing how difficult it was for him to suggest without selling. “That is to say, I’d enjoy giving them. Quietly. But should you choose to stay, and celebrate your birthday here with us this year, I wouldn’t min—" Again, he caught himself; his face clouded for an instant, then cleared, transparent and a bit wistful, as he half-turned to make his graceful exit. “Rather, I would very much like that.”

Liner Notes

Listen on Spotify!

We Go Together / David Tennant & Catherine Tate - Lyrics We go together like the news and the weather / We fit like hand in glove! It’s All Been Done / Barenaked Ladies - Lyrics And if I put my fingers here, and if I say / “I love you, dear” / And if I play the same three chords, / Will you just yawn and say ‘I’m bored’ / It’s all been done Partners in Crime / Arkarna - Lyrics  As I feel, we are, we must go on, I will stand, with you, forever / Ever more / But without you it’s a bore, It’s no fun breaking the law / Anymore, anymore, my partner in crime True Colors / Justin Timberlake & Anna Kendrick - Lyrics Show me a smile then / Don’t be unhappy, can’t remember / When I last saw you laughing / If this world makes you crazy / And you’ve taken all you can bear / You call me up / Because you know I’ll be there Paradise Valley / Honey and the Sting - Lyrics  Take what you want from me / I bring it willingly / The paradise valley  Got Your Back / Mike Taylor - Lyrics If you need a friend to party - I got your back / If you wanna get naughty - I got your back / Just tell me where to hide the body - I got your back

Somewhere Only We Know / Keane - Lyrics And if you have a minute why don’t we go / Talk about it somewhere only we know? / This could be the end of everything / So why don’t we go / Somewhere only we know?  We Belong / Pat Benatar - Lyrics We belong to the light / We belong to the thunder / We belong to the sound of the words / We’ve both fallen under / Whatever we deny or embrace / For worse or for better / We belong, we belong / We belong together

I Won’t Give Up / Jason Mraz - Lyrics And in the end, you’re still my friend at least we did intend / For us to work we didn’t break, we didn’t burn / We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in / I had to learn what I’ve got, and what I’m not / And who I am  Clear the Area / Imogen Heap - Lyrics You find your way back down. / And I’ll keep the area clear…please clear the area. /  When you find your way back down…in one piece / Then I’ll just be waiting here…right here. / Slowly…darling…nobody means any more to me than you. Fortress Around Your Heart / Sting - Lyrics And if I’ve built this fortress around your heart / Encircled you in trenches and barbed wire / Then let me build a bridge / For I cannot fill the chasm / And let me set the battlements on fire

Undercover / Pete Yorn - Lyrics And we held and we tried / There was hardly lust between us / I will love you / I won’t let go / ‘Cause we are one inside these walls / Undercover

Black Heart Inertia / Incubus - Lyrics You’re a mountain that I’d like to climb / Not to conquer, but to share in the view / You’re a bonfire and I’m gathered ‘round you / Set this old black heart inertia aflame Invincible / Muse - Lyrics ‘Cause there’s no one like you in the universe / Don’t be afraid / What your mind conceives / You should make a stand / Stand up for what you believe / And tonight / We can truly say / Together we’re invincible

Yoruichi was actually a bit surprised when her hand was taken and the classic piece of audio kit was pressed into it, not having expected such a forward approach. For want of any other recourse—it was her birthday, and it was a gift, apparently given very sincerely considering his affect… what else could she do but take it?—she willingly grasped the Walkman and heard him out.

She was in for another surprise at how little he had to say, comparatively. Sure, some of the usual banter and salesmanship eventually filtered in, but the facade was cracked and the underlying sincerity streamed through the act like sunlight through mist, burning it off right before her very eyes. It was striking, and she stared at the spectacle of it, growing increasingly uncertain.

And then, just like that he… left? She was sufficiently taken aback by what he’d said—and how he’d said it—that she hadn’t yet had time to formulate a reply when he was turning and departing. Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out of it, and by the time she thought of something to say—even just, ‘Wait’—he was gone.

She stared after him for long seconds before shutting her mouth and looking at the Walkman that’d been handed to her. She considered it for several moments more before going to a closet drawer. She already owned a pair of vintage Walkman headphones with orange foam earpieces; they seemed the most appropriate thing to use to listen, and listening seemed to be the only thing to do.

Considering both components, she put the headset on, plugged it in, and clicked play. There was a delightfully mechanistic moment as the button sank in, giving that chunky, electromechanical experience you simply couldn’t get with fully digital electronics. It made her nostalgic as the first song began, and she listened, at first just standing where she was. The first song was a bit cornball, and she wondered if the whole mixtape would be that way, eventually sitting on the edge of her bed. But by the third song she was up and pacing about as she listened, a pit growing in her stomach.

By the seventh, she had retreated from her bedroom entirely, going to her bathroom almost on autopilot. Some part of her knew it was even farther away from scrutiny—harder to reach, harder to be heard from, even if her rooms and the building itself were very well soundproofed. Some other part of her felt almost ill. And then there were her eyes.

Crying had never been acceptable. That had been made abundantly clear to her from the very beginning. She didn’t cry. She hadn’t since she’d been a toddler. She’d watched her kōhai have a breakdown without crying. She’d torn off her own arm without crying. She’d cradled her little brother after he’d been shot through the heart three times without crying. As she leaned on the wall beside the tub, she almost didn’t recognize the pressure around her eyes. Her motions were automatic, and she clambered into the dry basin while she fought to keep herself under control. Things started getting blurry as a titanic clash raged within her.

Yet the music kept going, and she refused to stop it. Trembling with held in sounds, she finally punched the stone tiles before her. The strike wasn’t very hard by her standards, although it pushed her gigai—but it wasn’t enough to even chip the rock. Her arm stayed extended and she ground her knuckles into the rough surface, before retracting and striking again. And again. And again and again and again, until the stone was smeared with her blood and her hand throbbed and ached in protest.

The pain wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to compete with what was already filling her, and she gasped as it became overwhelming, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she lost and it became entirely impossible to see. Her sobs were silent at first, wracking her whole body, before she smacked the bottoms of both fists against the wall, leaning forward to put her forehead on it as she finally let out a noise, something between a growl and a low wail.

She beat against that wall ineffectually, clenching her jaw as she still tried to keep it all in, trying to refuse this, but it was no use. ‘Volatile’ was wholly inadequate to describe the mixture of emotions flowing through her—it was a hypergolic cocktail that was already ablaze and demanded venting. And so, finally, she tipped her head back and screamed. Agony. Frustration. Despair. Self-loathing. Rage. Sorrow. Regret. It had all built and built, not just lately but for far, far longer, and she had no choice but to let out all the fruits of her failures at once now, like some kind of ravening nuclear death beam rendered in sound.

What her reiatsu did in response, she had no idea and no care to know. Presumably the gigai kicked in to contain it, but she was caught up in the maelstrom, a billion light years away from such concerns. She cried out and pounded at the wall until there was nothing left, until she was hoarse, until she was empty, until she was panting from the intensity of the chemicals unleashed, until her tears carried away enough of their torrent that she could breathe.

Spent and dazed, she slumped back, then outright toppled back against an edge of the tub, sinking down and shivering. Still, the music played, and it drew her back to the moment. She could think of doing nothing but flopping onto one side and curling up in a fetal position, desperately hugging herself and simply trying to be small, wishing to just disappear entirely. She stayed that way for a long time.

#In Character #Long Post #Music #submission #mysteriousshopkeeper #Identifier: MERCURY GREEN #Verse: BLEACH MAIN #Era: IMPERIAL

[copperbadge]

Forgive me if you've already written about this, but you seem to have your life together so I'm asking: how do you keep house? All the online resources seem to assume I'm a stay at home mom-- I live with myself and my cat, and work full time. How do you keep up with the messes created by yourself and the cryptids? How do you keep up with the messes that seem to just spawn?

Oh, man, such a good question. I feel like part of the answer is…I don’t? I mean I do, obviously I don’t live in rank filth, but I don’t keep as clean a house as say, my mother, or even some of my friends. 

I try to set up systems to prevent certain types of mess, which helps – I try never to leave something for later if it can be dealt with in the course of the moment, which can be wearying so not everyone’s going to handle that well. But for example, laundry – when I do it, I do every part of it. Not every article of clothing (though that too) but I stand in the laundry room and fold it there, even though my condo is only a short elevator ride away, because I know I a) fold better standing up and b) am more likely to just dump it on my bed and not fold it if I go back to my condo. So I fold all my laundry and then I take it home, and then it’s super easy to put it away! (I also have arranged my life so that putting it away is easy – the shirts go on hangers, everything else goes on open shelves or, in the case of socks, in an open box by the door). 

I don’t do the dishes every day. Why should I? I’m one human, and I don’t like having wet hands or sweaty glove hands. So when I’m done with a dish I put it in the sink and run water into it to soak, and at the end of the week I wash them all. Is it a little gross? Probably. But as long as I stay on top of it within reason, I only have to do dishes once a week and I don’t have to worry about pests. 

I vacuum when I vacuum. Sometimes my floor is not the cleanest, but what am I doing on my floor? Only walking. Hell, in the living room there’s a significant amount of floor space dedicated to being covered in loose catnip. I sweep it up if friends are coming over but otherwise that’s just The Catnip Area. It’s dry and smells nice, so why not?   

One good tip I have for Cryptid Mess in re: the litterbox is to find a cheap foam yoga mat and put it under the litterbox. It catches a lot of the litter. I do keep a dustpan and a little hand sweeper in the bathroom to sweep up the litter it doesn’t catch – I do that every evening, because if I don’t the cats get into the box and play drum solos on it all night long. I have a small trash bin near the box that all the poop and swept-up litter goes into and I empty that once a week when it gets full. 

I have never dusted once in my whole life. Obviously this is untenable if you have particulate sensitivities of some kind but I don’t, so when company is coming I do a quick vacuum and then wipe down anything that looks dusty and likely to shed it, and otherwise I am okay with a bit of dust. 

I also buy convenience items that make it easier to clean or to not-clean. I have a three-bin, wheeled cart for laundry so everything gets sorted as I take it off (trousers, socks-undies, shirts; linens always go in with socks-undies because it’s usually the smallest load) and it’s easy to get the bins to the laundry room. I have an Omega Paw litterbox so I never actually have to scoop it, just clean and refill it on occasion. All of my windowsills where the cats like to lie are covered in fabric so that the shed onto that and it traps it a bit, and then I wash those occasionally (every blanket I own is still covered in cat hair, but whatever, the hair mostly sticks to the  blanket). 

But these are all kind of very specific examples that illustrate a larger point I make a lot when it comes to living your life as a grownup: these are things that work for me because they work with the way my mind works. What is most important is to find a system that works for you. I often advise people to think about what conditions would enable them to do better at something they’d like to do better at, and then find a way to implement those conditions. Like I used to not go running as often because I hated putting socks on in the morning. So I found a pair of shoes that didn’t require socks to run in. Relatedly, my socks were getting everywhere when I kept them on a shelf with the rest of my clothes, so I put them in a drawer in my kitchen, near the door where I kept my shoes, and they stayed not only more organized but out if sight. When I put the mail on a counter after coming home, I forget it exists, so instead I open it before I go in the door, sort it in my hand into “important” and “garbage”, and put the important mail directly into my work bag, so that the following morning when I unpack my bag at work, I’ll see it and have the mental capacity to deal with it. I have an open paper bag next to my sofa that is only “dry” trash (tissues, paper, reciepts) and the garbage mail goes directly into that so I don’t even have to lift a trash lid to get rid of it. 

When I do feel like the level of ick is getting too high in my home, I set aside a weekend day to deal with it. And I spend the whole day cleaning – but I spend maybe 40% of it cleaning and the other 60% resting and rewarding myself. I clean one room at a time because that’s easiest for me, and I tend to push all the mess into one room and do that one last – so anything that shouldn’t be in the kitchen gets removed to the dining room table, ditto junk in the bedroom, and then I deal with the table all at once so that it’s its own task rather than ten thousand tiny distracting ones. Inbetween rooms I watch a movie or make myself a snack or play with the Cryptids. 

But I also know people – one of my new coworkers for example – who have totally different systems. He goes home on Friday night, FRIDAY NIGHT, when all I want to do is fucking sleep! and he cleans his WHOLE TWO BEDROOM TWO STOREY HOUSE! He starts in the room furthest from the kitchen upstairs and cleans his way down and into the kitchen. I could never. But that’s the ONLY way he can clean, he’s physically incapable of cleaning anything as he goes. So his wife does the little mess-cleans, like mid-week dishes or picking up clothing that has gone astray, on the understanding that she doesn’t have to help with the Friday Night Deep Clean Of Horror. I have other friends who have wholly different ideas of what “clean kitchen” means – for one it means there’s no messy dishes in the sink, for the other it means the counters are clear and wiped down – so they each tackle their half of the “clean” conception, one clears the counters and the other does the dishes, rather than taking turns cleaning the “whole” kitchen. They had to vocalize this to each other before they could strike that deal, though. And when you live alone, sometimes you aren’t aware of how you conceptualize things because you’re never expressing that to someone else. 

So I think it’s super important to talk to yourself, actually. To ask yourself, what does clean mean to you, and what do you just not give a shit about? Then ask yourself, what would make it easier for me to address the parts I really care about? And then arrange your home around that. 

I hope this helps! Remember, learning this kind of shit is a process, and it takes time and energy and self-reflection. You don’t have to become Martha Stewart tomorrow – you can take the time you need to build up little insights and habits slowly. Good luck! 

(Did you find this educational or helpful? Feel free to help me buy laundry soap by dropping a tip in my Ko-Fi or at my Paypal!)

#Anonymous

[morfinwen]

For the Excessively Detailed Headcanon ask: 4 for Angela, 5 for Christopher, 12 for Reagan, 39 for Neal, 43 for Lanzo, 7 for Ash, 46 for Connie, 35 for Aidan, 20 for Q, 22 for Nate, 19 for Amanda, 23 for Niner, 42 for Elise, 11 for Julie, 26 for Jerome, 24 for Kayla, 18 for Hannah, 17 for Knife, 32 for Elarin, 31 for Meaghan, 38 for Leah, 48 for Avery, 1 for Ian, 8 for Lauren, 15 for Kira, 37 for Darcy, and 16 for Susanna.

Almost forgot the read more!

1. What does Ian’s bedroom look like?

Contained chaos. Poorly contained chaos.

He’s got a bed, a desk, a dresser, and an end table. The desk is the tidiest: the papers on it are stacked haphazardly, there might be a pen or pencil or two lying on it but most are in the drawer, and if something that doesn’t belong gets set on it there’s at least a chance it’ll get moved by the end of the week.

The dresser is mostly for stacking stuff on top of, and storing clothes he no longer wears but hasn’t gotten rid of yet. There’s usually a jacket or a shirt or some more awkward piece of clothing hanging off one of the knobs. 

The bedside table has his phone, its charger, and a variety of junk -- mail he brought to the bedroom to read, a comb he forgot to take back to the bathroom, a half-full (or half-empty) glass of water, a pair of socks he picked up to wear then forgot about, a single slipper set there while he was looking for its mate, etc.

There's sheets on his bed, plus a blanket if it's been cold lately, but if the corners of the fitted sheet are all pulled over the mattress, then it is tidier than usual. Whatever he’s wearing for night clothes at the moment, if he’s even bothering, will be anywhere from near the pillows (he has two very flat pillows that are usually in pillowcases) to hanging off the foot. The sheets, it’s worth noting, often have cartoon characters on them.

The floor is hidden under a layer of clothes, towels, shoes, blankets, boxes, sheets, books, etc. About the only things you won't find on the floor are plates or food-related items, anything that will attract bugs, as well as loose papers since those pose a falling hazard (everything else just makes him stumble). 

4. What would Angela do if she needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

If there’s something near to hand that doesn’t require the kitchen, she’d have that, but most likely she’d wait until it was available. She doesn’t particularly like or dislike cooking, but she does not like fast food, and she’s patient.

5. Christopher’s cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

There are places he cares about cleanliness, and there are places he does not.

Most of his living quarters, particularly the kitchen, are spotless. Dishes get washed and the table and counters wiped down immediately after eating. Clothes get folded or hung as soon as they’re dry, and dirty ones go straight in the hamper. Making the bed happens almost as soon as he gets out of it.

Christopher’s work areas, on the other hand, are disaster zones. Anything that might provide some inspiration, or is part of that thing from two months ago he’s still working on, or was used for that other thing two years ago he wants to revisit, ends up on a desk or a table or lying on the floor somewhere, and isn’t getting put away until he’s done with it. No one is permitted to touch anything -- he knows exactly where everything is (which is true, and he can prove it too), and it’s all part of his own particular organizational system (which is … less true; there’s some organizing going on, but it’s less of a system and more of a feeling), so leave it where it is.

His personal hygiene is hit-or-miss. Brushing teeth, usually a hit; showering, often a miss, unless he’s performing soon.

7. Ash’s favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

It isn’t necessary to schedule every hour of your day, but even after a few years of regular contact with Lanzo, Ash still does not have what Lanzo considers a proper appreciation for the value of lazing around.

That said, for years Ash has found it difficult to ignore the allure of a summer afternoon nap; particularly when it’s raining outside, he’s just had a mug of relaxing lavender tea, there’s a soft blanket and the entire couch is free to stretch out on … zzzz.

8. Lauren’s favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

If she’s had a really rough week, the first chance she gets, she’s having a hot bath, followed by a bowl of cinnamon ice cream while watching either a screwball comedy or a tragic romance, whichever she feels like.

Lauren’s got a fair amount of good old-fashioned Catholic guilt, but it’s heavily concentrated in certain areas and almost never touches other things. Some things she’s overindulged in and never felt guilty about, other relatively harmless things have kept her awake at night for hours. The above scenario usually doesn’t make her feel bad.

11. Julie’s intellectual pursuits

Julie is -- well, was, post-Allwinter -- attending college, for what would probably end up being a degree in History, but she likes reading about all kinds of different things. Mostly psychology and philosophy, but also about other cultures, geography, and nature, specifically trees and plants. She’s one of those jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none types, only more with knowledge than skills.

12. Reagan’s favorite book genre

Science-fiction or fantasy. A slight preference for the former, as she’s found it easier to find sci-fi graphic novels. 

With her dyslexia, Reagan doesn’t read much, so anything that is easily read, and more importantly easily visualized, is her favorite, regardless of genre.

15. Kira’s biggest and smallest short term goals

Biggest: Survive high school. In the third-largest city in the country. Where she knows no one. No problem! (said with major sarcasm)

Smallest: Find a way to remember her locker combination so she doesn’t need to carry around a scrap of paper with it written on it.

16. Susanna’s biggest and smallest long term goals

Smallest: Learn to do a handspring.

Biggest: Get elected president of the United States.

17. Knife’s preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Customizable!

From a young age, Knife’s mostly gotten plain t-shirts and jean jackets that she could decorate herself, with fabric markers or felt patches or (for a very brief period in middle school) bedazzle. It was one of the few things she could keep doing after the accident, which changed it from just a hobby to a representation of her independence and self-image, and therefore practically sacred. Not that everything she wears is customized, just most of it. She’s also familiar with sewing basics, not enough to make her own clothes from scratch, but she can modify them.

As far as “rituals”, it is important to her to display something she’s decorated or modified the first time she wears it. She’s not looking for praise or even acceptance really, just acknowledgement. 

18. Hannah’s favorite beverage

Chocolate milk. She also drinks a lot of Sunny D.

19. What does Amanda think about before falling asleep at night?

Ideas for new articles. Sometimes ones she could reasonably write for work, others are something she might want to work on independently in the future, and still others are too niche or weird for publishing anywhere but are just fun to think about. 

20. Q’s childhood illness? Any interesting stories behind them?

When Q was very little, he was more prone to catching any bugs that were getting passed around him. As he’s gotten older, that’s become less of a problem, but he’s got a 50/50 chance of getting the flu in a given year. 

Once he was old enough to go to boarding school, and therefore came under the jurisdiction of his aunt and uncle, if he so much as sneezed or coughed suspiciously, that was grounds for him taking the day off school and spending it in his room instead, with a steady supply of fluids and soups, regular check-ups by staff, and a nurse if his temperature climbed a degree too high. 

On the one hand, it was great to get out of school, and probably prevented him from getting sicker in at least a few cases, as he didn’t get exposed to more germs while his immune system was already busy. On the other, it didn’t take him too many years to realize this was his aunt and uncle’s way of protecting an asset rather than any kind of familial concern for his health, which kind of ruined it as relaxation. 

Honestly, the worst thing about it (from Q’s perspective) is how very Rich Kid™ that was, and how much of an effect it had on him. The first few times he got sick as an adult on his own in LA were not pretty.

22. Nate, given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Doodles or little comics, poking fun at people who annoy or aggravate him but he isn't willing or able to confront. 

23. How organized is Niner? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in her everyday life?

From a certain perspective, Niner is very organized: she organizes everything into two categories, stuff she cares about and stuff she doesn’t. She keeps the two things very separate in her day-to-day life. Stuff she doesn’t care about gets ignored, left alone, or explicitly dismissed, while the stuff she cares about gets her full attention -- at least for a little while.

24. Is there one subject of study that Kayla excels at? Or does she even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Kayla values intellectual pursuits, but they’re not of particular interest to her, generally speaking. She’s mostly interested in keeping the house clean, helping Hannah grow up healthy and happy, and just figuring out all the various aspects of being alive.

26. Does Jerome have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t work out?

Pre-Allwinter, Jerome’s future plans mostly had to do with Hannah’s future (health, college, career, etc.) and eventually retirement. He and Kayla hoped to adopt at some point, since she couldn’t have kids herself, but at the time it wasn’t something they were directing energy toward. None of those plans were hard-and-fast, so they didn’t really require contingency plans.

Now, he has even fewer plans, as just figuring out how things work in the Allwinter and adjusting to it is a full-time occupation. He has an excellent support network now, so even if he does make plans that don’t work out, he’s pretty sure he’s in a good place.

31. Meaghan’s most prized possession

Her lightsaber. Not just because of its usefulness, but because how much it represents everything that’s happened since her exile and return to the Order. It’s different from her first one, in its materials, construction, and design, and shows how much she’s changed and grown. 

Also, it’s a fricking lightsaber. Not even Meaghan is immune to the awesomeness that is a fricking lightsaber.

32. Elarin’s thoughts on material possessions in general

Unlike Meaghan, Elarin followed the Jedi regulations on owning possessions because she had to, and because she didn’t have many opportunities to violate it, not because she believed in it. She hasn’t acquired many things herself, but while she understands the dangers of greed and the potential to get buried by one’s things, she thinks getting hung up on how many possessions someone has is missing the forest for the trees, or whatever the Star Wars equivalent idiom is.

35. What activities does Aidan enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Meticulous fan wikis that document how many times a character shows up, or how many times a character in a 1,000-issue manga eats this particular flavor of ramen, or document every slang term used in a sci-fi series. It’s fascinating to read or think about documenting, but really Mac, don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

37. Is Darcy more analytical or more emotional in his decision-making?

He is much more analytical than emotional. Not quite as analytical or as immune to emotion as he thinks, but still very analytical.

38. Would Leah consider herself a Type A or Type B personality?

Still Type B, though that defined her better pre-War. 

39. What recharges Neal when he’s feeling drained?

Anything that can either be done alone, or in a group setting where talking isn’t expected, but keeps him occupied enough that his thoughts don’t overwhelm him. For Neal, painting, playing the drums or guitar, surfing, or sculpting fit that bill. The last two more than the former.

42. Elise’s hobbies

Tennis is the main one. She and an old friend from high school get together every so often for a game, and she’s taught Julie to play. She also jogs on occasion.

Elise isn’t as in to knitting or crocheting as other people she knows, but it’s something to do with her hands when she’s watching something: usually baseball, as she is a loyal New York Yankees fan.

If she has a few hours of downtime, she’s a fan of old-school Mario games and in particular speedrunning, without using glitches or cheats. She’s got a very respectable time.

43. How far did Lanzo get in formal education? What are his views on formal education vs self-education?

A brief Google search tells me little about education for medieval German nobility, but for Lanzo i imagine it involved a Latin grammar school (probably through a local church) and university. He was not a particularly diligent student at the time, and if there was some way for him to stay at home with a tutor instead, he would have taken it.

Formal education has its merits, but Lanzo is absolutely in favor of delaying college or skipping it entirely if you like. He's supportive of the idea of self-education, but from his perspective, how your life turns out is at least as dependent on luck as anything deliberate. He does recommend learning rudimentary finance stuff and something that will reliably give you work, however (if you can’t marry someone loaded).

46. Does Connie express his thoughts through words or deeds?

It takes him time to express anything, as he wants to think it through from beginning to end before he’s comfortable sharing them, but words, mostly. Not that he’s unwilling to follow through with actions.

48. How does Avery express love?

In love language terms, Gift Giving and Acts of Service (in game mechanics terms, giving gifts and helping out with personal side missions). For those she really cares about, she’ll make the effort to spend time with them even when they’re not doing anything interesting, but she’s a busy, active woman who gets distracted easily, so that’s less common.

Thanks for asking!

#ask #answer #OCs #ian grayson #angie mckendrick #christopher hardie #ash jackson #lauren winston #julie wilson #reagan travers #kira raines #susanna raines #knife (allwinter) #hannah taylor #amanda wheeler #q free #nate vasquez #niner #kayla taylor #jerome taylor #meaghan caoilfhionn (knights of the old republic 2) #elarin (knights of the old republic) #aidan michaels #darcy raines #leah tolkien (fallout 4) #neal fairchild #elise wilson #lanzo ramsey #connie lowell #avery hawke (dragon age 2)

[trashmenofmarvel]

Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 12

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Brief body horror, discussions of sexual assault, victims of trauma coping in unhealthy ways, intrusive thoughts, psychological trauma (this chapter is a little intense so please take care)

Word Count: 5k

AO3

Your first order of business was even more urgent than sleep or food: you desperately needed a hot shower.

When you locked yourself in the bathroom you realized you had forgotten to bring in the first aid kit. After the awkward, uncomfortable conversation you’d just had with the assassin, you decided to search the medicine cabinet instead of venturing back to the living room. Call it cowardice, but you were too exhausted to try and brave the sad look in his blue eyes.

Fortunately enough, you found some bandages in the cabinet that would work for what you needed. You thankfully had brought in a new change of clothing, pilfered from the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, a pair of white socks, and white cotton underwear. Boring but utilitarian. It was the closest thing you could find to sleepwear, and it was definitely warmer than the rags had been wearing.

Your old clothing was so soiled with sweat and blood you didn’t think it would ever come out. That was fine with you—you’d never be able to look at those items of clothing again without remembering.

Better to burn it all.

You stepped into the shower with a sigh of relief as the warm water hit your back, loosening your tight shoulders enough to wash away the grime and dirt. You spent at least fifteen minutes under the water, pinking from scrubbing so roughly in the scalding water. There were dried specks of blood in your hair and on your arms, and you weren’t sure who it belonged to. The guards you had assaulted, Mr. Kartal, or you.

Probably all of the above.

Your wound looked better, better than you would have imagined it’d look after so little time, and it was still sealed with the surgical glue. Unfortunately, the ugly, mottled bruises covering your body were just beginning to bloom. You were lucky the men who had assaulted you hadn’t broken any bones or ruptured any organs.

Lucky. Right.

You felt like a different person after getting out and toweling off, sweet-smelling steam following you out of the shower. You weren’t as glum about your chances of survival. You didn’t know what was going to happen in a few hours when you arrived back at HQ, but you felt better equipped to handle it now.

You replaced the bandage on your arm, satisfied that you had enough mobility with it, stretching your shoulder in as wide a motion as you could. You pulled on your new clothes and winced when some of your hair got caught in the hoodie zipper. You freed the strands of hair, but a sharp pain tugged at your scalp as you did so.

Frowning, you leaned forward and looked more closely in the bathroom mirror, rubbing at the sore spot. A lock of hair came loose and completely separated from your scalp.

You stared at it in horror, fixated on the bits of skin that stuck to the roots. Looking up again, you turned your head and parted your hair to find circular burn marks on your scalp.

Numbly, you moved your fingers further along your head, and when you felt a sharp jab of pain, you parted your hair again and found another circular burn. You kept going, and found another, and another—

You turned to the toilet, yanked open the lid, and vomited. Not much came up as you hadn’t eaten in hours, but the stomach acid burned your throat and tasted vile in your mouth.

You coughed and gagged, trying to be silent. The last thing you wanted was for the assassin to hear you. You didn’t want anyone to see you right now. A moment of weakness was an understatement. You felt absolutely helpless. Violated.

Once the nausea passed, you flushed the toilet and turned on the sink, filling your cupped palms and rinsing the foul taste out of your mouth. Then you drank to satiate the burn in your throat, followed by a few splashes to your heated face.

The next time you looked in the mirror, it was painful to see your newfound confidence had vanished. Your face had an unhealthy sheen and your eyes seemed too hollow. But at least you couldn’t see the evidence of your torture beneath your hair. No one would know about the electrical burns the machine had made as you’d screamed.

Swallowing down the horror, you opened the bathroom door and shut off the light. Your next stop would help you regain the steadiness you had lost.

There was a cache of weapons in a hidden cabinet in the back room, which you had chosen not to show the assassin, in which you reloaded your stolen HK45. Satisfied, you went back to the bedroom and crawled into the full-sized bed, setting the gun under your pillow before pulling up the covers.

It made you feel marginally better, even if didn’t know who your real enemies were.

The assassin? It seemed that you were both on the same page at the moment, but you didn’t know him well enough to gauge how long that would last.

HYDRA? It was still hard to wrap your head around the fact they were still around, let alone a legitimate threat.

S.H.I.E.L.D.? The people you had dedicated your entire life to? It didn’t feel right. There had to be an explanation. Surely someone would have noticed that the spy organization had been infiltrated by… well, spies.

You huffed out a sigh, staring up at the white painted ceiling. The moon was still out, shining through the leaves of the oak outside to paint a disturbing tapestry across the wall.

Your body was beyond exhausted. Every joint and muscle throbbed with a dull ache. Your eyes itched so you closed them, hoping to drift off, but your mind wouldn’t stop turning in circles with the things you wanted to avoid thinking about. Or rather, a specific person you didn’t want to think about.

You had left the door to the hallway open. So far, you hadn’t heard any sound from your temporary roommate. You took it as a hopeful sign he hadn’t heard your breakdown in the bathroom.

You didn’t know what to do with him. The assassin. You couldn’t think of him as Bucky. It was too familiar, too intimate. Bucky was the name of a person. And the assassin was… well. You didn’t know what the hell he was. Now that your roles had been almost entirely flipped, with him being vulnerable and you being in charge, you didn’t know how to square your mental assessment of him.

Despite your well-honed survival instincts and sense of self-preservation, you desperately wanted to trust him. Maybe it was because he had showed you a modicum of humanity in that dark hellhole. Maybe it was because he had saved your life, despite the fact you had told him you were squared on that front.

Or maybe, a cruel voice in your head whispered, you need to believe he’s good and trustworthy because you can’t stomach the thought that you let a mass murderer touch you, or even worse, that you enjoyed it.

Rolling onto your side, you braced your jaw as you shut your eyes tighter.

No, no. You didn’t let him do anything, did you? You encouraged it. You wanted it. Even now, you’re imagining it. Crave his tongue licking the sweat off your skin. You can practically feel his fingers gripping your thighs and—

You hissed between your teeth, a quiet fuck off to the mean side of you that sounded an awful lot like Rumlow. God, if only he knew what you had done. The way he would look at you. As if you were some piece of shit he had stepped in, caught at the bottom of his boot.

You’d deserve it, too. The kind of weakness you had shown in that place was inexcusable. No one else on your team would have succumbed that way. Some of the other guys would whisper behind your back that you weren’t cut out for STRIKE. Lawson had been the loudest of them, insinuating you were too emotional, but you’d always checked him off as a knuckle-dragging shitbag.

Maybe he had been right.

You sighed and rolled onto your back; you tried to breathe slowly and deeply, practicing the mental exercises Rumlow had taught you that would calm the frantic thoughts in your head. You had often had trouble with those, but your S.O. had always been there to instruct and guide you. You wished he was here now, even as you suspected he would treat the assassin with hostility and suspicion.

The exercises must have worked, because you woke sometime later not remembering having fallen asleep. The clock on the nightstand showed only an hour had passed. You almost groaned aloud in frustration.

You didn’t know what had awakened you until you heard the moan from the living room.

You sat up fast, straining your ears in concentration, and heard another low noise, this one filled with fear. You grabbed the gun from under your pillow and dashed out of bed, quickly padding forward on the balls of your socked feet.

You crept toward the living room, the barrel of the gun aimed toward the floor. You heard a voice.

“Stop…”

It was the assassin. And the word he spoke, so quiet but filled with terror, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You put your back to the hallway wall and peeked out into the living room, eyes wide and adrenaline pumping as you searched the dim space for intruders.

But the assassin was alone. You could see his dark shape on the couch, tossing and turning as he made small noises of distress. Huffs of breath, strained and uneven, punctuated by grunts and moans.

You realized he was having a nightmare.

“Please,” he pled aloud, his voice croaking painfully. “Don’t.”

You released a small breath and flicked on the safety before putting the gun down on the nearby side table. You wouldn’t need it; bringing a weapon into this situation would only make things worse.

“Hey,” you said in a low, calming voice. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

You could see him more clearly now, your eyes having had adjusted to the moonlight from the curtained windows. His face was tense, his eyes shut down as he arched his neck while curling his fingers into the couch cushions.

He looked as if he was in real physical pain.

“Wake up,” you tried again, raising your voice a little more.

He didn’t seem to hear you, but he did grit his teeth and made a noise that sounded between a strangled scream and a cry of agony.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, racing with memories you didn’t want to remember, echoes of your own tortured screams. Your eyes began to burn and your vision slightly blurred. You blinked it back to clearness.

When he gave another whine of pain, this one louder, you almost lurched forward to shake his shoulder. Only your training and experience held you back. There had been members of your team who were military vets. Nightmares like this were not uncommon, and the one thing you didn’t do with an ex-soldier crying out in their sleep was grab them.

But he wasn’t waking up and he wasn’t responding to your calls. He made another noise, but this time he didn’t moan.

He screamed.

The living room vanished. The sterile smell of alcohol filled your nostrils, white lights burned your eyes, and cold metal clamped down on your arms and ankles. You shut your eyes tight and reopened them to see him, the man who had saved you, trapped in his own personal Hell he couldn’t wake up from.

You couldn’t watch his torment a moment longer. You cried out his name.

“Bucky!”

A metallic flash in the dark, a sharp whirring noise, and then a loud crash as his metal arm went through the coffee table, shattering it in two.

You clapped your hand over your mouth. You quivered but remained silent as you stared at him.

The assassin sat up quickly, panting, staring down at the destruction he had wrought, his eyes wide. And then he looked up at you and his breath hitched in his throat.

“I…” His voice cracked, and he tried again. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head in silence, not trusting your voice to speak, not trusting yourself to know what would come out.

His expression fell as he studied your face.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

You again shook your head, this time finding your voice.

“It’s—it’s okay.”

He blinked, confusing flooding his features.

“No, it’s not,” he asserted, his voice soft but riddled with guilt. “I said… you could trust me. I said I wouldn’t try to hurt you. I didn’t mean to scare you—“

“It’s not you I’m afraid of,” you responded quietly, thinking about the room you had been transported to for just a moment.

His brows furrowed at that statement, and he looked even more confused than before. But instead of clarifying what you meant, you went to the wall and flicked the switch.

The assassin blinked and squinted at the sudden influx of light. You assessed what was left of the coffee table. The wood was split in two straight down the middle, and the glass had been shattered into a hundred different pieces.

He followed your eye line and looked absolutely miserable at the damage he had caused.

You couldn’t stand to see that look on his face.

“At least it’s on the rug,” you said, lowering your hands to hug your middle as you surveyed the remains. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to clean up. I can roll it up and toss it out the back.”

He said nothing for a moment, as if processing your words. And then he gazed up at you, his expression so baffled it was almost endearing.

How did I ever think this man was Death personified? you thought sheepishly. Even though it had only been a couple of days ago, it was hard to remember the existential dread that had filled you at the mere sight of him. Now when you looked at him, you experienced a confusing mixture of anxiety, inappropriate thoughts, and a disconcerting almost-fondness.

Fun.

“It’s just a table,” you said with a casual shrug. “Wood and glass.”

Believing that was explanation enough, you left the living room and went to the back entrance. You entered the security pin and opened the door, shivering at the blast of freezing winter air. You blinked when you realized it had started snowing, so recently that it had barely dusted the ground.

You tilted your head back and breathed in after shutting your eyes, letting the serene softness of the quiet night leach some of the tension from your muscles. You had always loved the winter.

When you returned, you found assassin was trying to lift himself off the couch.

“Nope. Sit back down before you tear open all my hard work.”

He actually looked chagrined at the sound of your voice and seated himself back on the cushions. You had the sudden urge to smile, but you quickly suppressed the sensation.

It was sleep deprivation, you told yourself. A side effect of having multiple brushes with death. That’s all it was, this feeling of odd lightness.

You grabbed the edges of the rug and managed to drag the whole mess out of the living room, through the kitchen, and out the back door. You hadn’t even put shoes over your socks, wearing nothing more protective than sweatpants and a sweater jacket. You hurriedly dumped the rug and broken table near the garden shed and hurried back into the house, quickly shutting the door and arming the alarm system.

You glanced back at the couch and didn’t see the assassin, your heart skipping a beat in sudden panic, but then you caught sight of him coming from the supply closet carrying a dustpan and brush. Relief flooded your system, quickly followed by consternation that he was up and about.

“I know,” he said with a sheepish wince as he walked back to the living room, anticipating your impending scolding. “But it’s my fault.”

You intercepted him before he could get any closer, plucking the pan and brush from his hands. He blinked down at your face.

“I don’t want to pick the shards of glass out of your feet on top of digging bullets out of your side. Yeah?”

Your words were firm but your voice wasn’t. It was impossible to be angry at him when he was staring at you with those goddamn eyes of his. They seemed even more doe-y and bluer than usual, and Jesus, when had they gotten so soft?

“Just… go wait in the kitchen,” you muttered, annoyed at the heat creeping up your creeks.

He nodded without speaking, his lips pressed together as he studied your face before turning away.

You set about cleaning up the larger shards of glass, and once that was done, you finished it up with a quick vacuum. Luckily the house was stocked with most of the things a real house would have, and fifteen minutes later, everything looked in order.

After you put away the vacuum and returned to the living room, you realized your stolen handgun was still sitting on the side table in full view. The assassin hadn’t taken it, not that he needed it if he wanted to kill you, but still. It was dangerously sloppy on your part and you silently berated yourself.

If I survive the impending HYDRA catastrophe, they are so court-martialing my ass—

Your self-flagellation came to a halt when a warm, soothing scent hit you. Chocolatey and smooth.

You looked toward the kitchen and blinked. The assassin was pouring steaming water into two mugs, and by the smell of it, he was making…

…hot cocoa?

You didn’t know what was more shocking. The fact this man had been a stone-cold killer hours ago, and now looked shockingly at home standing there in the kitchen, shirtless and muscled and—

Fucking quit it.

Still… With the overhead oven lights shining down on his soft brown hair, causing ripples of shadows across his incredibly toned body, you had to admit he looked like something out of a cheesy airport romance novel.

To make things worse, domesticity seemed to fit him like a goddamn glove.

“Um…”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice, his eyes curious behind the curtains of his hair.

You had no idea what to say. It was like the sight of something so surreal had robbed you of your common sense and senses.

He seemed abruptly self-conscience as he looked back down at what he was doing. He searched the drawers until he found two spoons and put them into the steaming mugs. He took one and carefully placed it on the island counter, keeping his distance from you.

“You haven’t eaten, so I thought…” He shook his head, and you could see the muscles tensing in his back under his smooth skin. “I don’t know. The cold air. I could smell snow. It reminded me of… making hot cocoa?”

He sounded unsure and a little bit lost. You didn’t know what to say, so you sat down at one of the stools and took the hot mug he had placed in front of you. The ceramic was warm against your palms, soothing and familiar. It reminded you of your own childhood. The parts of it that weren’t terrible, anyway.

“So... you’re beginning to remember things?” you asked, trying to be conversational. How one went about making small talk with an amnesiac assassin was going to be a learning experience.

When he didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His blue eyes were focused on the countertop and he chewed his lip in thought. Your eye line automatically focused on the movement.

You hurriedly raised the mug to your lips and nearly burned yourself on the hot liquid.

“I… maybe,” he offered, his tone uncertain. “It’s still unclear. But I know this—this feeling can’t be from them. It has to be something real. Something from my own memories. Right?”

He flicked his gaze up to you, his eyes open and questioning.

You wanted to say, I wish I could tell you.

You wanted to say, I’m sorry.

You didn’t say either of those things.

“Yeah.” You sounded confident, almost optimistic. “It came from you. Not them.”

Was it a lie if you didn’t know the truth? Something told you that such an abstract act of personhood couldn’t have been something they gave him. No, it was more likely this was him taking something back. At least, you hoped it was. Either way, when you saw some of the heaviness lift from his shoulders, you knew it was a lie worth telling.

You stared at his bandaged side, his metal arm tucked around the curve of his ribs. He must have gone to the bathroom and cleaned off the remaining blood while you slept. You couldn’t even remember hearing the water running, an indication of how desperately exhausted you were.

“How are you even standing after taking four bullets?” you asked, suddenly curious.

The assassin blinked, looked down, and gave a one-arm shrug, causing the metal of his silver arm to glint in the light.

“I recover quickly.”

So, definitely enhanced, you thought as you appraised him. It was possible he had been gifted before HYDRA got ahold of him, but you had a gut feeling they had done all of this to him.

Especially that arm. He certainly hadn’t done that to himself.

You reassessed your current situation as you drank the offered hot cocoa. You wished you had a way of contacting Captain Rogers. Or better yet, Agent Romanoff. She would have the connections and the tools necessary to stop a HYDRA takeover.

Or a mass-assassination. Whatever it was they were planning. You still weren’t sure on the details of how they had managed to build and hide three Helicarriers at the Triskelion with no one knowing.

Most of all, you wanted to contact your S.O. You knew you could do it right now if you wanted. The house had a secure landline hidden with the security monitors that were fed by the parameter cameras. But the assassin’s words hung over your head like a black cloud. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised, then your team had been exposed and you didn’t know whom to trust. You didn’t know who else would be listening if you got into contact with Rumlow, either.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

You looked up, startled. He was giving you that intent blue stare again, the one that seemed to bore right through you. Gone were the soft lines of his eyes and the relaxed curve of his lips.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even, gripping your mug tighter.

“After what I did to you.”

Your heartbeat picked up, goosebumps chilling your arms.

“You saved my life,” you answered evenly.

He narrowed his eyes. You felt absolutely pinned to the spot.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Yes, you did know, but you had no idea how to respond, so you remained silent.

After a moment, his hard glare transformed into something that was harder to look at. You’d prefer him glowering at you than seeing the expression on his face now.

“I hurt you.”

There it was. The guilt in his eyes, woven into his words.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you denied, stubborn. It was almost unnatural how quickly you turned on your defenses, deflecting the things you didn’t want to confront. “I mean, okay, you did shoot me. And you put me in a chokehold until I blacked out. But…”

The words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t say it.

He pressed his lips together, his eyes too reflective, and his next words were so strained he sounded at his breaking point.

“I forced myself on you—”

“No.”

Your response was immediate and without question. He blinked, his brows furrowing in a look of confusion.

“No?”

“That’s right,” you said. “No. You didn’t”

Somehow, he looked more distressed than before. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tense and almost angry.

“How can you say that?”

“Like this: you didn’t force yourself on me.”

He scowled, the wrinkles around his nose giving him an almost wolfish look.

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, so am I. Look,” you interrupted him as he opened his mouth to answer, “whatever… happened, between us, while confusing and… complicated. Whatever it was, you didn’t… force it.”

You took a breath, trying to steady your nerves and still your trembling fingers. The adrenaline coursing through your limbs made you feel nauseated and restless, and it was difficult to remain still on the stool. You reminded yourself you were fine. You weren’t in any danger. This conversation, while difficult, wasn’t going to hurt you.

He broke eye contact when you finally got the courage to look him in the face. The shame had not left his eyes, and if anything, it was now worse.

“Still, I’m… I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done.”

Something wrenched inside you. You could feel the corners of your eyes prickle, and you desperately willed the tears away. He shouldn’t have to apologize, not for something that wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame, and yet he was the one here willing to take it.

“It was HYDRA,” you said with a slight shake of your head. “From what I’ve seen, I’m certain they erased your memories and manipulated you. You can’t be held responsible for anything that happened. You didn’t have control over your actions. You didn’t have a choice—”

“I didn’t have a choice?”

The crisp bite of his words shocked you into silence. A bitter half-smile you had never seen before sprang from his lips. Even his blue eyes, once they turned to meet yours, held a sharp edge to them.

“They didn’t make me go into your cell.”

You froze. Back rigid and your hands still as your muscles tensed involuntarily.

“They didn’t tell me to touch you.”

A cold shiver shot down your spine, and your heart began to beat at a distressed pace.

“To put my hands on you.”

It was becoming difficult to breathe. His eyes held you still, but at the same time transported you back into that place.

You suddenly wanted to cover your ears.

“No one gave me orders to use you. Because I did use you.”

No, you silently denied. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t.

“Because with you I felt… something. I knew it was wrong.”

Stop talking. Stop talking.

You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut. But you didn’t.

“And I kept coming back.” His voice was almost harsh and his eyes bored into yours, leaving you utterly exposed. “I was too selfish to make myself stop.”

Please, you wanted to beg. To scream. But the word died in your throat.

“Do you understand?” he asked, voice slightly shaking as his tone became hard and demanding. He moved closer; your muscles tensed in response. “I wanted to do those things to you.”

You could practically feel the body heat radiating off of him. His tone wasn’t icy now. It burned just as hot as he did.

“I remember exactly how it felt, how you felt, and I—”

“Stop it!”

Mercifully, at the sound of your cry, he went silent.

He closed his mouth and stared as you tried to get the trembling under control. It wasn’t working. You needed to do something. Run away. Launch across the kitchen and punch him in the jaw. You didn’t know. You just knew you needed to exit this conversation now.

You stood up so fast you nearly tripped on the stool. Turning away from him, you all by fled back to the living room.

You picked up your weapon from the side table. As soon as your fingers gripped the metal, you felt better. On more solid ground.

You were safe. Nothing could hurt you here. You were in control.

When you had sufficiently reined in your frantic breaths and stilled your trembling muscles, you turned back toward him. The assassin was eyeing you closely but there was something in his face you didn’t expect. A kind of… grim acceptance.

He thinks I’m going to shoot him, you thought.

No, that didn’t feel quite right. You looked at him more carefully. His stance was tense but open. His shoulders were set and his arms were relaxed. He wasn’t preparing to move. He was… braced. Waiting.

No, you realized with perfect clarity. He wants me to shoot him.

You blanched as horror clenched your gut. You lowered the gun next to your leg where he couldn’t see it directly.

The assassin remained perfectly still, except for his eyes. They watched your hands before drifting upward to your face. His expression had returned to the immutable rigidity of stone.

The sick feeling in your gut only gained in intensity. You didn’t want to shoot him, you never had. You had just wanted to put some distance between you, and yes, you had wanted to take back some of the control you had so clearly lost in the last few minutes. But did he really think you were going to aim the gun at him and pull the trigger?

If you were an agent actually worth something, you would, the cruel voice returned.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you announced in his general direction as your eyes fastened somewhere else. Anywhere else that wasn’t him. “I’m going back to bed. You should too.”

Without waiting for a response, you left the living room, walked down the hallway as fast as you could, and firmly shut the bedroom door behind you.

There was a lock; you didn’t hesitate to use it. Immediately you felt hysterical laughter trying to escape your throat.

A lock. A fucking bedroom door lock. As if that could do a goddamn thing. As if that could stop him in the least if he really wanted to get in.

You got into bed and sat up against the pillows, the gun next to you on the covers, well within reach.

But he didn’t try to bash down the door. He didn’t even approach it, as far as you knew. The house remained dead silent.

After ten minutes of hypervigilance, you slid down the covers and pulled them up to your chin. If he had wanted to carry out his plan of ending his life down the barrel of your gun, then he’d have done so by now. You were going to follow your own advice and get some desperately needed sleep.

Or at least, you tried, but you couldn’t stop replaying the disastrous scene in the kitchen. Every step of progress you made with the assassin ended up sending you two steps backward. How were you ever going to reach through to him when you were so irreparably damaged yourself?

You rolled onto your side and curled your limbs into a tight ball, grateful there was no one to witness your aching loneliness.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #reader fanfiction #devil's backbone #my writing #my fanfiction #this is an intense one y'all

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars

read the full story on Ao3...

ii. it feels so good to be so young and have this fun and be successful

The alarm on the nightstand let out its shrill buzz, unbothered by the fact that it was silenced four times before and its patron hadn’t moved from their bed. A pale hand snuck out from the white duvet and slapped the button before pushing the covers away. The mass of white-blonde hair hidden underneath groaned.

She uncovered her body and put her feet on the floor. Shoving her hair out of her face, she winced at the sun beaming through the sheer curtains on the terrace doors.

After a quick shower, one that left her smelling like honey and lavender and much more alert, she was ready to face the world. She looked for her robe but only found a white button-up shirt draped over the bedpost. She ignored the cold tiled floor and moved straight for the walk-in closet. Her Braavosi apartment was much smaller than her apartments in the palace at King’s Landing, but it was a kind of small she appreciated.

Despite the mess in the other room, she kept her closet and all other areas in her life organized. A habit from princess training. She found her favorite pair of distressed jeans and pulled a pair of ankle boots from their resting spot on the shelf. 

“Dany?” a groggy voice called from the bedroom. 

“In here.” she rifled through a drawer to find a shirt she wanted to wear. 

“That shirt looks great on you.”

Her latest and longest conquest, Daario leaned against the doorway, his eyes raking over her with the same hunger as last night. She shrugged his shirt off her shoulders and tossed it at him so he had at least something covering him. 

She met the heir to the Tyroshi tech company in a dive bar last summer during her stay in Slaver’s Bay. They spent her semester break holed up in an expensive hotel in Tolos, spoiling each other with extravagant gifts and room service. Now they lived in the same apartment building. Considering that their fling was nearing a year old, it was time to cut him loose.

But every time she entertained the thought of ending their arrangement, it left her with a hollow heart. She decided she was having too much fun to quit and allowed herself to continue. Everything was perfect, there was no need to change.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dany warned.

A roguish smirk grew across his handsome face, “Like what?”

She pulled the black crop tee over her head. 

“Last night was fantastic,” he complimented.

Last night. They had dinner at an upscale restaurant, then went dancing at the hottest, most elite club. Then they’d stumbled back to her apartment, unable to keep their hands off each other.

“Isn’t it always?” she brushed past him to get to the bathroom.

He chuckled and followed her, leaning against the doorway again as he watched her put makeup on with amused eyes.

“So it’s like that.”

She paused applying her face serum to look at him, “Like what?”

When he didn’t respond right away she returned to her routine.

“Dany,” he sighed, “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“And it’s been great.”

“But don’t you think it’s time we made things official.”

She froze, mid mascara stroke, to consider his words. They had been together for a while and Dany had  finally graduated from University. Turning their regular meetups into something more serious was the obvious move. And Dany was scared of it.

“You know how I feel about that.”

“Yes, but we’ve already been together so long, what’s the harm? Aren’t you ready to take the next step?”

The next step involved him meeting her family and getting approval from Rhaegar for their relationship to continue under the public eye. Which meant Daario would have to come to Westeros with her. Which also meant more cameras and flashing lights and yelling reporters. They’d survived in Essos because there were fewer prying eyes, depending on where they were hiding out. But Westerosi gossipers would scrutinize their every move. To Dany, it wasn’t worth the hassle.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s true.”

“What do you have to be so afraid of?”

“Daario, let’s say that we do want to continue this … whatever we have.” she went back to applying her mascara. “And we want to make it official. That would require a trip to Westeros, specifically King’s Landing. You’re used to the occasional paparazzi standing outside the building, but Westeros is ten times worse. Your picture will be plastered on every magazine cover from Dorne to Casterly Rock, they’ll rip you apart before you can get a word out of your mouth.”

“Dany…”

“Not to mention the fact that if we want to make this official, official, we’ll have to get a blessing from the crown. And while you do have money, you’re still Tyroshi. And since Rhaegar has to make decisions based on what’s best for his realm, and you already put a sour taste in the mouths of the citizens thanks to the tabloids, Rhaegar won’t hesitate to get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me? Dany, that's ridiculous.”

“It happened to the one before you and we didn’t even make it to Westeros.”

“You’re just being paranoid. My family has good diplomatic standing, your brother would be a fool to say no to us.”

She rubbed her lips together to properly smudge her lipstick.

“Make no mistake. My brother is many things but a fool is not one of them.”

She pecked Daario on the cheek before leaving the bedroom altogether.

“This is only the first time we’ve talked about it. Maybe breakfast would change your mind?”

“It’s nearly noon and buying me expensive food won’t change my mind. You’re not meeting my family. Good morning Jorah.”

Dany’s assigned guard was already sitting in the common room, reading the daily tabloids, his feet propped on the coffee table.

She subscribed to them purely out of spite. They were like the great Braavosi comedies of old, hilarious and bawdy. Especially with the rumors they liked to make up about the Westerosi royal in their midst.

“Good morning, Your Highness. Have any plans this morning?”

“I was supposed to meet with Missandei for brunch, but she caught an early flight home. Family emergency.”

Jorah hummed and turned the page. She saw a picture of her from last night. Daario’s arm around her shoulders and her lipstick smudged, party dress riding dangerous high on her thighs and the neckline-

“Oh dear. Rhaegar’s not going to like that,” Jorah commented.

The world stopped turning. The beautiful morning came to a screeching halt as she saw the inset and the headline. 

In all of her time studying the history of the Targaryen Royal Family she’d never read anywhere about a princess suffering a nip slip. Dany was rarely embarrassed about these things, she’d spent time with the Dothraki, but her face burned and she felt nauseous. It was different when her boob was actually plastered across newstands. 

Sure, she partied but she’d always been careful. She and Daario never walked home together from bars and Dany wasn’t hungover so she couldn’t have drunk enough to let the nipple escape her notice.

“Gods, I’m a dead woman.”

Daario came into the common room, fully dressed and saw Dany’s predicament.

“Nice,” he commented to the inset of her breast on the front page.

“No.” she slapped his shoulder. “Not nice. I’m screwed. Why didn’t you tell me my boob was out!”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember how we got home.”

Dany sank into the couch and buried her head in her hands.

“The gossipers are already down there. A lot more than usual.”

“Your Highness, you told me to ‘fuck off and let you have fun’ so I did. Otherwise this could’ve been avoided.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

Daario chuckled and Dany cheeks took on a new kind of heat. Her racing heart and mind zeroing in on the one thing they could control. At least her boob would cover up the fact that she walked home with Daario. Gods, they’d been so careful not to let the world get a peak of them. 

“What do you want me to do?” Daario asked, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I want you to go back to your own apartment.”

“What?”

“I need to figure this out and I need you to not be here while I do it.”

“Dany, baby, I can help.”

“No, you can’t. Jorah…”

She heard the magazine in Jorah’s hands rustle, but all she saw was the Myrish carpet and the way her toes kneaded the plush weave.

“No need. I’m already leaving.”

She heard his heavy footsteps and the door to her apartment slamming. Then the one across the hall. Dany hated that she made him mad, but there was nothing else she could do. She didn’t need his lewd comments when it felt like her world was falling apart. He would be back around later, when he cooled off. 

She wanted to scream. The urge built up in her throat and burned like authentic Dothraki liquor. 

“What in the seven hells am I going to do?”

“I’m not your PR consultant but I think you should go out to your brunch and show them that you’re still well-put together. Remind them that you’re a princess, and a dragon.”

The last thing she wanted to do was show her face. She wanted to crawl back into her bed, put the covers over her head and ignore the present situation. But she was a dragon. When Aegon the Conqueror lost a battle, he didn’t retreat to Dragonstone and sulk, he got back on his horse and found a way. She was the blood of the dragon, nothing phased her. 

“You’re right. I need to be a dragon. I’ll go out to brunch and then I’ll start with the damage control.”

“Maybe those should be the other way around,” Jorah suggested.

“I can eat and email at the same time. I’m a natural multi-tasker. What time do you think it is in King’s Landing?”

“Almost ten.”

Dany grabbed her purse and slipped on her boots. Leaving the apartment building was never a problem before but Sir Jorah had to stick closer than usual. She put on her sunglasses and smiled at the cameras, giving them a little wave. Their voices sounded like gibberish as she passed, the flashes only diffused by the early afternoon fog. Her favorite restaurant, The Foghouse, wasn’t too far from her apartment building.

Luckily, the restaurant was exclusive and as soon as Dany stepped through the doors she was ushered to her table on the patio that overlooked the harbor. Her usual sparkling water was waiting for her.

The waitress welcomed them in Braavosi and asked what they wanted to order. When Dany answered her with ‘the usual’, the waitress just stared at her. Dany gave her the famous, “Don’t ask me, just figure it out” look and she scurried off, fear in her eyes. She took a sip of her water in a small victory.

“Do you think it’s too early to start drinking?” Dany consulted Jorah as she looked over the wine menu.

Ser Jorah made a noise of distaste and she set the menu down. 

She pulled out her phone, hunting through her contacts list for the one woman who could save her hide. Galazza Galare. 

Although Galare was based out of Meereen, her career as a publicist reached further than Slaver’s Bay. She was behind the success of Dany’s last outreach trip to the area, making sure the right photos were published and bullying the publishers into only positive and glowing reviews. Of course, none of her services came free and Galazza never accepted cash if her customer had something better to offer. That was what got her a guest lecture at the University of Braavos, which gave her more interns and interest. She played the game better than Dany’s ancestors.

“Is Galazza there? It’s Daenerys,” Dany stated as soon as the dial tone ended.

The receptionist questioned her in bastard Valyrian, the growling tongue coarse against Dany’s ears. It took everything in her not to hang up.

“Targaryen. Tell her it’s an emergency and she’ll be well compensated,” 

The receptionist put her through. When the other line picked up, an electronic dance beat played beneath Galazza’s greeting.

“Dany, darling, you’ve got to tell me how you do it?”

Galazza’s accented voice was almost a comfort. If there was anyone who could take care of the problem it was her.

“Don’t get me started Galazza. I just want the picture taken down. And an apology from that tabloid if you can get it.”

Fingers tapping on keys accompanied the music, “A formal statement from the publication, I can do. Getting that picture taken down when it’s already on the internet and a majority of the world has seen it will be near impossible, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“What if we did a press release and overshadowed this,” she offered, considering what Daario mentioned earlier about making their “thing” official.

It was tempting to hide away in Essos. To settle down in one of the Free Cities and start on her career as a civil rights attorney, maybe with Daario by her side. Ignoring her family drama was the most enticing part of it.  But did she like Daario enough to take the next step? Sure, they'd been messing around for a while and money wouldn't be an issue but Dany couldn't help thinking that the only reason they were still together was that they were comfortable. Or was she too afraid to admit that she was willing to settle down? No, she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and right then she wanted the embarrassing photo of her down. The other issue could be resolved later.

“I don’t think there’s a way to overshadow this, it’s huge. We haven’t seen a Targaryen nude since … never. Well, there was that scandal with Deria Martell’s nude portraits from the 1800s, but she isn’t a real Targaryen and I think they proved it wasn’t really her in the painting.”

“I just don’t want to deal with Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar took after their father when it came to protecting their reputation. And Aerys wasn’t all that concerned with it either until Viserys. 

He was always causing trouble, Elia said it was because he was the middle child and was jealous of the attention Dany and Rhaegar received. Not to mention losing his mother at a very young age. Starting fights, shoplifting, partying, and bringing home unfavorable women. He lashed out at Dany whenever he saw her. Once he attacked her so viciously it left scars and Aerys had them separated. It wasn’t until the year before Dany finished secondary school that Viserys’ behavior became downright terrifying. 

He was out late drinking in one of the seedy bars in Flea Bottom and the combination of drugs and alcohol drove him mad. He evaded his security officer and stole a car, driving it off the cliffs at the edge of the city. King Aerys raised the banners, but his body was never found.

“I understand, darling, but it may be out of my control this time. I’ll call you back when I figure something out,” Galazza affirmed.

“Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Galazza hung up as Dany’s food arrived. Chopped eggs with fiery peppers, bacon, and a light gravy with orange slices on the side. Instead of digging in right away, she pushed it around her plate. Her appetite stolen by the events of the morning. Galazza’s answer wasn’t enough to settle Dany anxiousness and she kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the palace to call.

When she finally decided to eat a bite it tasted like cardboard. Not even the fiery peppers woke up her senses. She sighed at it instead.

“Dany…” Sir Jorah prompted.

He never called her Your Highness when he consoled her. He knew that she needed a friend. 

“Galazza said that it might be impossible to get the photos removed because they’ve been replicated and spread all over the internet,” she responded.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Galazza works hard and you’re her best client. She’ll try everything she can.”

“But what if it’s not enough?”

“Then we hope Baelish can do damage control,” Jorah joked.

Dany ended up getting her eggs to go so she could mope in her apartment. She smiled at the paps as they passed, trying her best to act as though the world wasn’t crumbling around her. How many people had seen her tit today? How many times was the picture shared and reposted?

She changed into her comfy sweats and a baggy tee shirt, her favorite fuzzy socks on her feet. Dany balled up on the couch and stared at her phone on the coffee table, willing the screen to stay black.

Part of her wanted it to ring. Maybe she would get to talk to Elia instead of Rhaegar. Hearing her sister-in-law’s soothing Dornish voice would calm her and give her comfort.

Queen Rhaella died after giving birth to Dany, so Elia took it upon herself to fill the hole when she moved to court. Even though Elia was merely engaged to Rhaegar at the time. The two have been close ever since. Dany even stepped in on babysitter duty when Elia needed her to. Despite a whole army of nannies and governesses, Elia insisted on raising her children herself, even when her duties as Queen Matrimonial took precedence.

Dany couldn’t stand the waiting. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues. She busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and rearranging everything. Ser Jorah came in to shoo her out because she was making too much noise. So she moved to the en suite bathroom and scrubbed down the tiles and organized her makeup. She made a point of watering the plants on the terrace even though they got plenty of water sitting outside. She also wanted to move the furniture around, but Ser Jorah stopped her from doing that too. 

She made them lunch. Dany wasn’t a great cook, she was decent from a certain point of view, but as long as the dish was simple she could do it. And when they were done, she cleaned the kitchen again. 

Instead of finding more useless tasks to busy herself with, she balled back up on the couch to stare at the phone screen again. 

When the phone began vibrating, Dany didn’t believe it. But it wasn’t Elia’s personal number, just the palace’s secure line. She slid her finger across the screen with hesitation and turned it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Dany…”

It was Rheagar. His voice sounded disappointed. She toyed with a fuzz on her sweatpants, feeling oddly vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was Rhaegar’s disapproval.

“I’m glad you called,” she offered.

“I think we’ve both been dreading this conversation.”

Since this morning, she thought. 

“Dany, I think-”

“Rhaegar, I’m really sorry. I know I messed up, but I honestly didn’t know. I was too tipsy and should’ve left the back way but if I’m being honest I didn’t think there would be so many photographers.”

“Dany, I think it’s time you came home.”

“What?”

“Besides your behavior in Essos, Elia and I think it’s time you came home. Aegon and Rhaenys ask about you a lot. They miss you.”

“They do?”

She’d only been home for two days the last time. Hardly enough time for young children to enjoy their aunt. And they crowned Dany the fun aunt because she brought them candy and gifts from Essos.

“The annual charity gala is tomorrow and we want you there. I’ve arranged for a flight early tomorrow morning so you’ll be home in enough time. You’d better be on it.”

Dany didn’t respond. She didn’t know how. Something in her yearned for Westeros but another part of her dug its stubborn heels into the ground and refused. She didn’t belong in the spotlight. The events of last night proved that. 

That was why they wanted her home. So they could control her movements. 

Before Dany could come up with a wiseass remark, the line clicked. Rhaegar was gone. She had to pack, he wouldn’t appreciate it if she was late.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #ao3 #jonerysfanfic #jonerys fanfiction

[teacupcedes]

Phases

INVOLVED: Mercedes Jones, Samuel Evans, and Carter Evans TIME FRAME: Sunday, March 22, 2020 LOCATION: Jones-Evans Apartment; Atlanta, Georgia SUMMARY: Mercedes comes home from a little grocery shopping, having left Carter with Samuel for an hour or so. Samuel gave Mercedes money to deposit into their account and a spat arose between the two.

Mercedes moved through the front door, holding a few bags from the store and her purse on her shoulder. She huffed softly as she moved for the kitchen and sat the bags on the counter. Licking her lips, she called out, “baby, I’m back,” to Samuel. She had only been gone for an hour and thirty minutes as she promised. She had deposited the money Samuel asked her to and did a little grocery shopping. It felt good to actually get out of the house too. She had been in the hospital, then holed up in the house with Carter for the last few days. She loved it, of course she did, but a little fresh air and sunlight did her good.

Samuel was in their bed; the TV was on watching him at this point in time as he laid there on his back. His eyes were closed, hair in a bun and a sleeping Carter rested on his side nuzzled near Samuel’s chest. Samuel’s hand rested on the baby gently and he released a snore softly as they slept together. Somewhere in Carter’s room were two dirty diapers filled with so many wipes they wouldn’t close. Samuel had to change his shirt twice from the boy throwing up and those rested on the ground next to the bed. He didn’t even bother putting another back on. Carter was laying with him with just a diaper on and nothing more and there were empty bottles cascading the bed.

Mercedes slowly but surely began to unpack the groceries, putting them up as she listened intently to the silence in the apartment. It was quiet. Too quiet. As she finished putting up all of the groceries, she washed and dried her hands before she moved to investigate. She moved out into the living room, looking around slowly. Nothing out of the normal there. She then moved for Carter’s nursery, her face scrunching immediately at the sight of the dirty diapers. “What in the world…” she mumbled to herself as she collected them both, forcing them closed as best she could before she threw them in the diaper trash can in the room. She then moved to crack the window, letting the room air out some. She shook her head as she moved into the bathroom, washing her hands again. Carter hadn’t been in his crib, so he had to be in the bedroom with Samuel. Licking her lips, she dried her hands, pumping a bit of lotion into them and rubbing it in as he moved for their bedroom. She entered slowly, eying Samuel and Carter asleep in the bed. She knew Carter had to be freezing as he was laying there tucked under Samuel’s arm in nothing but a diaper. Sighing softly, Mercedes ran her hand down her face before she collected the bottles from the bed. “Sam…”

Samuel grumbled in his sleep and he subconsciously caressed their son’s stomach as they both slept. As Mercedes walked into the room and called his name, he woke up immediately looking down at their still sleeping son. “I’m up,” he told her as he shifted to get up, sitting upright in the bed a little mindful of Carter.

Mercedes held two of the bottles in one hand as she looked at her fiancé and she said, “why doesn’t he have on any clothes baby, he can get sick and he’s too new to be getting sick,” she said in a motherly tone. “Also, the diapers?” she asked him confused.

Samuel looked at her and he blinked rapidly before he said, “he threw up twice, he kept messing up our clothes,” defensively. “I turned the air up a little so he wouldn’t be cold and there’s a blanket right here,” he told her. “He was hungry and fussy, and he had shit everywhere,” he told her.

Mercedes sighed out as she moved to set the bottles down on the nightstand. “Baby, he needs to be clothed,” she told him softly as she eyed the blanket that wasn’t even covering the baby. “Here,” she said as she moved around the bed, reaching for the sleeping child. “You didn’t want to throw the diapers away?”

Samuel looked at her and he looked away. “Understood,” he said to her patiently, he was trying not to get annoyed, she was Carter’s mother after all. “I guess not,” he said as he pursed his lips.

Lifting Carter out of the bed, Mercedes gently laid him against her shoulder, rubbing his back softly. She gazed at her Samuel before she turned and moved out of the room with their son. She walked him into the nursery, laying him down on the changing table and lifting the guard rails as a precaution before she moved around the room, grabbing him something to wear. She pulled out a long sleeve pants onesie and a pair of mittens, quickly moving back towards him. She lowered the railing, working quickly but gently to dress him in his sleep state. Once he was clothed, she lifted him back over her shoulder, kissing his plump cheek softly. “You have a nice time with daddy?” she whispered softly as she bounced around the room some, still rubbing Carter’s back. After a moment, she laid him down in his crib.

As she walked away Samuel shifted out of the bed and he picked up his dirty shirts moving to put them in their hamper filled with dirty clothes. He grabbed another shirt, putting it on and he moved to grab the kids bottles. He took them into the kitchen and unscrewed them before he began to rinse them of the contents that remained in them.

Mercedes pressed a tender kiss to Carter’s forehead before she made sure his crib was secure. Turning on the monitor and grabbing her own, she moved into the kitchen where she heard Samuel. She sat the monitor down and leaned against the counter, watching him quietly.

Samuel began to wash the bottles now, using streaming hot water as he used some bottle cleaner that she had gotten. He used their bristled brush and stuck it inside, swirling it around the bottle before he rinsed it and repeated the task. He felt her eyes on him, but he ignored them as he continued to clean the bottles and rested them on the drying mat she bought specifically for his bottles, on the counter.

Watching Samuel, Mercedes bit her lip and she walked up behind him wrapping her arms around his midsection as she pressed up against his back. She inhaled his scent and let out a content sigh. “So…” she began sweetly. “Outside of exploding diapers and being thrown up on, how was your father, son hour?” she asked him.

“Okay, I guess,” Samuel replied back to her as he washed another bottle and he rinsed it, placing it on the mat as well before he turned the water off. He stuck the brush back into its holder on the sink before he dried his hands.

Mercedes rested her head on Samuel’s back, clutching him lovingly, her hands on his abs. “Just okay?” she asked him softly.

“Yeah, I mean he’s a baby,” Samuel said to her as he wiped the counter down from where he split a little breast milk earlier.

Sighing once more, Mercedes nodded and she said, “that he is,” as she walked out of the kitchen. She moved into their bathroom, pulling her hair up into a bun before she moved into the bedroom and began to undress.

Samuel placed the cloth in the sink before he moved to walk out of the kitchen, he moved into Carter nursery quietly. He thought that she had the other monitor and would hear him, he made sure he put whatever he ‘messed up’ back neatly before he took the trash out of Carter’s can. When he did, he tied it off to sat it aside before he placed another one of his bags in and left his room with the trash. Samuel fixed his messy bun with one hand tucking hair away and he walked out of the condo and tossed the trash down the shoot at the end of the hallway before he moved back into their space, bare foot.

Mercedes pulled her shirt off, tossing it into the hamper before she adjusted her maternity bra a bit. Taking off her jeans, she tossed them into the hamper too before she walked over to the drawer, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Truthfully, she didn’t look bad. She had a bit of extra stomach pudge but that was all. It wasn’t terrible like she saw some women. She was only a few days postpartum and basically looked how she did before pregnancy, give or take a stretch mark or two and that extra stomach pudge. She placed her hand against her lower stomach longingly, actually missing her belly a bit.

Samuel moved into their room looking over at Mercedes, he didn’t touch whatever she was going through. Instead he minded his own business. Women had a way about things and he knew from experience to just not speak unless spoken to. He moved to sit down on their bed and he grabbed the remote changing the station.

As Samuel entered the room, Mercedes quickly turned away from the mirror, tucking a loose piece of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. She continued to the dresser, opening up a drawer and pulling out a pair of short-shorts. She stepped into them quickly before she opened one of Samuel’s drawers, pulling on one of his t-shirts. It drowned her. She let out a hum as she looked around for the baby monitor now. She glanced around the room before she walked into the bathroom, not seeing it there either. She bit her lip as she quickly moved out of the room and into the kitchen, snatching it up off the counter. She attached it to her hip protectively before she moved back into the bedroom with Samuel, grabbing a baby book off the nightstand as she climbed into bed. It was mid-day but she was exhausted.

Samuel watched her as she put clothes on and began to walk around the room cluelessly, he looked to her oddly before he looked back at the TV. Samuel licked his lips before he got up when she settled and moved into his sock drawer. “Dallas came and brought me this after you left,” he said easily tossing her ten-thousand dollars. He sat back on the bed and looked at the TV again biting his nails.

Mercedes looked at the money as it landed on the bed and she picked it up with pursed lips as she fanned through it. “And what the hell did Dallas do to get all of this money?” she asked him as she tossed it back to her boyfriend as he sat down. “We don’t need his drug money,” she said knowingly. “We’re fine…” she shook her head before she mumbled to herself as she flipped the book open, “crazy… what kind of example does that set for Carter?” she shook her head more.

Samuel looked back at her as the money dropped down beside him, he picked it back up and tossed to her. “That is my money, he owed me,” he told her with a raised brow. “You don’t know anything about some drugs and Dallas. Don’t be talkin’ like that,” he said angrily to her as he turned back around to the TV. “Carter is a baby anyway; he doesn’t know what’s buying his damn pampers…” he said lowly.

Mercedes looked at Samuel with an arched eyebrow as he tossed the money back at her. She looked at it, “he owed you?” she asked him. “It’s drug money regardless and you know that,” she said to him as he got angry with her. She looked him up and down and said, “I’m not depositing this and you shouldn’t want to,” she told him as she tossed it back. “He needs good examples of men in his life,” she said to Samuel, “a drug dealer? Not a good example,” she said, shaking her head. “You brought home money yesterday and didn’t have to sell a single drug to do it, you worked hard for it, you didn’t take the easy way out,” she said, “that is what Carter needs to see,” she said with a huff.

Samuel looked to her and picked the money back up. He stood to his feet and gazed at her angrily. She was all off base and she didn’t even know it. He didn’t care how he got money. He got it because they needed it. To survive, to provide for Carter. Their son would grow up to need money for a multitude of things, especially college, he would be better than Sam. Sam would stop at nothing to make that happen. “You are talking out of your ass right now Mercedes,” he said bitterly. “This is my money,” he voiced loudly, “I need to provide for my son!” he argued. “I don’t care how he got the money; this is mine now,” he repeated, “and Carter won’t want for anything all because you want to be judgmental. Carter can be whatever the fuck he wants to be but not if he has a worthless as sorry-ass, stupid-ass, broke-ass father!” he yelled harshly. “I’ll deposit the shit my fucking self,” he said as he walked away from her.

Mercedes looked at Samuel, shocked by how upset he had become and she blinked slowly, listening to him as he yelled at her. She flinched a little from the harshness and the validity of his words. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t care how Dallas got the money. Did he not care about the way it could affect their son? If Carter grew up to know that Dallas sold drugs, he might think he could do the same, especially if Samuel condoned it. Accepted it for what it was. At his final harsh yell, Carter began screaming and crying in his crib and Mercedes jumped out of the bed quickly as she rushed to him. She moved into his nursery, dropping the railing and hoisting him up. She cradled him in her arms and bounced him lovingly. “It’s okay baby,” she whispered, “it’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated over and over again as she tried to sooth him.

Samuel watched as she ran off to their son and he moved to place the money he had in his backpack. Whenever he tried to do right, people always found something wrong with it. He licked his lips as he lowered himself on the couch hearing Carter cry. That upset him most of all, that and the way she flinched when he yelled. He ran his hands over his face as he gazed out the window beside him.

“My sweet boy,” Mercedes breathed out quietly. “It’s okay baby,” she said kissing his forehead now, still trying to calm him. She laid him over her shoulder, rubbing his back and patting his bottom now. “Carter,” she said softly as he wailed. She moved to sit down in the rocking chair in his room and began to rock with him. She rubbed his back in soothing circles as he cried loudly.

Samuel continued to listen to Carter screaming and crying though he knew his mother had him. He didn’t move for a long while before he figured he needed to comfort the child himself. Samuel picked himself up off the couch and he moved towards his room, looking at her he reached out for the boy. Samuel hoisted him up and placed him over his shoulder, pecking his cheek and he said, “shh baby,” softly to the baby. “Everything is fine,” he said as he rubbed his back as he walked out the room with a sigh.

Mercedes tried her hardest to sooth Carter, racking her brain trying to think of something. She had sung to him every now and again when he was in her belly and that calmed him down. She wondered if it would do the trick now. “Here comes the sun, doo-dun doo-doo,” she began to sing The Beatles song. “Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right, little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter, little darling, it feels like years since it's been here…” she trailed off as Samuel walked in taking Carter from her. She sighed out as she stopped singing, watching him walk out with Carter.

Samuel kissed his son’s cheek once more as he began to quiet down some now, he bounced him subtly in his arms. He continued to rub his back as he moved into the living room with him. “I love you,” he told the kid softly. “I’ll do anything for you and no one will ever stop me from doing what I have to do for you,” he said.

Mercedes sat there, listening closely as Carter began to quiet down and she deflated a bit. Why couldn’t she get him to calm down? Licking her lips slowly, Mercedes stood up and she tip-toed into the living room, peering at Samuel and Carter discretely before she moved back into their bedroom and she plopped down on the bed.

Samuel sat down on the couch with his son, looking to see if he were asleep. His eyes were closed and he was quiet so he only assumed he was as he continued to rub his back gently. Thankfully, he was obviously doing something right.

Mercedes sat there, feeling so defeated before she crawled up the bed and curled up on her side. She didn’t understand why Carter wouldn’t calm down for her or why Samuel was so upset with her for her feelings about Dallas and drugs and even the influence on Carter. Sighing out, tears began to fill her eyes and she sniffled softly.

After a while, Samuel moved to stand with Carter and he walked into his room placing him back into his bed comfortably. He placed a little blanket over him, closed his window, looked to his monitor and then walked out again. He made sure he stayed in the living room, away from her. He wasn’t really upset but he was annoyed and didn’t want another argument to happen.

Mercedes could hear Samuel placing Carter back into his crib over the monitor and she sniffled harder as she cried, more tears rolling down her face, falling into the pillow. Taking the monitor off her hip, she sat it on the nightstand carefully before she slid under the covers and pulled them over her head, crying herself to sleep.

#thread #thread: phases #thread with: samuel carlton #thread with: carter aiden

[theangstyantichrist-blog]

Oh, If You Only Knew (Michael Langdon x Reader)

plot: “Sojourn” Michael crashes at your place instead of the lady who takes him in. You only have one bed so he has to sleep with you; He gets a little close and he wakes up with a unexpected hard-on up against your ass

warnings: Dom!Michael, Fem!Reader, Blowjob/Face-fucking, Choking, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Intercourse, Rough Sex, Spanking, Cumshot

word count: 1.7K

You never were one to fit in, as cliche as it sounds. You didn’t really have many friends and you barely spoke with your family ever since you began practicing Satanism. If someone would have asked you a year ago if you felt like your life was pretty good, your answer would have been fuck no. During the earlier years of your life when you used to live with your parent(s) they force fed you all the Catholic bullshit constantly, yet seemingly nothing good ever happened to you. Subject to what your parents believed, being a follower of Satan had some serious perks. First, you were able to live in a pretty nice home all to yourself with all the essentials like a pool and hot tub out back and the most advanced technologies Satan had to offer. Plus your sex life wasn’t too bad either for only being in the world 18 years. All sorts of celebrities would end up in your bed one way or another, but oh, if you only knew what was to come. One night,you were preparing to attend another black mass, which wasn’t a lot to ask for all the glory you’d been soaking in over the past year ever since you sold your soul to the devil.

You threw on a flowy black dress that was a bit too short for your taller figure but you knew He wouldn’t care. Leaving through your garage door, you were still gawking at how nice your car was [imagine it to be whatever car you want]. When you finally drove down the alleyway and parked it was almost time to start. You shuffled in along with some other young believers and took a seat towards the back. You turned over and saw a guy around your age, but you’ve never seen him before. You couldn’t possibly have missed a face as handsome as his. He seemed a bit off kilter, dirty, and his clothing was torn in a lot of places. He had tears welling in his eyes and you felt for him. I’ve been there, you thought. The Black chorus began singing in Latin that you still couldn’t interpret even after a whole year of attending these masses. A bucket was being passed around and you threw a couple dollars in, and then handed it to him.

“I don’t have any money right now,” he said, looking up at you.

“Or any food, from the looks of it,” you said feeling bad for the poor guy, “How long has it been since you ate?”

He sunk his head into his palm and sighed, “What’s it to you?”

“Just trying to help out a fellow believer.” You said with a smile. He smiled back but still seemed unwell.

“Hey, you know what?” You began, “You can come stay with me if you’d like, I only live a streets away and I make a killer lasagna.”

He took a moment to wipe away his tears on his sleeve and answered, “That’s actually really nice of you.”

When the service ended, you walked side by side to where your car was parked. When both of you were finally situated you began the short drive to your house. I am such a dumbass, you thought. You couldn’t believe you never introduced yourself as well as ask for this mysterious guy’s name.

“I’m y/n by the way,” you threw out, “and you are?”

“Michael,” he replied, not giving any details or background about his life and who he truly is.

“Sooo why exactly did you just magically show up here in the dank streets of Los Angeles?” you questioned, “More specifically attending a black mass.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can ask you the same thing,” Michael said sharply.

“Hey I asked first!” you whined, cause the curiosity you had was eating you up.

“My father told me I am not his son and abandoned me, and my mother attempted to kill me.” Michael explained with sadness and anger showing through his bright blue orbs.

“Fuck that, my parents suck too but they never went that far,” you replied, “Well you’ve got me now so I hope that counts for something.”

Those words put a smile on Michael’s face which made you very happy as well. Even though you consider yourself a Satanist, you still had a big heart. You pulled into your driveway, parked the car, and Michael followed behind up to your front door. You felt around your purse until you touched the cool metal of your pentagram keychain, and used it to unlock your house.

“Michael, the bathroom is upstairs to your left. I will get dinner started and bring you some clean clothes,” you told him, “It should be done as soon as your out of the shower, you’re a little dirty.”

Michael shook his head and laughed sarcastically, “Ha-ha, real funny.”

Once all the ingredients were put together you popped the lasagna in the oven and head upstairs quickly to find something for Michael to wear. You went to your dresser, opened the drawer and got out one of your bigger bed shirts. You loved the comfort of men’s clothing so sometimes you bought them to wear around the house. Unfortunately, you didn’t really have any pants that would fit Michael, so you had to give up your boxers you typically wore to bed. You went back down the stairs to check on the food and it was ready. That boy must be starving, you thought.

“Speak of the devil,” you said, “No pun intended.”

You finished up dinner and he kept thanking you profusely, but honestly, you didn’t mind being with Michael one bit. After, you cleaned up the table, you grabbed his hand and led Michael to your room. Michael sat down on your neatly made bed.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get changed and ready for bed,” you said, “Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed, I don’t really have anyone else living with me so there was no need for other beds.”

Since Michael had your boxer shorts, you stuck with wearing a loose t-shirt and some skimpy underwear. As you walked back in the room, Michael was already fast asleep, and snoring lightly through his soft pink lips. You climb in bed as quietly as you could, being careful not interrupt his sleep. When you finally fell asleep beside him, dirty thoughts about Michael ran through your head.

－

You noticed something hard pressing against your ass. Your tired eyes fluttered open to see something a bit shocking. Michael was grinding against you in his sleep and his breathing was sporadic and heavy. You felt yourself getting aroused too, it was almost sinful, the two of you. Still in mid-grind you increased the friction by pushing your body against him. Still not waking him up, you decided to pull down his boxers, seemingly against your better judgement. His dick was so big and restrained from boxers that it hit his lower stomach. If you’re being honest, he was so much bigger than you expected. You grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip, spreading around his precum. Michael stirred and opened his eyes slowly.

“Well, goodmorning, sweetheart.” Michael groaned.

“I hope this is okay.” You replied with butterflies in your stomach, “I’ve fucking wanted you since I laid eyes on you.”

“Fuck, yes. More than okay.” Michael’s breath hitched.

You then pulled the boxers down a bit further and placed your mouth on the tip. Michael bucked his hips to further his cock into your mouth and grunted. He stood up by the side of the bed as a way to better the pleasure your mouth gave him. Michael pulled off his shirt, well in this case yours, and tossed it to the other side of the room. You bit your bottom lip harder than you meant to because man, is he a snack. That being your cue, you removed your shirt, revealing your already aroused nipples because who wears bras to bed. Especially, if there happens to be a guy in your bed and a chance of sex. As soon as Michael saw your bare chest, he did this incredibly sexy thing with his tongue and you leaned forward hungrily for a kiss. Michael grabbed the side of your face, practically begging to fuck you. The two of you broke the kiss and you once again attached your lips to his dripping cock and swirled your tongue in all the right places. As you bobbed your head up and down, you took the rest of it with your hand. Unexpectedly, Michael began thrusting and fucking your mouth, motioning for you to go deeper and making you gag slightly due to his above average size. You could tell because of this that he hadn’t had any action, if any at all, for a long time. He vocalized his pleasure very audibly, and you were glad you seemed to be doing a good enough job. Michael tugged at your hair hinting that you can stop now. He had other things he’d rather do to you.

“Flip around, I want to see that lovely ass of yours that I’m now so very fond of,” Michael demanded.

Michael placed a very firm slap onto your ass, making you yelp from the mixture pain and pleasure. He lined himself up with your entrance and didn’t bother to start things off slow. Taking you from behind, he gave it to you long and hard. Moans flowed from your lips louder than ever before. His palm smacked across your ass again, this time being a little harder than the first. They’re definitely bound to leave marks. Michael pulled out for a moment and switched positions, leaving him on top and you on the bottom. Quickly and immediately, he was back inside of you again. He wrapped his ring-clad fingers around your throat squeezing it as he continued pounding into you. Your breath hitched in your throat and your stomach twisted, knowing you were near your breaking point. Apparently Michael was close too, this being evident since his thrusts were becoming sloppier. Your hands gripped your bed sheets tightly and you moaned so loud from your orgasm that the neighbors definitely could hear you, but you honestly couldn’t care less. Michael pulled out, ready for his release and you sat yourself up to look at him in all of his antichrist glory. He released his cum onto your chest and a bit of it marked the bottom of your chin.

“Holy fuck,” You said, short of breath, “You can stay as long as you want, Michael.”

Tags: @icylangdon <3

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #apocalypse

[relatablyreid]

Important Notice - SR & LA

This should have been said such a long time ago, Spencer had felt incredibly stupid at this point. Even if it possibly was something so clear, that you could visibly catch onto. It was proper to warn your partner of these issues before you delve into a passionate relationship, and last for more than three months, right? You try to get the bad out of the way, so there isn’t much to scare him away at a later date? Now was sadly the later date, and Spencer had never regretted his cowardly decision to misinform Luke of his stimulation issues and sensory issues.

“Spence? Querida mia, eh, dónde estás? ¡Necesito que te dé mi sorpresa! No puedo dar un regalo sin mi querida cerca.” Luke rang, placing his bag beside the doorway and slipping both shoes off near the front door as well but to the left. Where all the other shoes were. Only Luke had much diversity in shoe choice, and that was clear to see beside the door. A pair of black and white splattered pool slides, a pair of nice faux fur covered slide on boat shoes, two different pairs of running sneakers with one more tattered than the other and then a pair of proper attire fitting sneakers for work. Then, sat Spencer’s two pairs of shoes he adored. His converse, and his nice work shoes with their brown twine laces and white stich thread leather. Besides that, there were no other pairs of shoes that showed further residents to the Reid and Alvez home.

“Spence! I’m not kidding, quierdo, I want to see your handsome face, it’s been a long day. Where are you?” Luke continued on, hoping that if Spencer had fallen asleep that he’d have been awoken by the calling. By now, Spencer likely would have woken up so Luke had no other real option than to assume he was in danger or in harm. “Spence!?” Luke shouted, walking through the kitchen and into the hallway to the right exit of the little kitchen. There was no way he had left, without the car or a note. Strict rule that the two had made considering the jobs they worked was that if anyone left the home without being able to text or verbally inform the other of it that they were to leave one another a note. Where, when, and when they’d return and a proper signiture on the front with a tiny star on the back. The tiny star was what let them know it was the real deal, only they knew about that little code detail. Instead of screaming for Spencer once more, he silenced himself and froze. Maybe he’d hear shuffling or crying, to find where he would be in the home. Hoping he was in the home, so to speak. There it was, and Luke thankfully traced the whimpering to the bedroom they shared. Much like that of a freshly scolded child, the whimpering was persistent and seemed to match pace to the male’s rocking.

“Spence, hey, are you okay?” Luke asked, and he bent down besides Spencer. There had to be a trigger, but nothing was in the room. The window was open, the candle was burning as it seemed to have been for a while and the cell phone that belonged to him was laying on the bed with the screen on and bright, too. This didn’t seem like a regular panic attack due to the way Reid had been balled up this time, or the rocking.

Spencer shook his head as much as he could manage from right to left as if to try to say no, and he gripped his nails as hard as he could into the back of his calves that held close to his chest. He had his knees directly to his chest, and he was so tense and tight that it visually was painful to even see. The head tucked in as much as it was physically able to hide, without the neck snapping and dislodging the head from the spine and shoulders it was bound to. His rocking was fast, and his balls of his feet were doing all the pushing and he seemed so stiff with these motions.

“Spence, can you let go of your legs, please? You’re hurting yourself, Spencer.” Luke kindly asked, whispering. This was now piecing together like something he’d seen before. Much earlier, as in his beginning of his college days was when he saw something similar to this. Yes, Mr. Luke Alvez had a brief passion for daycare and babysitting. He had always went to this one house at the end of the block towards the start of the next one onto the main street of his little town which he resided in. The boy was a maniac for music, he even walked and talked to a tempo consistently kept with his fingers, and he lived by it. Self titled, a two one one tempo. He’d tap his fingers twice, then once and then one more time. He stepped twice and then once and then once but if he was going fast enough it seemed so normal. To mimick it was so near impossible due to the natural tempo you set yourself to. This boy one afternoon had all his toys scattered and unorganized, thrown around the room as if they were worthless. Besides that unusual mess, the boy was beating at himself in his tempo pattern. There was constuction going on outside of the house, and music playing inside of the house. After a panicked call to the mother, he’d been told to shut all windows and turn off all music. ‘Try to make it as quiet as you can so he can breathe easy again. He’s overstimulated.’ As instructed, he even turned the lights down low. Slowly, the boys breathing evened and he stopped hurting himself. Luke waited for a little to give him an ice pack or two in hopes to avoid setting him off, again. It was something he figured he’d have to copy the process to and apply to Spencer but more specific and gentle to his situation. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid and blank in the brain after all.

“Querido, please, you can loosen your hands.” Luke whispered, getting up and blowing the candle out and fanning away the smoke. Then, slowly and smoothly shut the window to prevent the outdoor commotion of the rainy streets and cars from interrupting the genius mind that Spencer had from calming down, and on that same note, he put their phones both on silent so no one from the outside world would be able to stop the soothing process that was leading Spencer back to stability. After closing off all sources of noise he could, he sat back beside Spencer but left plenty of room so he could feel like he would be able to breathe. “There’s plenty of air around you, you are okay, Spencer.” Luke tried to further verbally encourage some sort of calm because he didn’t like seeing Spencer in pain, or in fear. It was a pair of emotions that he didn’t think Spencer had deserved to suffer with any longer, really. The boy had seen and been through so much, he figured that all he really did earn at this point was a warm and comfortable home to come back to at the end of a stressful day and some nice loving arms or a sweet and protective chest to lay beside and curl into when the world was making him tense. A pair of gentle hands looking to massage out all the kinks in his back, and to smooth out all the stressors sitting on his brain. That was what Luke wanted to give Spencer properly so, because the turmoil he’d already slid through was so excessive and he truly had better things in store with Luke by his side.

Spencer’s bony hands shook with such a strong tremble, but only were lifted in order for him to bring his hands together for a moment or two to make a heart out of them, and then press a finger to his lip. It was an; ‘I love you and your words, but please not now.’ Not in a rude way at all, it was just a lot for him to think about and it put more pressure on his threatening to pop brain. Luke signalled back his affection, and with the same little heart. Sitting there, he waited patiently as Spencer rocked out and squeezed out each and every little ounce of overwhelming feeling he’d processed, and he eventually fell somewhat limp. Looked much like someone who’d performed an soulfully draining surgery, and needed to sleep. He loosened his tight fingers off of his calves and he let his khaki covered legs leave the console of his chest, and loosen to lay flat on the wooden floor, plopping so. His hands and arms lay loose, still across his chest and his head leaned back, hanging at the seams basically. It was a pose of pure exhaustion, and that was how Spencer felt. Tears that had fallen had now left brief stains of previous existence on his face, his pants with ripples and bents in them where they’d been pulled up, and his fingers so red and sore looking from the consistent pressure he had them forcing on his calves. Speaking of his calves themselves, they were all pale except the ten spots where Spencer dug his nails into them. Each fingernail left a prominent mark, and about four of them were bleeding. With the rocking, it moved the nails so slightly with each shift and that scraped some of the skin with it and it bled, quite literally tearing the skin apart. His breathing had taken the time to slow and regulate, and Luke decided it was go time.

Now was the clean up crew, or well— really just Luke’s time to shine. Shine with all his love and compassion he had for his boyfriend and to demonstrate with caring for him. Standing up and taking his time doing so, he made his way into the bathroom linked to their room and reached for the drawer under the sink. The sink was hooked to a series of drawers and the plumbing system had gone through the wall behind the drawers, and the mirror covered the entire gap between the two. The first aid kit, barely touched was taken from the drawer with the bottle of peroxide and sterile gauze, prepackaged and separately packaged. New gauze for each use, nice and clean. Luke was highly considerate to Spencer’s germaphobia, and always tried to make things comfortable for the man he loved. “I’m going to try to be slow, so I don’t do anything that will be offputting.” Luke said softly, nearing a soft tone of talking but it was still a whisper. Easy to say, Luke was really awful at whispering but right now, he sure as hell was going to try his hardest. Silently his hands moved, taking the plastic wrapping around the gauze off and dousing the tabs of it in peroxide, pressing them into the four wounds. It was hard to stay calm when he was still worried internally for Spencer. He wanted to know what set him off, if it was something specific or not. He pulled out a large bandage, and he placed it over two of the cuts that were closer together, then a second large bandage over the other two wounds to protect them for a day or two until they would need to be uncovered. He then slid Spencer’s pant leg down, as with the other one. The poor man in front of him was exhausted. Drained like a case had never done to him, he looked like all his energy had been sucked out of him like air from a balloon. Lids to his beautiful eyes were shut, but he was awake. It seemed hard for him to currently put forth much energy into regaining his control or organization, and he didn’t seem like he was planning on moving much for the rest of the evening. His loose hands, once squeezed tightly around his calves to push out the pressure of his brain were now laying palm up and relaxed, none of the tendons in his hand currently tense. His fingertips had been red and furious, moments ago and now were soothed by the time given to calm down. Nails of his finger tips were clean for the most part minus the four with glimpses of blood, which would have to be scrubbed off at a later date. Hair disheveled, and a loose strand brought over his right eye and laid over his lip a bit too. Finally at peace, but at such a high cost that it didn’t seem too worth it for Luke. It lit a little bulb in Luke’s head, so he could comfort Spencer in a simple and non-problematic way.

“Hey, querido. Open your eyes for a moment, okay? I’d like to show you something, alright?” Luke asked, making sure Spencer was awake and would be okay with this. He didn’t want to spring something massive and intense on his partner, because he’d just released all these massive and intense feelings. It wouldn’t make sense to clean him up and then break him down. Unintentionally or not, it would be rude.

A small nod from his boyfriend would do plenty for him, and to see his eyes helped add to the assurance of his plan. Although the beautiful eyes of his partner were seemingly empty, and lacking much energy as the rest of him was, it soothed Luke to see them. The emotion— lack thereof in Spencer’s eyes instilled a minor fear in him, and he hoped he wasn’t annoying him inadvertently so. Still, Luke got up to retrieve the gift he’d purchased for Spencer. It was a small stuffed animal, a tiny little sea otter. No bigger than the size of a regular roll of black electrical tape. Something minor for Spencer to hold onto, or pet as need be and comfort himself with if Luke were not around in case of occasional sadness, or a possible meltdown. Maybe even if he needed to have something to fidget with, to internally soothe him beneath his surface. It didn’t have to have a specific singular purpose, Luke just bought it for Spencer because he loved it, and he loves Spencer and decided to combine both. Making his way back and beside his boyfriend of whom he loves so much, he tapped Spencer’s hand to get him to open it. He does, and Luke places the small stuffed animal there for Spencer to observe.

The eyes once not filled with any other emotion besides exhausted were not lightly brimmed with gratitude and appreciation, for Luke. The action may have been small, and seemed awfully childish but it filled Spencer’s heart to know he was cared for, and thought about through Luke’s day. It set a tone that reminded him just how considerate and compassionate his boyfriend Luke was, and it cracked a smile on his once plain countenance. Laying his right leg down against the floor, he’d placed the tiny otter on his thigh, and he put his hands together again to make the heart for Luke.

“I love you, really. I mean it. Thick and thin as blood will run, I’ll be here as well.” Luke promised, picking one of Spencer’s hands to give a gentle kiss to. They had a code. Kissing the back of one another’s hands gently was a signal of everything being okay. Right now, it was.

#luke alvez #spencer reid #ralvez #my writing #i wrote this because it shows a meltdown for spencer #it also shows how luke would likely handle it #it shows a compassion between two people that made me smile a lot #i hope you enjoy :)

[swishandflickwit]

Marichat — shelter 2/3

Summary: Marinette and Chat Noir get caught up—in the rain and in each other.

Chapter summary: a.k.a. in which mama sabine knows all lmao

Words: 9.3k

Rating: General Audiences

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

Part 1 | [Part 2] | Part 3 |

Absconded as he was in the privacy of Marinette’s bathroom, he indulged himself and laughed.

“Clever girl, indeed,” he muttered to himself as he held out the elusive top she had given him, a hoodie in actuality. You wouldn't think much of it at a glance—black and plain and evidently in a man's size (a fact he had focused on with razor sharp intensity as the question of who she made this for, became more clear). But then he reached the hood, and the whole jacket was transformed.

For on either side of it, was a pair cat ears.

And not just a tiny pair, but one that uncannily matched the size of his own suit ears.

But that wasn't even the best part! Sewed onto the inner back where the tag was normally stitched and in vibrant green thread, it read chaton, and instantly it was confirmed—Marinette had made this.

And she made it specifically for him.

He briefly wondered why she would ever make him anything, then decided he didn't care. She made him an original Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and unlike her hat, he got to keep it this time. He bounced on the balls of his feet. He honestly couldn't wait to try it on and subsequently, his transformation couldn't have come at a sooner time. His ring bleeped a final warning and he was engulfed by green light.

When he looked at the mirror, Adrien met him and the entirety of him was soaked. He hadn't realized just how warm the suit kept him till he was stood shivering uncontrollably in his wet clothes. Yet he surmised he had never looked brighter, eyes sparkling and smile waggish.

That was, until, “Kid! What the fu—”

“Plagg,” he hissed, cupping the Kwami in his hands and holding him close to his chest. “You're freezing!”

“No thanks to you,” Plagg scowled before nipping harshly at his thumb. Adrien shrieked.

“Ow!”

There was a rustle just beyond the bathroom door as Marinette approached. “Is everything all right in there?” she called.

“Fine! Everything's just fine!”

He could see her shadow shifting from the gap under the wood. “You sure?” she asked, worry tingeing every word. “It sounded like you got hurt.”

“I got hurt all right,” he said beneath his breath. Then, louder, “I'm fine.” He rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand before shooting Plagg a baleful glare. “I’ll explain when I come out.”

“Okay…”

He chuckled. “Seriously, Marinette. I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” she huffed. “Just, let me know if you need anything?”

“Trust me,” he answered, admiring his hoodie once more before divesting himself of his undershirt and polo. “I’m right as rain.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I'll be out in a minute, Princess,” he said, smiling reassuringly even when he knew perfectly well she couldn't see. “In the meantime, you have my eternal gratitude for deigning to share your personal ensuite with a lowly knight such as myself.”

Outside, he heard Marinette huff. In front of him, Plagg gagged.

No one appreciated his humor.

“You're ridiculous.”

“You love it!”

He counted it as a win when instead of denying it, she merely walked away.

He turned to the floating Kwami only to be met with a deadpan stare.

“Really? We're at Marinette's, again? What is it, the fourth time this week?”

“No,” he replied sullenly. Then, from the corner of his mouth he mumbled, “it's the third.”

“Well, color me impressed at your magnanimous self-control.”

Affronted, Adrien added, “It's not like I intended to stay this time! She invited me in.”

“Truly, your restraint knows no bounds,” Plagg drawled in sarcastic-laden intonations. He sniffed snottily. “Next thing you know, you'll be sleeping in here.” Adrien rolled his eyes.

(...even if the idea did appeal to him—not that he'd do Marinette the dishonor of coming into her bed and sleeping beside her, however nice that sounded.

At least, not unless she gave him the green light)

“I hope you're happy because thanks to your little date in the rain—”

Adrien groaned though he did nothing more to dispute the notion.

“—I'm not transforming any time soon, not in this atrocious weather and certainly not without my camembert!”

“Plagg,” he said softly, drawing out the a in a whine. “Marinette's parents know I’m here and invited me to dinner.”

Plagg raised a skeptical eyebrow. He didn't blame him, he could scarcely believe it himself.

“And how exactly do you plan to keep your identity a secret if you've got a seat on their table? Or are we throwing the whole anonymity thing out the window? You know, the one where a secret identity allows you to keep yourself and the people you care about, protected?”

“I'm not stupid—”

“You could have fooled me.”

His eyes narrowed in frustration. “— Marinette has a mask for me. She has us covered.” Literally.

“How convenient,” Plagg muttered. “An evening interacting with people while it rains outside,” he sighed and with a straight face, continued. “Fun.”

“Look,” Adrien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before pointing at Plagg. “I don't know if they have any camembert but please be on your best behavior anyway.”

Plagg's jaw dropped, possibly in outrage and shock. “What kind of self-respecting household doesn't have camembert?”

“None, Plagg, because the average household wouldn't have camembert in their pantry. You have expensive taste!”

“So I have high standards. Don't cheese shame me, I'm just trying to live my best life here!”

“Says the one who doesn't have a dwindling bank account,” Adrien scowled. “I’m pretty sure Nathalie thinks I have a camembert addiction.”

Plagg shrugged, unconcerned. “Why not? I, for one, think it's a tragedy not enough people are eating my beloved camembert. But hey,” he shot him a devious smile. “More for me!”

“I think the real travesty is that my clothes will forever smell like camembert.” He sniffed his pants, exaggeratedly gagging at the hint of the cheese the rain hadn't managed to erase to irritate Plagg (a success, he might add, the Kwami sticking his tongue out at him) before folding it in a neat pile to join his shirts, which had all ready found their place in the paper bag Marinette had provided him earlier. Another paper bag was given to him for his sneakers. He deposited both heaps by the door so that it would be a quick gather when he inevitably had to leave. All that done, he put on Tom's black sweatpants and frowned when they sagged to his pelvis and drowned his bare feet.

He pulled on the fabric till his feet came out of the holes then he rolled the waistband till it was snug against him. He bounced, then sighed. It was still a tad loose but it was to be expected, he supposed. Tom was a significantly larger man than him. He would have been better off in Marinette's clothes. He cleared his throat.

The idea made him hot.

In lieu of exploring that line of thought, he tied the mask around his head and put on his hoodie. The fabric was incredibly soft, a hundred percent cotton if he had to gander, instead of the polyester blend he expected it to be. Marinette had sowed it in French seams, unusual for a hoodie but damn if it wasn't comfortable. As a result, the lining felt velvety instead of itchy, rippling smoothly along his skin as he moved. But the most noticeable modification had to be the pockets—for in the place of the standard two-sided provision in the middle, Marinette had tailored two, separate pockets on either side of the front, much like those found on regular jeans. And they weren't shallow like most hoodies’ pockets, but deep enough that they not only covered his hands but would keep Plagg nestled and hidden comfortably. She couldn't have known about him, of course, but the alteration was astoundingly intuitive. Not that he was complaining.

It was apparent that a lot of time (and money!) had gone into its creation. When he lifted the hoodie, the cat ears didn't sag. They stood to attention yet were surprisingly light on his head.

He looked at the mirror and examined himself anew. He didn't see Chat Noir, not when Plagg was hovering by his head with a critical eye. But it wasn’t Adrien he glimpsed either, since he had a mask on. So who was this that greeted his reflection, this amalgamation of the two most prominent parts of himself, who was sharper-eyed yet had softened around the edges, unhindered and unburdened and genuinely free.

He didn't know. And maybe that was okay. All he was certain of was Marinette... and how he may have just developed a tiny crush on her. For how could he not? That she had spent any amount of time, however short or long, working on this hoodie with painstaking care and pertinacity suggested just how much she cared for him. And how beautiful it was, to know that you were thought of.

How beautiful she was.

The edges of his mouth expanded to ridiculous heights.

“So?” He spread his hands out. “What do you think?”

Plagg gave him a once over. “I think the real tragedy is you.”

He rolled his eyes but his smile remained. If anything, it broadened—because on the other side stood Marinette, and the chance to be near her overwhelmed him with excitement. He held out a pocket to Plagg. “Shut up and get in here.”

“Ugh, with pleasure you lovestruck fool.”

Plagg was still muttering about “hormonal teenagers” and “I can't believe I have to deal with this shit, every time” when Adrien opened the door.

Only to turn around right away.

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “I forgot to ask if you were done changing…”

In truth, he hadn't seen anything. Marinette had been pulling on the hem of her tank but that flash of a sliver of skin had been enough to drive him a little wild.

She laughed, low and enticing, and god was he thankful for the rain just this once when he felt his temperature rise at the sound.

(So maybe it wasn't just a tiny crush)

“I am,” she assured and bid him to turn around. “Oh!”

She scuttled to her desk and ruffled through a couple drawers before kneeling in front of him.

He gulped. This was not helping his flustered state.

“Um.”

(He could feel the rumble of Plagg's, thankfully silent, snickers. He pressed his hand against his pocket)

“I should have known Papa's sweatpants would be big on you, no matter how old.”

She opened her hand to reveal a bundle of pins.

Oh.

“I was just thinking that I was better off wearing something from your closet,” he said, hoping his voice didn't betray him by being too high or shaky. He subtly cleared his throat. “But your mom went through all that trouble.”

Marinette gave him a small smile. “That's kind of you, but I don't want you stressing over it. I know I would.”

“I really don't mind.”

She shrugged. “It's not like I can't do it. You don't need to be a fashion designer to use a safety pin.”

“But it sure helps,” he said with a wink, before unrolling the waistband.

Marinette made quick work of cinching the waist and pinning it to place. Before he knew it, she was dusting herself off the ground. She stood back to survey her work—he tried not to preen at her appreciative gleam but a bit of the model in him came out anyway as he pushed his shoulders back and smirked—then abruptly clapped her hands.

“The hoodie, it fit!”

He ran his hands over the cotton fabric. “Like a glove!” he enthused. “Did you doubt it would?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “It's not like I could Google your measurements, Chat Noir.”

“You can't?” he cocked his head. Huh, that was a surprise to him. Google knew everything.

She laughed, a hearty guffaw that had her throwing her head back from the force of it, and it was a song he wanted on indefinite repeat inside his brain. His heart grew two sizes just hearing it.

“Come on,” she looped her arm around his, leading him towards her trapdoor. “Dinner's ready by now, I'm sure.”

“Wait,” he said, ambling behind her before gradually pulling to a stop so that he trailed a path from her elbow to her palm, reveling in all the exposed skin being out of his suit and her in her tank afforded him. He weaved his fingers through her own and was surprised at how rough it was, calluses found in the pads of her thumb and forefinger. She had such small hands. Yet the scars peppering her palm betrayed their delicateness, for these were the hands of a gifted craftswoman—all strength, beauty and creativity hidden within. If he thought the opportunity to hold her at all was wonderful, then the feel of her without the barrier of his suit or her blazer impeding movements or dulling sensations was glorious. He found he was fast becoming addicted to the way their hands intertwined, for it seemed as if his fingers were specifically tailored to fill the spaces between her own.

She giggled and it prompted him to break his stare from the bridge between them that was their interlocked hands.

“What is it, minou?”

“I really do love it,” he said earnestly. “Not a lot of people can say they have a Marinette Dupain-Cheng original, you know. And one day your name will fill fashion magazines and be whispered with envy by your peers and awe by aspiring designers from all over the world. I hope I'll be around when that happens—”

“Chat,” she interrupted, face rosy so it bloomed like a flower, albeit a shy one. He smiled, tucking a midnight lock behind her ear before trailing the length of it down her collarbone. He'd never seen her with her hair down, funnily enough, but she was just as beguiling, ebony tresses spilling like the night sky around her face.

“But even if I'm not, I’ll forever get to say that one time the Marinette Dupain-Cheng made me, Chat Noir, an original, customized hoodie in the style of me, Chat Noir.”

She snorted. “Smoothly done.”

She bent to her hatch once again but he tugged her back.

“Hey.”

“What is it now?” she pretended to fume, though he noted with interest that she didn't seem keen to break from his grasp when she had all ready proven how easy it would be for her. He smothered an urge to do a victory dance. He settled for inclining their clasped hands and turning them over so that he cupped her open palm.

He lowered his lips to the succulent curve between her thumb and wrist. Then, he placed a lingering kiss there, never once taking his eyes off hers as he murmured against her warm flesh, “Thank you.”

Marinette audibly gulped.

“S-sure,” she stammered. “It was nothing.”

He shook his head. “Not to me. So, seriously—”

Adrien took the hand that had been playing with the ends of her hair to run it along the nape of her neck where he rubbed calming circles. He liked the way her eyes fluttered when he stepped closer, till they were but a hairsbreadth apart, their hands resting against his chest. She leaned into his touch as she craned her head to peer up at him. He tilted his head, eyes hooded as he repeated with breathy solemnity.

“Thank you.”

His heart was running a marathon in his chest, sprinting from beneath his ribcage and straight into her hands. He wondered if she could feel it and whether he should be embarrassed if she did, but found that he no longer cared. He had always been a little too willing, too open with his emotions. Ladybug would have attested to that. But the difference, he realized, was that this time… this time—

It wasn't one-sided. He wasn't alone.

Because there was Marinette, standing on the tips of her toes, her free hand finding purchase in his hair while he abandoned hers in favor of anchoring his arm around her waist. She hummed. She liked to do that, he was starting to discover, similar to how he purred when he was particularly pleased.

And oh, how he liked to please her.

So he'd wait for her to kiss him. He inched closer till their noses brushed, but he would follow her lead and let her decide when to seal the space between them. He nudged the crease of her cheek with the tip of his nose.

(But surely a little push wouldn’t hurt?)

“Marinette?” Sabine called. “Dinner's getting cold!”

Her summon pierced the bubble they had encased themselves in, voice wafting through the wood loudly as if she had been right next to them. Marinette groaned, burying her face deeply into his neck so his hood fell. He could admit he was somewhat disappointed, yet couldn't bring himself to be too upset—not when Marinette was so blatantly miffed as well. She hadn't even shied away from him so he chanced tightening his arm around her waist and was gratified when she further nuzzled the crook of his neck before resting her chin on his shoulder. She sighed and he relished the audible proof of her annoyance. She was so damn cute, sometimes she didn't seem real.

He chuckled.

“We should go,” he said. “Your parents are waiting.”

“My parents,” she grumbled, “have the worst timing.”

He nudged his shoulder so that he could see her, and had to bite back a laugh. Her face was twisted in a grimace, luscious lips pushed out in an adorable pout that he wanted to suckle between his own. To temper his frustration, he kissed the back of her hand and gave it a small squeeze.

“Do it for the food, chérie.”

He froze. Oops. His eyes widened at her, apologetically. The endearment had sort of just, slipped out of him. He’d always been inclined to using them, it was often Ladybug's plight with him that he wouldn't cease to call her ‘bugaboo’. He remembered their earlier conversation and how she pointed out that he always called her ‘princess’. It hadn't bothered her, but had he gone too far now? She tilted her head at him in an almost curious manner, and he thought he was done for when she pulled her body away.

But then she stayed her hand and returned his squeeze with a smile. He breathed a sigh of relief at the radiant sight.

“I’m no princess,” she said archly as she opened her door. “But I do know a thing or two about being sweet.”

“Believe me,” he ran his knuckles along her cheek, forever bewitched by the miles of skin now available to him. “I'm aware.”

She bit her lip as if to contain her smile, then stepped down, returning to their earlier discussion. “Mama does make a mean wanton,” she sighed with feigned tsuris.“For the food.”

He nodded. “Oui, for the food.”

She paused, as if warring with herself on whether she should say her next words or not.

“And then, later…?”

He was glad she did. He felt his mouth stretch to a Cheshire's grin.

“Later,” he promised, and it couldn't come fast enough.

It hadn't gone unnoticed to Tom and Sabine that he and Marinette had gone down the stairs holding hands and didn't let go of each other till they sat down the dining table, not if the looks they exchanged were anything to to by. He had always assumed that was fiction, two people communicating with a mere glance. But a conversation happened before his very eyes, one that occurred without a single word, all because Tom and Sabine met eyes. He couldn't precisely decode the meaning of their stare, but with the way they regarded him, Marinette, him and Marinette, and then back at each other, he could very well guess. He gazed at Marinette from the corner of his eye just in time to see her roll her pretty, blue orbs. She must have been used to it. But he wasn't.

That cursed blush woke anew.

“You kids took a while,” Tom began airily as he took his place at the head of the table. Well, Adrien had an explanation for the delay. Speaking of—

“I know, right?”

Plagg, the little rascal, darted to the middle of the table before he could stop him. Sabine, who had been about to sit at Tom's right, jumped to a stand.

“Honestly,” he griped. “You should put a leash on these kids.”

Beside him, Marinette gasped.

“Plagg!” he cried.

The Kwami paid him no heed. He sniffed.

“Where’s my cheese?”

Adrien grabbed him midair and held him to his chest. “Nowhere, unless you behave,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I'm so sorry about him,” he addressed the Dupain-Chengs, all the while wrestling with Plagg, who seemed intent on escaping his grasp.

“What… what is... he?” Sabine asked, stuttering between calling Plagg ‘it’ or ‘he’. He was grateful she corrected herself, else this would have gone on for eternity.

“Hungry—”

He pressed against Plagg harder to muffle him.

“He's what gives me my powers, believe it or not,” Adrien said dryly. “He's a Kwami, and by saying a specific set of words, he’s what allows me to transform into Chat Noir. But it tires him out and eating is his way of recharging, apart from sleeping. But,” he yelped as Plagg dug his claws in. When he raised his arm, he dangled from his hand. Adrien sighed. “Mostly eating though.”

“What does he like to eat?” Marinette asked, and he wondered about the twinkle in her eyes.

“Cheese.”

“Not just any cheese, I'm not a barbarian.” Plagg interrupted. “I only eat camembert, the smelliest, most delectable, best of the best, cheese that was ever created. Oh, my beloved camembert,” he wailed. Adrien rolled his eyes. “My stomach feels empty without you. When will we ever reunite again?”

“Well, I don't know about camembert,” Tom started with an amused lilt, “but we do have fondue.” With a sweep of his arm, he gestured towards the kitchen counter where indeed—a small, ceramic, steaming pot of cheese fondue sat.

Plagg opened his mouth and Adrien was about to warn him to play nice when the Kwami literally launched himself into the pot as if it were his own personal swimming pool. Adrien's jaw dropped.

“Plagg!” he cried, mortified. Tom, however, chortled and Sabine’s tinkling laughter followed.

“What?” the little fiend had the audacity to float on his back. Adrien wanted to facepalm if Plagg wasn't all ready being rude enough for the both of them. “He said to help himself!”

He sneered. “He didn't, actually!”

“I suppose that’s one way to start a meal,” Sabine remarked as she began to pass out bowls. “Everyone dig in!”

“I thought only barbarians ate other kinds of cheese?” Marinette teased as she dove for the wanton broth.

“And as previously stated, I’m not one.” Plagg plunged into the pot and emerged with a face full of fondue. “It’s rude to refuse the host.”

“Oh, is it now?” Adrien commented acerbically. Then he turned to the occupants of the table with the most sorry expression his model-good looks could ever muster. “I can't apologize enough for his behavior. I am so, so, so sorry.”

“It's quite all right, dear.” Sabine patted his hand before taking it upon herself to give him a large serving of soup. “Marinette doesn't much stand on ceremony when it comes to food either.”

“Mama!” Marinette blushed and he only felt a little guilty that he wasn't alone in his discomfort.

“It’s true! I don’t know where a skinny thing like you keeps it all at the rate you eat.”

“Oh my god.”

“She obviously takes after her father,” Tom interjected, puffing his chest out with pride before ruffling Marinette's hair. She ducked but wasn't quick enough and suffered through Tom's petting as he stretched across the table to reach her. “Papa!” she grumbled. Adrien laughed at their antics as Marinette swatted her father's arm away before fixing her hair. Abruptly, she said, “Is Plagg always like this?”

He snickered. “Smooth,” he whispered under his breath. She glared, but he obliged the change in subject. He blew an exasperated breath.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Plagg threw a cheesy raspberry back at him. “Would you have me any other way?”

Adrien smiled at his direction, a small upturn of the lips that brimmed with content. “Funnily enough, no.” He returned his gaze to them. “I can hardly remember what life was like before I had him.”

Well, that wasn't strictly correct—it wasn't so much that he couldn't remember than it was a period he rather wished he could forget. He knew his lips had crudely slanted into a frown when he saw Marinette's own face fall. He pushed his shoulders back. The dinner table was not the place to unravel, especially in someone else's dinner table and—

Marinette had put her hand on his knee and all his thoughts grounded to a halt.

“How did you two meet?” she asked quietly.

He gave her a grateful smile as he met her fingers and intertwined their hands. Adrien took a deep breath, finding light in her touch so that it drove away the darkest of demons threatening to swarm his head.

“I came home one day and he was just… there.” Adrien shook his head fondly in recollection. “From the get go, he was all ready a glutton—he tried to eat my remote control!”

Marinette's parents laughed but she was pensive when she asked, “How did you take it?” she leaned into his space, her eyes burning with curiosity. “You must have freaked out.”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Are you kidding?” Plagg interrupted his cheese bath to say. “Kid took to it like fish to water. Transformed before I could finish explaining—before I was even fed!”

Marinette huffed a stray lock from her face as she muttered, “Of course you did.”

He would have commented further, but then he took a bite of the wanton noodles. He couldn't hold back his moan.

“This is delicious!”

Sabine chuckled even as she blushed. “I'm glad you think so.”

“The best noodles in Paris,” Tom beamed proudly.

“Can’t argue with that,” Marinette joined.

Adrien sighed. “I could marry this soup. Right now.”

So he slurped at the dish with a gusto one wouldn't expect from someone eating with just one hand. Then again, chopsticks didn't require the pair of them, though it would have been easier. Still, neither teen seemed willing to let go, happy to eat one-handed if it meant they could maintain the rare, skin-on-skin contact, even as innocent as hand-holding.

The rest of the meal passed in lapses of companionable silence and animated conversation. Adrien ate like he never had—had practically inhaled his food, be it Chinese, Italian or French cuisine, the Dupain-Chengs offered it all and so all he ate—had laughed like he never had, for Tom and Sabine had no shortage of tales to spill of Marinette's escapades as a child.

(“One time at a big family reunion, she climbed out of her high chair, crawled across the table—”

“Nooooo,” Marinette whined. “Not this story!”

“—and grabbed a huge chunk out of a whole roast chicken then sat right back without any of us noticing. We just turned around and there she was, trying to stuff her mouth with a chicken leg half her size!”

Adrien was giggling so hard he snorted. “Impressive, Marinette.”

She glowered, but when he poked her cheek she couldn't resist joining their amusement)

By the time the meal was drawing to a close, Adrien had eaten nearly half the contents of the table and felt borderline catatonic as a result. He felt full, but it wasn't merely due to the food. The dinner had been exquisite, made all the more comely for the people he shared it with. The dining table in the mansion was a time of solitary reflection for Adrien; where his thoughts were the loudest din, save for the clink of ceramics and utensils. But here, it was a symphony of colorful sound. If this were to be his first and last meal here, it would be a tune he carried with him for all time.

Even the quiet was something he relished. It wasn't empty, like that in his house. It was the kind of quiet that echoed the good times that preceded it, a quiet that came after a round of shared enjoyment so consuming, it robbed one's breath. It left you silent, sleepy… but overall utterly satisfied.

Sabine had bidden him to stay seated while Marinette and her father put food away, either in containers or in the trash. A nightly chore, he gathered, as they made quick work of it. It fascinated him to no end. Adrien may have been in his father's payroll but he'd never done housework in his life. To see everyone move in perfect fluidity, toiling to restore the kitchen to cleanliness while he remained motionless left him feeling uneasy, like he should have been helping them. He'd been in the kitchens and around the house long enough to observe the way his staff moved—in theory he should be able to provide his assistance. Wasn't that number one on his job description anyway? Granted, this mightn't have been what Master Fu had in mind, but he was Chat Noir. He was capable. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Right.

So when Sabine made to clear the last of the plates, he held his hands out and scooped them up before she could. He brought them to the sink then leaned against it as he addressed her.

“I can wash the dishes,” he offered.

“Such a sweet boy,” she smiled. “But that's usually Marinette's job.” She raised a flinty eyebrow at her daughter. “Marinette? Don't you have something to say?”

She held both her hands up.

“Mama, if he's up to the task, I'm not gonna stop him.”

He shrugged nonchalantly and with a crooked grin, joked, “I volunteer as tribute.”

“See?” Marinette clapped her hands, giddy. With a wink, she skipped to the living room and stood beside her father, who was setting up their game console. It bemused him. Was washing dishes really that terrible?

Sabine shook her head at Marinette's retreating back before turning to him. “Nonsense—”

Plagg snorted. “You said it. He's never had to do chores, like, ever.”

“Plagg!”

“What? I’m telling the truth!”

“Please. Ignore him.” Adrien glared at him before continuing. “I'll handle the dishes, it's the least I can do. You've been so kind to me all ready. Let me do this for you.”

Sabine appraised him and he bore it with baited breath.

“On one condition,” her smile returned, a soft upward tilt of her lips that made him feel small and young, younger than he had ever felt since his own mother left all those years ago. He'd have agreed to anything then, if it meant he could preserve those very sensations. He nodded with kitten-like eagerness.

“You wash, I dry,” she proposed. “Deal?”

He chuckled. “Deal.”

“Okay, if you're done here—”

Plagg dashed up the staircase. Adrien caught him by the tail, a look of incredulity plastered on his face.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“Marinette's room,” he stated with a frankness that informed him he should have known this, ergo, Plagg had every right to be there. He frowned.

“Come on, you know you can't just barge into other people's rooms—”

“Oh, cause you're so good at that—”

Adrien refused to give Plagg the satisfaction of showing his frustration by pulling his hair, though he did snarl. “Why do you even wanna go up there?”

“What’s it to you?” Plagg pulled at his tail. “Let go of me!”

“Hey,” Marinette called.

“What?” he looked at her and noticed she had turned uncharacteristically pallid. His frown deepened and he released Plagg. He took a step towards her, arms outstretched in a hug that he would will with all his might to squash whatever it was the distressed her, her parents be damned.

But she wasn't talking to him.

“You can go to my room.”

“Yes,” Plagg sighed peevishly. “I know that.”

He proceeded to float up to her chambers. Adrien bit back the inkling to shout in protest, which was just as well. Marinette beckoned once more.

“Plagg.”

To his surprise, the Kwami ceased his ascent. He faced her.

“Interesting,” Plagg's voice had appropriated a solemnity he rarely displayed. “That it's you.”

They exchanged a weighted look that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. There was a knowing glint in both their eyes, as if a message had been relayed and subsequently received. It made him… apprehensive? No, not exactly. It wasn't like they were talking about him (at least, he assumed they were talking about Marinette). But he definitely felt like there was something he wasn't getting—something he should have been perfectly aware of.

Marinette smirked playfully. “Don't touch anything that isn't yours.”

Plagg rolled his eyes, yet his grin was sincere, and dare he say—tender. Adrien gawked.

“Your… room is in good hands or,” he held out his arms. “As it were, in good paws.”

It was Marinette's turn to conceal her amusement abaft an eye roll. Adrien whirled his gaze back and forth between them, eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I'm missing something here, aren't I?”

“Don't worry your pretty, blond head about it, sunshine.”

“Do you really think I'm pretty?” he retorted saccharinely.

Plagg didn't dignify that with a response. Without so much as a backwards glance, he phased through the trapdoor.

Eerie silence remained in his wake.

“So, that happened,” Tom mused.

“Do I even want to know?” Adrien directed his question to Marinette. She shrugged.

“Not if you want to live longer.”

“I do have nine lives.”

“Trust me,” she resumed her attention to the console and the controller in her hands. “You're not ready to hear this. Not if you want to keep all nine lives.”

“That's so cryptic, Marinette!” He protested, roughly shoving his hands in his pockets. “You can't just say something like that and not explain!”

She ignored him and he tried not to sulk. When did Plagg and Marinette even have the chance to talk before now? Their incredibly brief interaction shouldn't have warranted such familiarity, yet he was convinced some sort of acknowledgement occurred between them. But what? How? Why? He couldn't help the absence that welled within—like the answers were staring right at him, yet he was too blinded by the glare of it to see properly.

“You are a strange child,” Tom declared.

“I'm your child,” she returned, looking at him askance. “If you've got a problem with the product, take it up with the manufacturer.”

“But that's me,” he whined.

“Exactly.”

The tension of earlier seemed to dissipate in the wake of their persiflage, as it seemed was the standard in the Dupain-Cheng household. Had he spoken to his father with such imprudence, he'd have been institutionalized. Had he and Chat Noir been separate people and Chat strutted into the mansion then indulged the same intimacy with him that he had with Marinette, he would have been thrown out. Forget being thrown out all together—he wouldn't have made it past the front door. So really, Adrien could only goggle at this family.

They were marvelous—easily, openly, irresistibly, wholeheartedly, undeniably, marvelous.

Beside him, Sabine shook her head. “Those two have their own world,” she sighed, with a forlornless—a longing that appeared out of place within these four walls, the weight of her emotions so heavy he felt it echo through his soul in tidal waves of wistfulness. His ebullience faded in the wake of this realization.

He knew this sadness, as well as his own heartbeat, and while he was certain this family was the epitome of healthy kinships—he found he couldn't begrudge Sabine her envy. He had only been in Marinette and Tom’s presence for less than a night, but he sensed their closeness straight away. He stared at them, and saw what she saw—how animated and engaged they spoke with each other, how when Tom would pull Marinette would push, how they may have been speaking in French but it might as well have been esoteric to them. Marinette stared up at her father with stars in her eyes while Tom praised Marinette as if everything good in the world had been made by her hands. Those two shared a bond he could only ever dream of having with his own father.

Suddenly, looking at Sabine was like looking at a mirror.

“I just don't understand them sometimes,” she continued.

He tilted his head at her, silken strands falling into his face as he spoke, lowly, compassionately, “But you love them anyway.”

And then she smiled—not just with her mouth, but with her whole body. Her eyes had slanted upwards into tiny smiles of their own while the tension she harbored all over melted till her body hummed in repose. With those words, it was like a lock had been broken and wasn't it just incredible? Wasn’t it absolutely grand? The way love conquered even the darkest of imaginings—the way love healed.

“But you love them anyway,” she repeated.

She lightly bumped her shoulder with his. “You still up for tackling those dishes with me?”

“I'm paw-sitive I can.”

That elicited an exuberant laugh from her. At least one person in this building appreciated his puns.

When they reached the sink, he rolled up his sleeves. Sabine touched his shoulder.

“This is nice,” she noted of his hoodie.

“Marinette made it for me!” He enthused, lifting the hood over his head and twirling without prompt. He struck a pose. “What do you think?”

She chuckled, regarding him with a gleam in her eyes that he couldn't place.

(It definitely wasn't a night of knowledge for Adrien Agreste)

“It suits you.”

He nodded his agreement.

“She's gonna do great things one day,” he sighed happily as Sabine handed him the sponge then drained the sink.

“You two are close, huh?”

That brought him to a screeching halt. Shit, he thought. So she had noticed their easiness with each other. Ugh, who was he kidding? Of course she noticed, they weren't exactly the definition of subtle.

“Yes,” he croaked because at this point, what was the use of lying? Though it still came out more question than statement, as if he himself didn't know the real answer.

She didn't say anything after that, merely began to hum a Chinese lullaby beneath her breath, and so he didn't expound. Maybe she knew they were close but not the hows or the whys. He couldn't fathom being so close to a parent as to share such details with them. Well, not that there was anything scandalous to their friendship (at least, depending on who was asking). But he didn't think any parent would find near-nightly visits from the opposite sex—superhero or not—to their daughter's bedroom in the after hours of Paris appropriate, no matter how innocent the intentions. Perhaps luck, little as it was, was on his side tonight.

After careful instruction from Marinette's mom and some close calls with slippery dishes, he got the hang of it, he and Sabine functioning like a well-oiled machine—he washed a pile, she rinsed and dried.

There was something soothing about the routine. It might have been the asininity of it—the motions repetitive and expected that he didn't have to think at all, and so it was effortless to lose himself. It might have been the clamor of Marinette’s gaming zeal and Tom's overly dramatic wails of defeat as Marinette expertly annihilated him in round after round of Ultra Megastrike IV that brought him serenity when the noise would have rattled anyone else. Even the dissonance of running water and clanging dishware brought him domestic bliss, the likes of which he had never known.

Because the mansion may have been his formal residence, but with the reticent staff and his hermit of a father, it was just another building—foreign and stolid and one he happened to be required to sleep in.

Compared to here though, there had never been more polar opposites. The truth of the matter was, he could have fit the Dupain-Chengs’ apartment inside the Agreste mansion and yet, he found there was no other place he'd rather be in. The organized clutter told of a life well lived and a house well loved. The raucous of continuous chatter and Sabine's soft singing and television static was a symphony to his lonely ears. This was a refuge with people who were free to be who they were and just… love.

This is a real home, he mused, and if he could, he hoped to never leave. And perhaps he never would, if Tom and Sabine liked him enough to invite him another night, if he and Marinette became just as good friends when he was Adrien, better yet if he and Marinette fell in lo—

Stop.

A crack sounded and when Adrien looked down, where there was once an unblemished surface, a tear had wrought through halfway down the middle of the plate he was washing. He gasped.

“I'm sorry! I’m s-so—I’m sorry!”

With haste he let go, only to wish he hadn't. The impact caused the crevice to widen though the plate hadn't completely split into two.

“You're shaking,” Sabine whispered.

“Oh,” he hadn't noticed. “I broke a plate,” he said dumbly. “That must have been a set, right? And you can't have a set with just three—” (never mind that the occupants of this household were that very number) “—I'll replace it. I’ll buy another one.”

I'll buy you a whole kitchen's worth of new sets.

“It's just a plate,” Sabine murmured, squeezing his shoulder. “It's all right, Adrien.”

…

…

…

…

Adrien.

Adrien?

Holy fuck, she said Adrien!

One minute he couldn't breathe and the next, he choked on air.

“Chat?” Marinette hollered at him though she hadn't averted her eyes from the screen. She crowed at a successful 12-hit combo before calling to him once more, “You ok? Choke on a hairball or something?”

She laughed at her own joke and that he wanted to laugh hysterically along with her made him cough all the more.

“I'm fine,” he managed to bite out once his fit had calmed. Sabine patted gently at his back, albeit with a modicum of reluctance. He turned to her.

“What—” Voice considerably lowered though no less panicked, he repeated, “What did you call me?”

He held his hands to his face to see if his mask had slipped. It was intact. He felt it was, so how did she…?

“I'm sorry,” she deflated when when she approached him and he unconsciously took a step back. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“I'm not frightened.”

She glanced down, emphasizing how it hadn't escaped her that his shaking hadn't relented.

“It’s all right, Adrien,” she said again.

Her words were meant to comfort but it was as if she was underwater and everything was warbled. His name, his civilian name, falling from her lips was like a buffer against rationalization, and it had him blanching. She flinched.

He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, then two, then three—till the gallop of his heart faded to a steady tread and his trembles abated.

“Are you going to kick me out, now?”

She shook her head. “Why would I do that?”

“You know who I am,” he lamented. “That's dangerous.”

She smiled. “Is it now?”

“It's not funny,” he whispered, looking down. “If Hawkmoth finds out about you and what your family means to me, and god forbid something happened to Marinette and mon dieu—” he returned his attention to her. “Who else knows? Does Marinette know?”

Sabine shook her head. “Just me, as far as I'm aware.” He breathed a sigh of relief before regarding her with oblique intent. “So… how did you?”

“Well, it's less clear when you're transformed. But after?” she cocked her head. “I think modeling the jacket was a bit of a giveaway,” he blushed. “The hair is pretty notable. Your eyes, too.”

He gaped. “Lots of guys have blond hair and green eyes!” he defended.

“I suppose that's true.” She laughed, before fixing him with an austere stare. “But they don't care for Marinette the way you do.”

He didn't know how to answer that—partly because he was embarrassed that he was so transparent.

Mostly because it was true.

“Adrien…” Sabine started, glancing at Marinette and Tom from her periphery to make sure they were otherwise occupied. “What happened just now?”

“I'm always breaking things,” he confessed, as if that were explanation enough. And maybe it was because the sorrow in her eyes almost had him coming undone.

I don't want to break her, he wanted to shout. And I don't wanna break my own heart too.

Because falling in love was the easy part—falling in love with the unattainable was even easier. He knew the outcome was bleak and so it was simple to be able to put on his armor of innuendo and impavidness and say it was all right that they didn't love you back.

After… after was what scared him. Reciprocation scared him. Because he was broken, was always going to be just that little bit damaged and a step behind and he didn't want anyone else to get caught in the crossfire that was his internal turmoil. Because he was lost, always lost, and he didn’t know how to be enough for someone else.

“Hey,” she said, derailing him from the dangerous path his thoughts had veered to. “Who needs a set of four plates when we're only three.” She shrugged and added, conspiratorially, “I've been dying to replace these sets anyway but Tom didn't see the point. Now, you've given me the perfect excuse. I mean, they're older than Marinette—no wonder this one broke!”

His heart lifted as they joined in merriment. What was it about the women in this family? Would he forever have a weakness for dark hair, blue-eyed females?

(If that was the case, then he hoped never to be strong)

“Besides,” she shared, everything about her so far removed from her previous melancholy that his own worries of insecurity and being discovered evanesced into a plane of halcyon where no one and nothing that would ever hurt him, could—if only ephemerally. “In my experience, the best people in life are the ones who are unafraid to show their imperfections.”

(And who was he kidding? The halcyon wasn’t some undiscoverable plane—it was here)

“So own them, darling,” she cupped his cheek, and he found himself leaning into her touch, starved as he was for motherly affection. He clutched her forearm as if for dear life, and lapped at her every word when she declared, “You'll find that the cracks are where the light shines the brightest.”

He let a little more than a fleeting moment pass as he considered her words. Could it really be that simple? Own it, she advised.

“Thank you,” he sniffed.

“Thank you for helping me with the dishes,” she grinned lopsidedly. She may have been thanking him for his assistance but he was adamant he had been the one to gain the most from their encounter.

He disposed of the broken plate and cleared the sink while Sabine put the rest of the dishes away. After, she jutted her chin towards the living room.

“Shall we see what the other two are up to? Before they get swallowed by the TV?”

Thankfully, no such misgivings had arisen since, caught up as they had been in their conversation, it slipped their notice when Marinette and Tom had moved on from the game console to their music player. Charles Aznavour's rich, buttery tones wafted from the crisp speaker as he sang Il faut savoir.

Even with the cramped space of the apartment, the father and daughter duo found a way to make a dance floor of the living room, moving in some semblance of a...waltz? ‘Gifted’ as they were with two left feet.

He chuckled and hoped the mask hid the way his eyes shone. Then again maybe not, if it meant Marinette’s countenance vivified at the sight of it.

“You’re here!” Tom bellowed, spinning her outwards with a little too much exuberance and so she fell back against the cushions.

“Tom!” Sabine shouted just as Tom squawked his apology and Marinette expelled a cute, “oof!” when she landed. Adrien pressed his lips together and tried not lay the adoration thick but—she didn't exactly make it easy.

She jarringly chided her father before expelling a greeting so cheerful and sweet, you would think they hadn't seen each other in years instead of the scant few minutes they were actually apart. She moved a smidge so there was room on the sofa for him even with her limbs aslant.

What he wouldn't give to have a camera right now, to capture the flush that burgeoned the apple of her cheeks because it was from exertion and not bashfulness, for once… to immortalize the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him like this—unharmed and glowing and arrantly, confoundingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful.

He crouched on his haunches so he was eye-level with her and lightly swiped the tip of his finger across the length of her bangs. Her sigh was a cool breeze against his lips.

“Hello, Marinette.”

She sat up, affecting a severe air as she enounced, “I'm surprised you remember my name.”

He gestured at her to scoot over. He hunkered beside her with his legs crossed, one arm spread atop the back of the couch while the other was propped against his thigh. He rested his head on his hand and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? Why?”

“You and my mom looked so cozy,” she teased. “I thought you'd forgotten me.”

“Oh, are you jealous then?” he shot back in acute delight. “You don't need to worry,” he leaned into her space so he could whisper in her ear, lips ghosting her skin as he murmured, “You're impossible to forget.”

She rolled her eyes then looked away, but not before he caught her gratified expression. He beamed as he pulled away.

Chiming laughter and gruff chortles had the pair of them turning to the pair before them. The sight they were greeted with was nothing short of miraculous, as Tom expertly twirled Sabine athwart the room, ebbing and flowing in a dance they appeared to have been doing since they were born.

“How come you can dance with mom that way and not me?” Marinette demanded haughtily. Truth be told, he was glad she asked. He was bewildered at the grace with which Tom maneuvered Sabine when not minutes ago, he and Marinette had been fumbling about like gravity was personally out to get them and they were desperate to outrun it.

“Don't you know?” Tom said before he twirled Sabine, first out then into his arms. “Life is but one, long dance. Sometimes you take a wrong turn somewhere and swing out of beat.” He dipped Sabine, “But other times, if you sway at just the right moment—” and, slowly, they ascended together, “—you might bump into someone who's willing to move just that little bit off beat with you, and you find you've made a rhythm that's all your own.”

Till they were in perfect alignment, her back to his chest and his chin nestled atop her head.

“Each step you take is a step towards that person so... dance. Make your move and make it right. Hell, make the wrong one too! Just…”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“Just—just what?” He goaded, endeavoring to limit his impatience as he leaned towards the man.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Papa,” she rebuked but he could tell she was just as engrossed as he was.

Tom smirked.

“Just dance.” His lips whittled into a softer, more profound, grin. “You do your utmost to ensure you lead a successful life, but all that won't mean a thing without the right partner by your side.” He locked eyes with Sabine. “So, don't forget to dance.”

Now it was Edith Piaf's poignant voice crooning her Hymn to Love that filtered through the spaces between their bubble of conversations. Sabine elegantly twisted in Tom's arms so she could rest her head onto his chest. In absolute synchronization, they sighed, and it was the purest sound of rapture he had ever heard.

Then Tom threw them, what he must have thought was, a sly wink. “Do you?”

What?

Adrien glanced at Marinette and saw she was just as baffled as he was. With an eyebrow raised, he conveyed with her, as if to say, he's your dad—you ask him what he means! to which she rebutted with her arms crossed and a pointed, if you're such a curious cat, you ask him yourself!

(Though, admittedly, the curious cat was something he added for his own amusement)

He relented though they both turned to Tom.

“Do… we what?”

“Have the right partner?”

Without thought, his eyes found Marinette's. Marinette—who tripped even as she stood, whose belongings were forever escaping her grasp as they sprawled whenever she careened about the pavement. Marinette—whose maladroit affliction had faded when he held her in his arms and danced with her that one time.

They had fallen into each other’s gaze long enough that more than a beat had passed. Tom reverted his gaze to Sabine and the two were lost in a world of their own, a lambent pendulum as they flowed in and out of each other's gravity.

Do you have the right partner?

He had always thought Ladybug was his, through thick and thin. In some ways, she was the right partner—but he was looking for someone who was right, not just in some but in all the ways it mattered.

Tom's words reverberated like a gong in his head.

Do you have the right partner?

When Kagami had been Akumatized, Ladybug stowed him away to safety whereas he and Marinette teamed up to defeat the Evillustrator. When he needed advice, he asked Marinette. Marinette had given him his very own lucky charm. It was him and Marinette who worked so well together in Ultra Mega Strike even when they were in opposition, only him and Marinette who had been in complete awareness of Lila's falsehoods, Marinette that he went after in the skating rink.

Marinette, Marinette—in everything it was Marinette.

Do you have the right partner?

Looking at her, an ethereal beacon amongst the fluorescent and lamp lights as she watched her parents fall in love all over again, he wished he had the courage to speak up. For though he had broken down his thoughts and discovered the answer was within his grasp, he would have liked to dance with her just then… just once more—if only to be certain.

(When really, what he verily wanted was to build himself around her and hold her close)

AN: There is a part 3. I have no self-control lol.

ALSO, THAT MARICHAT SNEAK PEEK THO??? I SWEAR TO GOD I AM STILL CRY-SCREAMING ABOUT IT, IT IS SO SIMILAR TO MY VISION FOR THIS FIC IT'S LIKE I DREAMT IT AND IT LITERALLY CAME TO LIFE RIP ME

Update: Read Part 3 here

#marichat #marichat ff #marichat fan fiction #miraculous ladybug #ml ff #miraculous #miraculous ff #miraculous ladybug ff #miraculous fan fiction #miraculous ladybug fan fiction #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #sabine cheng #tom dupain #sadrien #adrien agreste introspection #ml au #miraculous au #miraculous ladybug au #marichat au #marichat fluff #swishandflickwit ff

[cyberflows-art]

Shoulder Devil

Oof! This sure took me a while! Not really because it’s long (although it kind of is, whoops!), but because I have terrible time management skills XD

I always plan what I’m going to say for this little introductions and then completely forget what I was supposed to say...

Well, this is my fic for the Joey Drew Studios AU at @ask-joeydrewstudios! I knew for quite some time that I wanted to do something for this AU because the characters are very well developed and consistent, the art is fantastic and it’s always a good time whenever I receive a notification telling me there’s a new post! I could spend a looong time telling you why I love this AU so much, but instead I’m just going to recommend checking it out! I wan’t sure whether to draw something, or write something, soooo I did both! Oh! I’m also going to put it over on AO3 and ffnet if that’s more your thing!

I really hope you like it!

Cough Don’t use or repost my drawing without my permission, please! Cough

It had been a very productive Friday in the studio. Most of the animators had managed to get ahead on their work, the voice actors had very smooth recording sessions and Joey found himself praising a lot of people when he checked on them. The ink spills where almost null, the projectors all in outstanding condition, the pipes hadn’t emitted any creaking noises or given any signs of damage. The toy department had just finished some new concepts for a limited edition line of toys that could boost their income quiet a bit. The studio was reveling in a contented mood, and the employees certainly appreciated the relaxed work environment, so different to the usual stress of having to meet an approaching deadline. But that productivity came at a price. 

A price called Sammy Lawrence.

Due to the presence of a certain prank loving toon, people who worked at Joey Drew Studios knew to have spare clothing at hand, even more so if you worked in the Music Department. But that usually meant just an extra shirt for the week. This day? Sammy had already had to change his shirt twice before lunch break. The first time was due to a bucket of ink being dumped on his head; the second because Henry just so happened to be passing through the same hallway as him with a bowl of (thankfully not boiling) soup, and Bendy just so happened to run by them and “accidentally” push Henry. The entirety of the contents of the bowl, of course, ended covering Sammy. From that point on, the positivity in the air was slain by Sammy’s irate aura and the employees instinctively stepped aside whenever he walked by. And now that he had finally been able to eat something and calm himself a little, he sat at his desk and grabbed a pen only to discover half of his stuff was coated in honey. He groaned in exasperation and cursed the substance while trying to detach the pen from his fingers.

Sammy didn’t know why the little brat suddenly decided to focus all of his attention on him, (this considering the music director was a favorite target), but he knew it needed to stop that instant. In fact, it should have stopped days ago. Since wednesday, Bendy had been making his working hours a living hell. It ranged from hiding random ingredients in his food, to messing with the lyrics in his incomplete songs, to hiding every single one his goddamn cigarettes in a different location each. The only reason he had managed to not fall behind was that he locked all of his important documents and work in the upper right drawer of his desk. He bet that the little devil would have turned them all into paper airplanes if he didn’t.

Grumbling, he stood up once again and started walking towards the nearest bathroom to wash his hands. Of course, it would be his luck that said bathroom was the one in the worst condition in the whole studio. The door, specifically, was a bother to open since there wasn’t enough space between it and the floor, making it drag noisily; not to mention the rusty hinges and knob people had tired of reminding Wally to oil. Maybe the fact that it was the bathroom closest to the music department had something to do with that. Sammy wouldn’t put it past the janitor to be petty like that. He would normally go the extra mile to go to a decent bathroom, but he had wasted enough time as it was, so he resigned himself and stepped in, careful not to close the damaged door all the way.

He got as far as rubbing the soap on his hands before the water stopped flowing from the tap. Frowning, Sammy tried opening and closing it, but quickly lost his patience and tried the other two. Nothing. Anger rapidly increasing, Sammy took a moment to count to ten, planning to calmly go to the bathroom in the floor above. But while he focused on counting, he failed to notice the rattling of the pipes in front of him. 5… 6… 7… 8… 9…  The sudden loud creaking finally caught his attention and alarms rang in his head when he saw all three sinks slightly shaking. He managed but one hasty step towards the door before the three taps were sent flying and three forceful water streams drenched him from head to toe. Sammy instinctively covered his face, desperately trying to maintain enough visibility to walk the short distance to the door. Unfortunately, with all the chaos he wasn’t able to notice the bar of soap that had landed on the floor, and thus couldn’t prevent stepping on it. He yelped when he felt himself tripping forward, barely being able to slam against the door with his shoulder rather than with his face.

A dull pain spread through his upper arm but nothing too serious. Sammy rubbed at it and stood up, his mind trying to process what had just happened. If he had had a moment to collect himself, rage and annoyance would have probably consumed him, but he heard something above the sound of the flowing water. Laughter. Really loud laughter. The door of the stall closest to the wall slowly swung open and hanging from the inside was the little devil himself. He obviously couldn’t hang there for much longer, shaking with laughter as he was, so he jumped to the only corner of the floor untouched by the water to continue from there.

“WOW, Sammy! I thought I had something great by breaking the sinks, but you made it even better with that soap bit!!!” he managed to say through his giggles. “You sure you don’t wanna be a toon? You’d make a great target for gags!”.

Sammy remained silent. He remained silent and looked at the mess around him, one of his eyes twitching. He remained silent because even if he was normally able to yell at Bendy for his pranks, he couldn’t believe the absolute stupidity of the whole situation. He remained silent because even if he would usually call the demon a little shit, he still had to remember he was a kid and at the moment he didn’t trust himself to not say something he could regret later. And the absolute least he needed that day was for Joey to visit him to berate him on his conduct. So he bit back the venom that threatened to escape from his mouth and limited himself to glaring at the demon as harshly as he could. Bendy’s laughter did wither under the look that Sammy was giving him (and the lack of an explosive reaction), but he kept a defiant attitude by crossing his arms and returning the stare with a smile. This only further irritated the music director, so he turned around to open the door, not wanting to see the smug brat’s little face anymore. He wasn’t used to repressing his anger, and since he was absolutely furious, he needed an outlet fast. Except… the doorknob wasn’t working. In fact, it felt pretty loose, probably detached from whatever internal mechanism was inside the door. He struggled with it, as if he could force it to work just by violently moving it, but he ended loosening it it to the point it came off. Sammy glared at it for a second before flinging it against the wall. He heard snorting behind him.

“What?” came Bendy’s voice. “Can’t even open a dooooor, Sammy?”

He then started blabbering about how Sammy needed to start lifting weights and eating more vitamins. Sammy sighed in frustration and turned towards Bendy to yell at him to undo whatever he did to the door so he could go tell Joey to ground the demon for the rest of eternity. He froze, however, when he saw the floor of the room. The flow of the water had considerably diminished, but it was still consistently adding more liquid to the floorboards. The growing puddle was silently creeping in Bendy’s direction, but the demon couldn’t be bothered to notice. For a split second, he toyed with the idea of just watching him notice and freak out about his crucial mistake. But a pang of guilt immediately hit him, knowing well that it would be the equivalent of letting a fire get close to a human. He was furious, but not even he was that cruel. Sighing, he sacrificed the one spot on his clothes that had been spared from the water attack to dry his hands. He crossed the distance between them, tuning out Bendy’s incessant rambling, and lift him up before the puddle could reach his shoes. Three seconds later, there wasn’t a dry spot on the floor.

“Hey!” Bendy exclaimed. “Put me down!! I don’t like bein’ carried around, ya hear me?! Let go!”

He then proceeded to poke Sammy’s head with his tail and trying to wiggle out of his hold. Sammy tightened his grip, afraid he might actually drop him and then held the demon to arms length in a way that wouldn’t allow Bendy enough movement to bite him (which he was known for).

“Okay, you little brat. You are going to look down for a single second and then I dare you to say that again to my face,” Sammy deadpanned.

“What, you think I wouldn’t?” Bendy crossed his arms. “Fine! I’ll look down and then I’ll tell you to your face to put me- Oh...”

“‘Oh’ is right.” Sammy glared at him as he stopped struggling to fall to his demise. “Now, if you could stop throwing a tantrum and fix the freaking door so we both can get the hell out of here, that would be great, wouldn’t it?”

“What?! I didn’t do anything to the door!!!”

“Oh, yeah? Then why won’t it open? Can you really not stop playing dumb even when you turned the floor into something you can’t so much as touch without melting?!” Sammy made him face the door, hoping that he would pull out a tool or something that would let them get out,

“Ugh! I told ya, I didn’t break the door! You’re the one that slammed his ugly face against it! Maybe that’s why it broke, huh?”

Bendy stuck his tounge at him and looked away with a huff.

“So what? We’re just trapped here now?!” Sammy looked at the demon incredulously. “Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Well, congratulations! I bet Joey will give you a trophy!”

Bendy scowled at him, but quickly looked away under Sammy’s scolding stare and resigned himself to pout in silence. This was doing nothing for Sammy’s mood. Now there was no way he wasn’t going to fall behind in his work. Besides, the water was already up to his ankles and the cold from being soaked was starting to get to him. His arms were also getting tired.

“Why am I even carrying you still?” he said more to himself. The little guy didn’t really deserved the effort after landing them in the situation they were in. He walked towards the stalls, hoping that he could set him down.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Bendy asked once he felt they were moving.

“I’m getting tired so I decided you are going to stand on one of the toilets,” he said matter of factly.

“WHAT? But… but toilets are filled with water!”

If Sammy didn’t fear he would drop him he would have smacked his own forehead with his hand.

“I’m not putting you inside the toilet, you moron! You’re gonna stand on top of the lid.”

“Ew! No way! Joey told me what goes in there and I’m NOT touching those things.” Bendy scrunched his face up in disgust and clung to Sammy’s hands, refusing to be put down. “And the water is rising so fast! What if it reached me if I was standing there? Oh no! What if it goes all the way up to the roof? What if nobody saves us?!”

Sammy rolled his eyes at the toon’s exaggeration. This wasn’t a worrying predicament, only an infuriatingly annoying one. At this point, he would even accept if Joey offered to teleport them out of there.

“Calm down, we are not going to drown,” Sammy told him. “The door isn’t fused to the floor. There’s gotta be some water leaking, and the moment somebody notices they’re going to-”

“WHAT THE HELL?”

Wally’s voice reached them right on cue. Bendy’s face lit up in an instant.

“Wally! Wally, we’re trapped! You gotta save us!” He yelled.

“Bendy? What-? How-? Oh, shoot! Are you ok? You aren’t like… half melted or something right?” Wally’s voice became a bit panicked with the possible implications of what he could find on the other side of the door. They could hear him frantically turning the useless knob.

“Thanks for the mental image, Franks…”

“Wait… Sammy?! How many people are in there?!”

“Oh no, just the two of us!” Bendy exclaimed happily, as if he hadn’t been freaking out just a few moments prior. “I’m using him as my personal island!”

“Uh, yeah, you keep doing that buddy…” Wally said. “How did this even happen?”

“Sammy broke the door!” Bendy immediately answered.

“Excuse me?! You’re the genius that thought exploding the sinks was a good idea!”

“He WHAT?” Sammy could tell by the distress in Wally’s voice that he knew who would have to deal with the mess. He would have found it amusing if his shoes weren’t completely submerged.

“Franks, my clothes are soaked and I am locked in here with a three foot tall nightmare incarnated. How about you get us out, and then you play detective?”

Sammy didn’t doubt the silence that followed was Wally trying to come up with a good comeback to not just accept an order from the music director, but in the end he had to acept this wasn’t a good time for that.

“Fine, fine,” he finally said. “You might want to step away from the door! I’ll get you out in a second!”

The door creaked when Wally pushed forcefully against it, but with no results, A groan of frustration was heard before repeated pounding against the wood, which the trapped pair could only guess was Wally either tackling the door or trying to kick it down. Bendy started cheering him on. After the fifth hit, one of the rusty screws of the upper hinge was sent flying while the other hinge got crooked and Sammy swore one of its sides got lodged into the wood frame. From that point on, nothing else even budged.

“... Maybe I won’t get you out in a second…”

“Wow, it’s almost like it’s important to do your job maintaining the building, huh?” Sammy said bitterly.

“Agh, shut up. Look, there’s an axe somewhere in the studio. Joey told me where it was, but I uh, kinda forgot where it is… I gotta go ask him.” Silence. ”Dammit. He’s not going to like this…”

“I would prefer it if you cut the water first. It’s almost up to my knees already.”

“Uh, right, right. First things first, and all that.”

“Hurry up, Wally! I don’t think Sammy has the strength to carry me for much longer!” Bendy called.

“Wha-? You little-!”

“Try not to shove Bendy into the water while I’m gone Sammy!”

Wally’s voice faded along with his hurried steps. Sammy’s shoulders sagged. Great. More waiting. He guessed he could try doing something productive. Maybe see if he could loosen the hinges. Oh wait! He couldn’t. He was carrying some dead weight. And as much as he hated to admit it, said dead weight was indeed putting a strain on his arms. He let himself lower them just a bit to get his blood circulating better, hoping that the demon wouldn’t notice. With his luck that week, of course he did.

“Uh, you did hear what Wally just told ya, right?” Bendy said glancing down and lifting his feet.

“Oh, sorry! It must be that I’m not strong enough to carry you. I could just drop you any minute now.”

Bendy pouted up at him. Sammy retaliated with a glare, but found that just looking at the demon reminded him of the terrible week he had had. He decided that he had enough of the staring contest soon after and looked around for, well, literally anything else he could do. He spotted the towel that was placed for people to dry their hands, which had miraculously been spared of the shower, and he got an idea for a solution for the tiredness of his arms. He crossed the room towards it and held Bendy in front of it.

“Grab it.”

“Huh?” Bendy gave him a confused look.

“Grab the towel.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Sammy lifted Bendy up so that they were looking eye to eye. “I despise carrying you as much as you despise being carried. So you are gonna take that towel, put it on my shoulder and sit there until we get out of here.”

“Why don’t you grab the towel if it’s your idea?” Bendy’s cocky demeanor started chipping away at Sammy’s last bit of patience, and he was desperately trying to remind himself he was supposed to be the adult. “Why do I gotta do all the work here, huh? How lazy of you! Are you sure you’re fit to be the director of anything?”

“Ok, that’s ENOUGH! Why are you being such a prick?! This whole situation was YOUR fault! Least you could do is cooperate with something as easy as this!”

Bendy flinched at the louder tone of voice, but he wasn’t deterred.

“‘Why are you being such a prick?’” he imitated in a high pitched voice, using his hand to simulate a mouth. However, he did grab the towel and threw it on Sammy’s shoulder, hitting him on the face (not so accidentally) during the fact. Making sure it was placed well enough that his wet shirt wouldn’t come in contact with the little toon, Sammy let him climb on his shoulder and he finally could put his darned arms down. His relief was short lived, though. Now he had a whining demon right besides his ear.

“That’s it,” he said not even paying attention to whatever Bendy was saying. “I’m quitting the moment we get out of this stupid bathroom…”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should,” Bendy suddenly muttered with a scowl. If he hadn’t been so close, Sammy may not have heard it. “That way you wouldn’t break Boris’ stuff.”

Sammy startled so forcefully he had to quickly hold Bendy in place so he wouldn’t fall.

“Break Boris’- What are you even talking about?” he asked frowning.

“Oh, just admit it!” Bendy turned so he was sitting sideways and could look at Sammy better, He poked his face in an accusing manner. “You broke Boris’ favorite banjo! You know how long he had been practicing a new song to show Joey? Like a month! You even know how long a month is? He had even prepared a mini stage in our apartment, and I was gonna do an opening act and Alice was going to be there too!” Bendy threw his arms in the air as if he could convey the grandiosity of their planned little show by waving them around. “It was going to be great, but then you went and ruined our good time! Boris has been so bummed out since Tuesday he won’t even play with me!”

Sammy was taken aback. Not only could he already feel the headache coming from all the yelling in his ear, but he also realized a very important thing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is that really why you have been insufferable all week? Because you think I’m the one who did that?”

“I know you did it! Joey said you are the one responsible of all music stuff, so obviously it had to be your fault! If you are innocent, why don’t ya prove it, huh? Oh right, because you can’t! You’re guilty!”

Sammy gave a big sigh, wondering if he was about to waste his breath.

“Tuesday? You mean this tuesday? The same tuesday I had to leave early?” He narrowed his eyes at Bendy and saw the devil’s confidence falter. “You know what happens on tuesdays? There’s a weekly maintenance of all the instruments. You know what else happens on tuesdays? The imbeciles that conduct those checkups often stay and organize a mini ‘act like an idiot’ party after the oh so hard work that task represents for them, even when repeatedly told not to. So more than likely, it was one of them that broke that banjo, and more than likely, if I find out who did it and made these days hell for me because of it, I’m gonna move heaven and earth to make Joey fire them! So there! I hope you are proud, because not only did you waste my time making me clean after your little ‘revenge pranks’ for hours and then make me lose hours of sleep to catch up on work, you also wasted your own time doing something completely worthless. I don’t think you even wanted to put the effort to find out who it was. I bet you just wanted it to be me, because for some goddamn reason you just want to make me quit. So congratulations! You might have just succeeded this time!”

Sammy took a deep breath once his rant was over and noticed at last how Bendy had gone really quite. He wasn’t looking at him and had his head hung low.

“So you really didn’t do it?” came Bendy’s meager question.

Sammy didn’t even dignify that with the obvious response. Instead, he focused on how the water flow from the sinks weakened until stopping altogether, Took Franks long enough. The silence that followed was tense, but Sammy greatly preferred it to having to deal with more tantrums from the toon on his shoulder. Sighing, he moved to the center of the room and settled for impatiently staring impatiently at the door. A chill went up Sammy’s spine, and he cursed his body’s inability to maintain a decent temperature. He would normally find it annoying, but with all that had happened and his head starting to pound, he had ran out of steam. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in place, his feet already feeling numb in his shoes. If he got sick and Joey didn’t give him some kind of compensation, he would make sure he never heard the end of it. Fortunately, he wasn’t needed the next day. Well, he was always needed since his department was filled with idiots, but they could usually handle by themselves whatever there was to do on the weekends, so he’d be able to rest until monday.

“Soooo,” Bendy’s voice broke the silence. It had been nice while it lasted. “Whatcha, uh, whatcha thinking about, Sammy?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering whether it’s worth it to write a formal resignation letter or just use the honey on my desk to paste a piece of paper that says ‘I quit’ to Joey’s office door.”

“O-oh…”

Bendy fidgeted in his place, refusing to look at him.

“W-well. You can’t do none of those!”

Sammy raised an eyebrow.

“Really now? And whose stopping me? Because it’s certainly not you.

“Because, uh, because…” Bendy frowned in concentration, before he snapped his fingers. “Because Boris would miss ya! Yeah! You wouldn’t make Boris sad on purpose, would ya?

Wait. Did Bendy actually think he was going to quit? Sammy threatened to quit almost daily. One would think that Bendy would know better. Nonetheless, Sammy decided to play along.

“Boris would miss anyone that worked here even if they had never talked with him. Maybe if I quit the experience will help him to get over it if it happens again, huh?”

Sammy was aware that sounded harsher than he meant it. Boris was one of the few people in the studio that he didn’t feel like yelling at all the time. But he couldn’t help but smirk when his answer had the desired effect. Bendy was trying to come up with another reason of why he shouldn’t quit. Was it immature of him? Absolutely! But he was standing in a flooded bathroom, clothes soaked, a literal little demon on his shoulder and no cigarettes at all. He figured he deserved to have some petty revenge.

“Uh, A-alice, then! Don’t you think it would be bad luck to upset an angel?”

“I already have to deal with a demon on a daily basis. I don’t think I have the luck of any angels on my side. Besides, I think it would only actually affect her if it was Susie who quit instead of me.”

“Wait, that’s it!” Bendy’s tail briefly formed the outline of a lightbulb. “Susie! You can’t leave her here all alone! That would make you the worst boyfriend in the world!”

Sammy huffed.

“We only spend time together on our break time, which we can still do even if I worked elsewhere.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, she also does some extra work in some other places. Maybe she can recommend me to a boss that doesn’t practice black magic as a hobby.”

“Shoot,” Bendy said under his breath. “But- But you can’t leave because you are already Joey’s favorite director! What if you are not the favorite of your new boss, huh? Maybe he’ll hate you!”

“Oh? So I’m Joey’s favorite now?” Sammy asked in an intentionally bored but fake tone, crossing his arms.

“Yeah! He said that, ah, that you were the best music director in the history of forever! That you were better than Boteevan!”

“Beethoven.”

“That guy! And he said that, um, that he was considering giving you a raise! It’ll be such a raise that you will be on the top floor of the studio!”

Sammy… wasn’t sure Bendy understood what a raise was. But he shook it off.

“So, those were Joey’s exact words?”

Bendy nodded enthusiastically, his usual smile a bit strained and his cartoony eyes unable to hide the alarm he was feeling.

“So, if I were to go to Joey and ask him about it, he would tell me the exact same thing?”

Silence.

“...Yes… Maybe…”

Ok, Sammy had had his fun. Now Bendy’s nervousness and guilt about ‘causing’ him to quit was starting to become too obvious and the hand that he was using to keep himself stable was latching a bit too hard to Sammy’s shoulder. He didn’t want to cause the kid a meltdown (which got a very literal meaning with the toons when they were stressed). He was about to give in and tell him the truth when a loud cracking noise caught their attention. They both slowly looked at the door.

“What was that?” Bendy asked warily.

“I don’t know, but it sure didn’t sound like an axe to me.”

Sammy backed away slowly from the door until his back touched the wall opposite to it. They flinched when they heard the sound again, and a crack cut right through the middle of the door. Then again, and splinters were sent flying everywhere. Once more, and the door was split in two. Sammy instinctively grabbed Bendy to shield him from the raining debris that exploded as a result. All the remaining water gushed out into the hallway, but Sammy didn’t take notice, nor did Bendy. There was something far more important that had just appeared. Right in front of the destroyed door was an enormous mass of ink, so tall and wide that it wouldn’t have been able to fit through the doorway if it tried. It vaguely resembled the top half of a human, it’s hunched torso being its support on the floor. Hollowed eyes looked at them with a dead stare. Sammy didn’t even dare to breathe.

“What are you doing standing there? Move aside!” Joey’s order returned them to reality.

The ink monster immediately obeyed, granting the space needed for a very panicked looking Joey to run into the bathroom. His glasses were crooked on his face, he was breathing hard and he was clutching a book with such force that his hands were shaking. The instant he spotted Bendy in Sammy’s hands, his face flooded with relief. On Sammy’s part, he couldn’t take his eyes off the monstruosity that had just appeared before him, so still petrified in his place, he could only ask:

“What the hell is that?!”

“Oh, well Wally said the door was stuck, so I figured we would need a little help.” Joey answered, waving his hand dismisively. “More importantly, Bendy are you ok?!”

Sammy, realizing he was still holding Bendy as far away from the door as possible, cleared his throat and shoved him into Joey’s arms. He didn’t stay to see Joey smothering Bendy in a hug and checking him for any damage. Instead he headed towards his sweet freedom, giant monster outside or not. He still practically hugged the wall to not come close to that thing, though. He got out just in time to see Wally Franks arrive running and lean against the wall to catch his breath, muttering something about Joey being fast for his age. Sammy didn’t spare him a second before pointing to the ink creature and giving him an incredulous look.

“What about that looks like an axe to you, Franks?!” His voice was just a tad more high pitched than he would have liked, but he ignored it for the time being. Wally looked at him to respond, but couldn’t stop himself from snorting.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were drenched!”

Sammy’s death glare shut him up.

“R-right, uh, so I told Joey what happened and I thought he was going to yell at me and then tell me where the axe was, but he just got all pale and then he grabbed that book and started running while yelling some weird crap on another language. Next thing you know, big guy over there is growing out of the ground and following him down the stairs! It was crazy!” Wally scratched his head. “Umm, I also think someone fainted when it passed in front of them…”

Sammy let out a sigh and rubbed at his head. The pain that had been receding was now returning tenfold.

“Sammy!” Joey called out to him while he, too, exited the bathroom. “I’m glad everyone’s ok, of course, but I would like to know… how did that happen?” He pointed at the destroyed sinks.

Nope. He was NOT dealing with that right now.

“Oh, I’m sure little prankster there will tell you what he did with plenty of detail. I’m going home early.”

He glared at Joey, daring him to protest. But just looking at the state he was in, his boss nodded.

“Of course, you need to go get some dry clothes. And I’m guessing I won’t see you tomorrow?”

“You guess correctly,” Sammy said as he walked past his boss, not taking his eyes off the ink beast, just in case.

“See you on monday?”

At that Sammy stopped. That had been Bendy asking. He turned around to look at the demon in Joey’s arms, who was looking up at him with pleading eyes. Sammy remained silent for a moment. He guessed he could just ignore him, but he had punished him enough already.

“Yeah, yeah. See you on monday. Unfortunately.”

At that, Bendy visibly relaxed. Sammy rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Monday arrived way faster than Sammy would have liked, but then again, that was nothing new. What was new, however, was that he found his office exceptionally clean. He hadn’t bothered tidying things up before he left on friday, but now the honey was gone from his desk, and there didn’t seem to be a paper out of place or a speck of dust on any surface. A report of what had been done on saturday and a list of future tasks was already waiting for him, too.

But what caught his attention the most was a colorful piece of paper sitting on the middle of his desk. It was a drawing. It depicted him conducting a band, with random musical notes (some of which weren’t even real notes) forming an arch above his head. He stared at it for a long while,slowly processing the fact that this was most likely some sort of apology. He shook his head. He couldn’t waste more time on this. He had work to do. Sammy was going to just put it away into a random drawer, but looking at it again, he changed his mind. He put it in the upper right drawer instead.

#ask-joeydrewstudios #my art #my bendy art #my fanfics #my bendy fanfics #bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence