#the tutor who didn’t have the expertise to help said it was because she wasn’t an expert on sexuality let alone asexuality

[aziraphaleandcrowley]

I’ve now had two tutors decline to supervise the research I’m proposing for my masters degree, and with it my hopes of actually going uni this year are dwindling...

#one tutor was too busy #one didn’t feel they had enough expertise in my research area to feel she could help #both are fair enough #I just really wanna do this research and am running out of people to contact :( #pls let this third tutor finally get back to me with good news #else I think I’m gonna have to look at a different uni #and I only chose that one cos I’m pretty sure it was the only one offering what I wanted.... #the tutor who didn’t have the expertise to help said it was because she wasn’t an expert on sexuality let alone asexuality #but there’s like 5 academics in the entire world who I’d say are experts in asexuality from a humanities perspective rather than a science/ #pathological perspective #sigh #pls let the third tutor wanna get on board and reply ASAP cos I don’t know what I’m gonna do otherwise...:( #the tutor like the idea of my research at least which gives me some hope but not enough hope... #rebecca speaks

[iwadori]

Haikyu boys when they make you insecure PT 1 (Kenma,Kuroo)

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.

Word Count:3k 

genre: angst, fluff

masterlist

Kenma:

You and Kenma have been in a long distance relationship for a while.

Both of you stream, Kenma doing it seriously for his job and you just playing it for fun,

Sometimes you stream together of course but because of your difference in audiences and games you don’t do it all the time

“Bye guys! Hope you enjoyed todays stream” You wave off to the camera and shut off your PC taking a few sips of water.

Kenma: Hey.. nice stream today Y/N are you going to watch mine?

Y/N: Of course I will 

Kenma: Ok talk to you later

Y/N: okayy <3

Kenma is what inspired you to stream, he also taught you all the ins and outs of streaming making sure you were set and ready. Your gaming style was very relaxed and friendly as you obviously weren’t streaming as a career just for fun and to make friends with your online viewers. The games you played were usually: minecraft, COD, Sims 4, Roblox, Animal crossing and *Insert your favourite game here* the way I literally named all the games I play 

You wait for Kenmas stream to start, kind of excited as you’ve always loved seeing your boyfriend in his ‘element’ when it comes to playing to games. As your boyfriends stream starts you see he’s already chosen what game he is playing today which is to your surprise Call of duty, since that was the game you were playing earlier.

As he gets into the stream you are entertained, as always since Kenma was being his usual self laughing at his own deadpan jokes and interacting with his viewers. He is currently waiting for his capture the flag game to start so as he waits he decides to read some comments in the chat.

You’re used to the usual ‘Kenma where is Y/N I miss your usual streams together’ or ‘kenma please RAIL me’ which always makes you laugh. You were also used to the common hate comments Kenma and You both got on your streams but you were definitely not ready for this..

@ Ihatewomanandiamadick : Hey Kenma did you see your girls stream today she is so dog shit at COD lmaoooo jhdfkjdrhdrr

“Well hello ihatewomenandiamadick” started Kenma “but yes I did see Y/N stream and obviously she is not the best at games and I would definitely NOT ask her to team with me for any serious gaming competitions ... but she’s fun to watch I guess” as he finished speaking about you his game loaded up so he focused his attention on that the words he just spoke going to the back of his mind as they end up at the forefront of yours.

You obviously knew you were no match for Kenma’s gaming expertise but you didn’t expect him to publicly agree with a hate comment let alone add more of his imput on you. Did he really think that about you? ‘She’s fun to watch I guess’ did he not even enjoy your streams that much?

You wanted to distract yourself, and you definitely couldn’t do that watching him so you close off of his stream and get in your bed deciding to watch your favourite show. 

Waking up at 6pm after your sad nap, you see that Kenma has left some messages to you,

Kenma: hey did you watch my stream?

Kenma: do you want to facetime later and play some minecraft..?

Kenma: y/n r u ok??

Y/N: oh hey cnt play minecraft w you rn not really in the mood..

Kenma: oh ok..

Time passed since then a month to be exact and you basically dropped off of the face of the earth, you weren’t in the mood to do anything let alone game and stream, which was a constant reminder of your boyfriend (something you didn’t want at the time.) 

You felt embarrassed over all the things he said about you and all the things you now think he thinks about you and the way you play. Maybe he thinks even worse things about you, beyond just how you game? What if he doesn’t even genuinely like you...or he has someone else...it does make sense, you do both live miles and miles away from eachother AND he’s a big streamer you see the amount of girls in his comments.

You shake your head to erase your protruding thoughts coming in your mind, but it doesn’t really help. You and Kenma haven’t spoken much over this month he tried to constantly reach out to you at first but you assume he got bored over your constant, repetitive dry texts. So you were almost content with you and Kenma not even being in a relationship anymore.

However on Kenma’s side, he was beyond worried about you. Since you haven’t been streaming or barely responded to his texts he thought something happened to you, but he didn’t want to be seen as ‘overstepping boundaries’ if there was nothing wrong at all with you and you simply were just ‘not in the mood.’ 

So here he is, in Kuroo’s apartment trying to get him to help him out on finding out what is wrong with you.

“So kenma can you remember what happened the day when Y/N went ‘ghost’“ asked Kuroo in a mock detective voice

“Y/N didn’t go ‘ghost’ Kuro, and take this seriously” said Kenma “I’m worried bout her”

“Okay fine, but for real what’s the last thing you remember before she started acting all weird.” 

“Umm I think it was around a month ago I did my saturday stream and I think she was on it but she didn’t leave her usual nice comments throughout”

“Ohh that was the stream when you sai-” Kuroo said before pausing his words as the memory of what Kenma said about you on his stream came in his mind, as even Kuroo thought it was a tad bit harsh for Kenma to say all those things “I think I know why Y/N has been so distant kiddo”

“What why?” Asked Kenma

Kuroo pulls out his phone and brings up the clip off what Kenma said and Kenma’s face cringes ‘did he really say all those things about you’ he thinks. 

“Shit.. I didn’t know I said all of that” he said quietly “how do I make it up to her?”

“There’s only one thing you can really do Kenma” said kuroo

You are woken up out of your sleep by a knock on the door. Getting out your bed like a zombie, you trudge to your front door only surprised by what you see. There in his 5′6 glory stood your ‘boyfriend’ Kenma with a controller and a kitten teddy in his hand. You were very tempted to shut the door in his face and get back to your dreamless sleep but you waited on him to speak.

“Hi Y/N” he said quietly “wanna play some minecraft...?”

“Why so you can ridicule me on how shit I am?” You ask bitterly ready to shut the door on him

“No! No not all” he said stopping you from shutting the door entering your place “Y/N i’m really sorry on what I said, I wasn’t thinking AT ALL... I love watching your streams and I think you’re great at playing games...I was just being a dick,”

You take a deep breath before tears pool in your eyes “what you said really hurt me kenma..” you say “ I know people say shitty things on the internet all the time... it’s the internet. But I wasn’t expecting you to agree with the hater and say even more shitty things on top of that.. I don’t think I want to even stream anymore”

Upon hearing that, Kenma’s mouth parts open with shock ‘you dont want to stream anymore’ were his comments that bad? Now he feel even worse as he should and is now more determined to make things right. 

He impulsively drags your arm into your game room, catching your surprise ‘what is he up too?’ you think. He stops for a second seeing your usual pristine gaming set up, collected up with dust. 

“What are you do-” you start 

“Just wait!” He says, as he rushes away turning on all your stuff and logging onto his twitch account as he sees the views go up he starts to speak

 “Hi guys, its me kodzuken and today I’m here on stream with my beautiful girlfriend and today I want to say..” he turns to you “Y/N im so sorry for the horrible things I said to you that day... I was just being a dick and I’m sorry I really am.”

You look at the chat and you see some confusion and some people recalling his words from last month. “It’s fine Kenma, I forgive you” you say giving him a hug”

“Okay Y/N, so what do you say... wanna beat my ass at bed wars?” He says with a smirk 

“When have I ever loss?” you return his smirk

Of course you did beat his ass as bed wars for rounds on rounds never losing proving yourself to actually be a good gamer girl. You enjoyed your time with Kenma, forgetting what he said before about you and moving on. 

Eventually, you guys moved in together and streamed together all the time and yes you still do play for fun but you’ve gotten way better at COD (some may say better then Kenma) but who is better didn’t matter to any of you, as long as you got to play together that’s all you both cared about.

Kuroo:

Kuroo and you have been together since you were in your first year of high school 

You met as friends first when you got him to tutor you in chemistry ( a subject you still aren’t that good at.)

Now you have your upcoming entrance exams for university in a month so your school has you doing mock exams in preparation for them.

20%

You look down at your chemistry paper that your teacher just handed you. 20%. You’re surprised, very surprised since out of all your subjects (that you go 90+% on) you studied on the chemistry test the hardest ensuring Testurou, that you didn’t need his help at all. But I guess it turns out, you did.

This failing mock grade put a blunder on your day, you didn’t interact with anyone and didn’t want to see your boyfriend so you skipped your usual routine of meeting him on the rooftop and went to the library instead ‘might aswell start early on your studying’ you thought.

As you were going over your chemistry topics, you hear an ‘ahem’ next to you and you turn your head only to find your boyfriend and his friends next to you. Kuroo with his usual goofy smile on his face. 

“Hey kitten where were you at lunch?” he asked 

“Needed to go to the library, Chemistry is kicking my ass” you mumbled 

“Oya” he said as he noticed your chemistry test laying under your textbook “20%, well damn Y/N I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t know you were that stupid” he laughed doing his stupid usual hyena-like laugh.

Ouch well that hurt. You slightly flinched at his words, “Really your name, you didn’t know the molecular formula for ethanol, that’s first year work” he said continuing to laugh “I’m pretty sure that’s one of the first things I tutored you on when we first met” 

His overbearing laughter was not good for you, you were already having a bad day and yes you do know your not that good at chemistry but you didn’t need your chemistry-enthusiast boyfriend to make fun of you for failing. Kenma and Yaku stood there awkwardly obviously aware of how bad Kuroo is making you feel but they didn’t really know how to stop his friend in the moment.Whilst he’s still dying of laughter you decide to pack up your stuff and leave the library.

You managed to get your Chemistry tutor to let you retake your mock paper in a week so that means, extra hard studying with no distractions you definitely can’t fail again. Since studying on your own was definitely not a good option, and you couldn’t go to Kuroo (especially after he ridiculed you) you decided to ask the second smartest person you know to tutor you.

Y/N: Hey Yaku! Can I ask you a favour?

Yaku: Hi Y/N what do you need??

Y/N: I have my chemistry retake next week, and as you know from your loud-loud friend I failed my recent test so can you tutor me?? 

Y/N: Pleaseeee

Yaku: Ok Y/N why can’t you ask Kuroo you know that he’d be more than happy to help

Y/N: Yakuu pleasee just help me out 

So there you was, nearly a week done with your study sessions with Yaku and you’re feeling way more confident than before. 

“Y/N what is the functional group of a Carboxylic Acid” Yaku asked

“umm... COO?” 

“Great! that’s correct Y/N” he praises i dont actually know if it’s correct or not

You then hear a knock at Yaku’s front door and hear his mum let the person in, Kuroo then enters Yaku’s bedroom with shock plastered on his face surprised to see you here.

“Y/N...hey?” he says confused “what are you doing here?”

“Oh Mori-chan is just helping me with chemistry for my retake tommorow” you say nochalantly internally smiling at the twinge in Kuroo’s face at the purposeful use of Yaku’s first name.

“So why didn’t you ask me to help you know I’m a chemistry whiz” he asks

“Maybe I’m too stupid to be taught under your tutelage” you mumble “since I seem to forget whatever you teach me, even when it’s 3 years ago... but ok”

“Y/N I-” he starts 

“Oh save it Kuroo, I have studying to do” you say cutting him off

“But I-” he tries

“So Mori-chan COOH is the function group of ethyl ethonate right?” you ask ignoring your boyfriend who is now at a lost for words

“ummm yeah it is” says yaku who is clearly feeling heavily awkward at the tension in his bedroom.

Kuroo leaves and you and yaku finish off the studying for the night, you did feel a little bad for being a bit mean to Kuroo but it’s karma for him being a dick to you. 

You wake up the next day ready for your exam which was first thing in the morning, before you hand in your phone you see a message from Kuroo,

Kuroo: I know you’re still mad at me, but I think you’re going to do so well on this test. You’re not stupid at all, you’re really smart and I love you < 3 

Kuroo: Good luck Y/N

You don’t respond to the message but smile at the sincerity of it and thankful for the boost of confidence it gave you before you start your exam.

Finishing the exam with a smile, you were confident you did well as everything you and Yaku went over was on the paper and you’re almost certain you atleast got more than 75%. You have to wait an hour before your teacher can give you your results, so in the meantime you might aswell reconcile with Kuroo.

When you exit the classroom, standing there was Kuroo who seemed to have been waiting for you for the whole duration of the exam.

“So how was it?” Kuroo asked, apprenhensive as he assumed you would just ignore him like you did at Yaku’s house.

“It was fine, I think it went alright..” you say

“Kuroo”

“Y/N”

You say simultaneously, he pauses for a second to let you speak “I’m sorry I was being so stand offish when we were at Yaku’s I just wanted you to see I could do it on my own, and when you called me stupid I really took that to heart since you and I both know that Chemistry wasn’t ever my best subject” 

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, and since it was only a practice test I didn’t think you’d take it to heart but I am sorry I know you aren’t stupid.”

Before you got to say anything else, your Chemistry teacher exited the room with your chemistry paper in hand. Kuroo grabbed your hand anticipating your nerves and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Miss L/N” said your teacher “Well done on your chemistry test” he turned your test around to sure a perfect 100%. Both you and Kuroo gasped, you were elated to say the least you wanted to jump up and down in excitement but a PERFECT 100%.

“I’d also like to add that you have now got the top chemistry score in the school beating the previous title holder Kuroo Testurou” said your teacher, this made Kuroo open his mouth even wider in surprise nearly making you giggle at his response. 

Your teacher took his leave, leaving you and Kuroo in the hallway “ I guess i’m the chemistry whizz now “ you say wiggling your eyebrows just as Kuroo did to you before at Yaku’s this made him chuckle as he came to put his arm around you.

“Y/N don’t get ahead of yourself now, you may have won this battle but I will win the war” he said smiling

In the final exam, you continue your winning streak also getting a near 100% and still beating Kuroo which didn’t matter to either of you, now you’re just like him cracking chemistry puns and jokes all the time which none of your friends appreciated but atleast Kuroo found them SODIUM funny.

AN: Please kill me for the last line of Kuroos, I didn’t really like Kuroo’s since it was a bit self indulgent with my hate for chemistry but what do you guys think?

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyuu fluff #haikyu scenarios #haikyu headcanons #kenma angst #kenma fluff #kenma x you #kozume kenma #kenma scenario #kenma headcanons #kuroo x reader #kuroo imagine #kuroo scenarios #kuroo fluff #kuroo angst #kuroo tetsuro x reader #signedwithanE😌

[robininthelabyrinth]

Wen Ruohan/Wei Wuxian?🍉

Forked Path - ao3

“You did me a favor, and I intend to repay that,” Wen Ruohan said, adjusting one of his gauntlets in irritation – more at the fact that he was sinking back into that old nervous tic, a tell that he’d thought he’d eliminated years ago than at the actual request, ridiculous as it was. “But to confirm, you’re certain that this is what you want? It’s not in my nature to stop midway, so if you have any hesitations, exercise them now or not at all.”

The two rogue cultivators looked at each other and after a few moments of clear silent communication and struggle, they looked back at him and nodded. The man did so reluctantly - Wen Ruohan looked at his wife, the immortal mountain’s disciple, and her nod was far more firm.

“Very well,” he said, lips twisting in distaste. He hated owing people favors, especially when they rejected his preferred counter-offer to graciously allow them to work for his sect, but he wasn’t yet so ungracious that he wouldn’t live up to something he had to do. “We are therefore agreed: in the event both of you die prematurely, I will take your son into my sect to be raised therein, rather than allow him to be raised alone outside or in the Jiang sect."

He paused, frowning. "To be clear, however, I am not going to raise him myself! He’ll be brought up among one of the branch families.”

Dafan Wen had some kids around the same age, didn’t they? That was pretty out of the way. With luck, he could avoid having to see the brat at all…and that was all assuming that these two died, of course. Still, based on their level of certainty and the association of the immortal mountain with divination, Wen Ruohan was going to assume a worst-case scenario was likely to occur.

“That’s fine,” the man said, his voice oddly sarcastic. “We don’t expect you to do more for us than you do for your own children.”

That pricked at Wen Ruohan’s pride, since he didn’t have a conscience to be affected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown. He had two sons of his own, and they were being raised perfectly well by his wives, as far as he knew. It wasn’t really his concern until they were old enough to actually start getting started in cultivation, swordsmanship, or even the scholarly arts, at which point he would naturally take over their education with the assistance of many able tutors – he was far too busy to waste time with them, squalling brats that they undoubtedly were, until then.

“Nothing,” the woman said, and she looked amused – he almost suspected she was amused at his expense. “After all, with hard work, even the sharpest sword can be ground down into a needle.”

That wasn’t how that idiom went at all, but Wen Ruohan was too lazy to correct her.

Later, though, after they’d left, her words kept pricking at him in the same matter as idiomatic needle – it occurred to him that he didn’t much like his wives, even though the connections they’d brought to his sect were exceedingly beneficial. It was said that where there was a father, there was a son, the two invariably resembling each other, and he’d assumed that that would be the case here…but on the other hand, if he left all the initial raising of his sons to those wives he didn’t like, wasn’t he risking them raising the children to be just like theminstead of him? Grinding down his sons’ edges, so to speak?

That would be utterly unacceptable.

He was so busy, though. Beyond his own cultivation, his sect now controlled over a third of the cultivation world, and he was ambitious to raise that to half, and then perhaps even further. How could he waste time on something as pointless as taking care of small children?

On the other hand, he supposed that in the long run he’d actually be saving time if he at least made sure they were raised up right. After all, he’d always assumed that his two sons would be his right and left hands, his able aides capable of enacting his will, and obviously it would be a disaster to find out later on that they’d been spoiled rotten or rendered stupid....

No, he was sure his arrangement was fine. How much damage could his wives do in just a few years?

…perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad an idea to check in on them.

Just to make sure.

He definitely wasn’t going to raise that stupid Wei boy, though. Favors had limits!

-

“Your accomplishments do you credit,” Wen Ruohan said to Wen Qing, and even meant it the way he didn’t mean most of the things he was forced to say at these stupid discussion conferences.

After all, Wen Qing was of his bloodline, if distantly – Dafan Wen was a branch family – but at any rate, they shared a surname, and it was sheer pleasure watching her put all those other ‘promising’ young masters in their place. Anything that added a sheen of glory to his sect was a good thing.

She saluted deeply, trying to hide the way she was beaming, and Wen Ruohan wondered once again if it was time to bring her back to the Nightless City as his ward instead of leaving her out in the wilderness with the rest of Dafan Wen. To get the sort of medical skills she had at her age showed promise and talent, and he needed people of promise and talent, especially ones with his surname, if he were going to make good on his intention to conquer the cultivation world.

He would’ve brought her back years ago, in fact, except that Sect Leader Nie said that children were fidgety, flighty creatures that were bad at dealing with change and that he’d be better off sending medical texts and tutors to Dafan Wen rather than bring Wen Qing back to the Nightless City over her father’s protests. Normally, Wen Ruohan would have disregarded advice he didn’t like and proceed with his own intentions regardless, but Sect Leader Nie had been helping him deal with his own sons ever since he’d reclaimed them from his wives, who he’d discovered had been ruining them, and it seemed unwise to dispute with him regarding matters of child-rearing at that point. After all, if he wanted Wen Xu to end up as even half the son that it looked like that Nie Mingjue was going to be, he needed the man’s expertise, and that meant making compromises, irritating as it was.

Compromises like not just killing Wen Qing’s father for refusing to hand over his children, despite it being easier to accomplish. Or not killing Sect Leader Nie himself, no matter how irritating the man was, because now his sons loved that old bastard.

(Wen Ruohan had spitefully decided to get back at Sect Leader Nie by spoiling his youngest son, who seemed at first glance to be more like the lazy scholarly type, beyond belief. It seemed to be working very well so far, including in causing Sect Leader Nie no end of frustration at his extremely clever-when-it-came-to-evading-work second son; Wen Ruohan, satisfied, viewed this result as being wholly due to his own efforts.)

“How did you find that talisman you mentioned in your last paper?” he asked Wen Qing lazily. “I hadn’t seen it before. Was it in one of the books I sent, or somewhere else?”

In truth, that had been the most interesting aspect of the presentation from his perspective – he didn’t have either talent or interest in medical cultivation, but he could recognize firepower when he saw it. Just because the talisman worked on disrupting things at a very small level for medical reasons didn’t mean it couldn’t be repurposed for larger things…

“Oh, no, Wei Wuxian invented it,” Wen Qing said. “He used it to blow stuff up until I convinced him to make a smaller version for me.”

“Wei Wuxian?” Wen Ruohan asked, frowning, and then recalled – ah, yes, the Wei boy. His parents had died some five or eight years back, if he recalled correctly, and he’d had to go fetch him pursuant to that old agreement; it had been extremely annoying at the time. He’d been in the middle of a very nasty argument with Sect Leader Nie at the time, the one that had led him to think his most serious thoughts to date of eliminating the man entirely, and then, just as he’d been on the cusp of making a decision, he’d received word of the deaths of Cangse Sanren and her husband Wei Changze.

Naturally, he needed to find and recover their son as he’d promised long ago, which given how unreliable reports of the location of rogue cultivators was naturally became a colossal waste of time, but on the bright side it had at least given him a chance to vent his spleen and get out some of his rage on something other than wringing Sect Leader Nie’s neck. It turned out that Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze had died in some obscure night hunt in Yiling, but figuring that out had all but taken a full-scale canvass of six different territories – and then Sect Leader Jiang, who hadn’t bothered to do anything near the same level of search and had opted to search the various towns individually on his own, as if that would ever work, had tried to leapfrog off the back of his hard work, thinking he could just thank him and take the boy away just like that.

Wen Ruohan had refused, of course – he had the parents’ personal request, and that outweighed Wei Changze having been a former servant of the Jiang sect or Cangse Sanren being possibly a former lover of their sect leader – and it had turned into something of a political mess for a while.

That had been where he’d gotten most of the venting out, actually.

Sect Leader Nie had sided with him in that fight, though, rather viciously, and by the end of it all Wen Ruohan was reminded of why exactly it was that the man was a useful ally to have around. He’d also forgotten what exactly they’d been fighting about, but he wasn’t going to admit that, so he just magnanimously forgave him. It had all turned out rather all right, and Wen Ruohan had put the boy out of his mind shortly thereafter.

Why would he come up now, all of a sudden?

No, wait, he’d sent him to Dafan Wen, just as he’d planned. And of course Wen Qing was from the main branch of Dafan Wen as well – she would’ve been raised with Wei Wuxian as a little brother.

“How is he doing?” he asked, more out of etiquette than actual interest, but Wen Qing lit up and started talking about how her little shidi was a verifiable genius, and so good with her actual younger brother, and whatnot. Wen Ruohan nodded, pretending he was listening, and cast his eyes around the rest of the discussion conference, looking for a distraction – there was Sect Leader Nie, who was generally good for a laugh, but he was scolding that second son of his for failing one of Lan Qiren’s classes and having to be sent a second time over. Jiang Fengmian was comforting him, telling him that he was sending his son as well this year, and of course Jin Guangshan’s heir was of age as well, and would undoubtedly be going, too…

Hmm.

“If he’s such a genius, he should interact more with his peers,” Wen Ruohan announced. “I’ll recommend him – and that brother of yours, I suppose – for the lecture series at the Cloud Recesses this summer.”

It wouldn’t do to be left, after all.

“You…you will? Really? That’s wonderful! Thank you for the opportunity, Sect Leader Wen! They’ll treasure it! How can we ever repay your kindness –”

“As long as they impress me with their talents,” Wen Ruohan said, already imagining Jiang Fengmian’s constipated expression at seeing his lover’s son that was stolen from his grasp wearing Wen sect colors and, in an ideal world, smearing his own son into the ground with his superlative skill. “That will be repayment enough.”

-

“You need to get laid,” Sect Leader Nie said, and Wen Ruohan was reminded again of why he despised the man and should have killed him years ago. Why hadn’t he done that again? “As a matter of cultivation.”

“You’re joking,” Wen Ruohan said, putting down his bowl of wine and staring at him in disbelief. He hadn’t expected the man to actually be serious. It was rare enough an event, but in fairness to him, he never joked about matters of cultivation. “How does one help the other?”

“It’ll help balance you out.” Sect Leader Nie thought about it. “Or at least let you get out some of that nervous energy that makes you a paranoid megalomaniacal little bitch about eighty percent of the time.”

That sounded a bit more in character.

“If dual cultivation could fix personality problems, Lao Nie, you’d be immortal.”

“Who says I’m not?” Sect Leader Nie asked, teeth bared in a smile. “Only time will tell. Haven’t I already outlived my father?”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. Sect Leader Nie had outlived his father because when he’d started in on a qi deviation like every other member of his blasted family, he, Wen Ruohan, had personally dived into the irritating bastard’s spiritual consciousness and dragged him back out again. It was very much not something that people were supposed to do, being more likely to cause qi deviations in the person doing the rescuing than resulting in an actual rescue, but he’d never cared what people were supposed to do and, really, it would be extremely annoying to have to do without him now that he’d invested all that time and effort and figured out how to get some real use out of him. Anyway, they both seemed to be fine and possibly they were also soul-bonded now - he wasn’t actually sure, Wen Qing always got a weird expression on her face whenever she talked about it, and he usually stopped listening at that point.

He didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t interfere with his plans, what did it mtter?

“Who exactly am I supposed to be dual cultivating with, exactly?” he asked dryly, deciding to address the matter head-on because that was the only way Sect Leader Nie understood things. “Don’t volunteer yourself again. I already told you that I refuse to indulge your ridiculous kink for dangerous people.”

Anymore, anyway.

Sect Leader Nie made a face at him, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. He might’ve fallen for that before the whole spiritual consciousness-soulbond business, but now he knew for sure that it was a kink, so – no.

Nothappening.

“You have a kink for things that increase your power, I don’t know why you’re being so judgy about my kink,” the other man grumbled. “And I don’t know, find someone – not another wife, you hate your wives, and anyway they’re much happier with their other lovers.”

“I didn’t pick them because I liked them,” Wen Ruohan pointed out. “I picked them because I wanted to absorb their sects and all the aligned sects associated with them. Which I did.”

“See, this is your problem! You married for power, rather than power, if you get my meaning –”

This was true. If any of his wives could cultivate worth a damn, maybe he’d care more about them. As it was, getting a son on each of them had been an exercise in willpower.

“ – and now you’re too busy pursuing power to fuck anyone else. You really need to get it out of your system. Find someone who can kill you.”

“No one can kill me,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m the closest thing the cultivation world has to a god. Everyone should bow down and worship me.”

Sect Leader Nie started muttering something about megalomania again, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. It wasn’t a qi deviation talking if it was true.

“I bet we could find someone who could kill you if we tried,” Sect Leader Nie finally said. “And if they’re powerful enough to kill you, they’re probably powerful enough for the dual cultivation to improve your own cultivation, which is all you care about…we should start a war, maybe.”

“A war? Against who? And why?”

Sect Leader Nie frowned thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “The Jin sect?” he suggested, probably because he’d never liked Jin Guangshan. “Or the Jiang sect? Or both, I guess, since they’re allied. They’re next on your take-over list, aren’t they?”

“You’re next on my take-over list,” Wen Ruohan said threateningly, except Sect Leader Nie only laughed at him. Which was fair, he supposed, that whole soul-bond thing made the whole conquering business somewhat unnecessary – Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were bound together now as thoroughly as if he’d married the man.

Which he hadn’t. And wouldn’t. No matter what stupid snarky comments Sect Leader Nie said about Wen Ruohan treating him as a de facto consort on account of not having devouring his sect whole.

(Which he wasn’t going to do either - his sons still loved the man, and by now they were as thick as thieves with the Nie boys. What was he supposed to do, disappoint them? It’d be the same as disappointing himself, and he wasn’t about to do that.)

“I suppose we could start a war against the Jin and Jiang,” he allowed. His plan had always called for battle eventually, since he knew there was a limit to how many sects he could absorb through political, marital, economic or other means. As long as the other Great Sects stood against him, he’d never be able to achieve total domination – plus, he’d have to continue to suffer through those awful discussion conferences with the boring lectures and the petty politics of it all. Why couldn’t they see that they’d allbe better off under his dominion? “I could send Wen Zhuliu –“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how you fight wars honorably, and also because I hate that man’s guts. I can’t believe you gave him your surname.”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes yet again. Such petty concerns were beneath him. “If we launch a surprise attack using him assassinate the Jiang sect leaders, thereby bringing down the Lotus Pier, the war will be over sooner,” he pointed out.

“Makes it harder to assimilate them into the Wen sect afterwards, though,” Sect Leader Nie pointed out, and damnit, he had a point. “Not to mention you’re going to want some experienced people policing your waterways when you finally take over…”

Damnit.

“Fine,” Wen Ruohan said. “We’ll declare war the old-fashioned way. Maybe we’ll find someone on the opposite side that can impress me, and then I’ll marry her – or him – and be done with the whole business. Happy now?”

Sect Leader Nie made a maybe-so gesture with his hand. “Anyone who can match you in power can probably kill me,” he said regretfully. “Would you consider sharing –“

“Paws off my hypothetical future consort, you beast. Anyway, aren’t you already pursuing Lan Qiren because he nearly slit your throat with a guqin string once?”

“A man can look!”

-

“Say,” Sect Leader Nie said, staring at the army of fierce corpses currently shambling along to the tune of Wei Wuxian’s flute, advancing inexorably towards their enemies – an entirely new cultivation style that the boy had recently invented. In an effort to impress his benefactor Wen Ruohan, apparently. “Are you sure about the no sharing rule?”

Wen Ruohan stared at the grown man perched on a tree like a demon, wrapped in shadow and crackling with power, eyes glowing as red as the sun-patterns on his clothing, who seemed to want nothing more from the world than to serve it up to Wen Ruohan on a platter.

“Yes,” he said, voice only a little strangled. Maybe Sect Leader Nie had a point about power being a kink for him. “I’m very sure.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #wei wuxian is sir not appearing in this fic #my fic #my fics #forked path

[rulesxunbroken]

v; the downfall of the good witch (Wandavision divergent)

note*, this is a collaboration between myself and @itsbeenagatha: we felt Agatha needed more depth as to why she was so interested in the hex and Wanda’s magic. We are in no way excusing all the pain she caused Wanda, or any of her misdeeds, we are merely trying to shed a little light on what could push a woman to do such horrible things.

Agatha was a talented witch, but easily distracted. She couldn’t care less about her mother’s ramblings as her magic came so naturally and intuitively. She was able to use it with ease. Her Mother, Evanora, did not take too kindly to this and punished Agatha for her lack of focus and dedication.

With bruises and cuts from her mother’s switch, she would go to Susanna Walcott- another member of the Coven. (Agatha’s best friend and eventual lover) Agatha trusted Susanna with everything as they had grown up together and only became closer over the years. Agatha didn’t seem to mind when Susanna trained and tutored her as the Harkness girl latched onto every word that Susanna said. Evanora wasn’t fond of the idea that Susanna was teaching Agatha, but let it go due to the fact that Agatha was actually participating in her studies now.

Evanora would also hold resentment toward Susanna for ‘stealing’ her daughter away and making her have impure thoughts. Agatha was meant to focus only on her gifts, not indulge in the sins of exploration with another woman- love made witches weak, in Evanora’s mind. Agatha and Suanna had tried to keep their intimacy a secret, but it was eventually revealed to Evanora. When Susanna fell ill with diptheria, there was no common medicine at that time. Susanna’s chances were slim as Agatha had not yet mastered healing and preservation incantations. Her area of expertise lied in transfiguration. Agatha pleaded with her mother, begging her to heal Susanna, but her mother refused to bend nature as it was not wise to upset the elements. As Susanna’s illness was on a rapid course, Agatha became reckless.

Consumed by her fear and Anger, and despite Susanna’s wishes, Agatha stole knowledge and texts of the darkest of magics trying to find anything that may spare Susanna. Evanora soon learned of Agatha’s actions and called her forth for a trial by death as Agatha had broken their most sacred of rules. Agatha pleaded innocent, saying that the rules merely bent to her power, that she was meant to have this knowledge if only Evanora would teach her. That she was not seeking this power for harm, but for goodness. She could be good- Evanora refused to listen and the Coven began their execution. However, a deeper power was unleashed inside of Agatha. A form of magic that Evanora had not yet seen come from her daughter. Agatha was able to defend herself and drain the Coven of their powers. Evanora took the execution into her own hands and attacked her own daughter, but Agatha was too strong, causing Evanora to meet the same fate as her Coven.

Agatha took off, finding Susanna once more. Her lover was on the brink of death- in pain and so sickly looking. She had told Susanna what she had done, confessing her misdeeds to the one she loved and trusted most. Susanna did not approve of Agatha’s actions, but did not love her any less. Agatha sang Susanna to sleep and soon after, the ill witch died in her arms.

***

In her grief, Agatha fled, with no real destination in place. Her magical trail was not easily covered up and she was met by a mysterious creature that had been lured to her by feeding off of her hatred and anger. He introduced himself by the name of Mephisto. He presented her with a book, the Darkhold, and Agatha took it to flip through the pages. He showed her a chapter dedicated to a mythical being known as the Scarlet Witch that was destined to destroy the worlds. However, this being had not been created yet, and he knew not when that being would come into existence. If Agatha promised to help him, he would offer her power and talent that her mother could never teach her.

At the lowest point in her life, Agatha agreed. Mephisto granted Agatha with immortality so that she could easily drift through centuries upon centuries to find the Scarlet Witch. Mephisto promised Agatha that if she drained the Scarlet Witch of their powers, he would bring Susanna back to her. This intrigued and scared Agatha. She saw what draining magic did to her coven and she feared that if she took the power of the Scarlet Witch, that would kill her, too. She asked Mephisto to merely train her instead, that she could learn such power and bring Susanna back herself. He told her that he would need the power of the Scarlet Witch to grant her such a feat.

In 2023, Agatha is now just over 350 years old, she gets her first clue of a power that was so great that it would nearly awaken any magical being within the world. With such a strong power, Agatha could only assume that it was the Scarlet Witch. She found herself in Westview, New Jersey, where the town seemed to be altered. Agatha didn’t understand this power, but she was able to blend in with ease and go undetected. There, she crossed paths with Wanda Maximoff, the source of this spontaneous creation, but Agatha felt she wasn't dangerous. Just misguided as she had been so many centuries ago.

This now put Agatha in a horrible position. She could have the love of her life back, but in order to do so, she would have to drain the power of this seemingly innocent witch. She told Mephisto that there must be another way, but Mephisto twisted Agatha’s view of Wanda, giving her only bits and pieces of the Scarlet Witch’s life to paint her as the villain. That she was with Hydra, that she had killed so many in Lagos. Mephisto convinced Agatha that if she took Wanda’s power, not only would she have Susanna back, she would be doing the world a favor. It is then that Agatha learns that Wanda has an entire town mind controlled, only amplifying what Mephisto had told her.

It was not until Agatha dragged Wanda through her memories did she realize she had been lied to. That Wanda wasn't evil, she just didn't quite know how to handle that power. Agatha felt guilty for manipulating Wanda, for taking her children, but she was too far in. She was too close to having Susanna back. There was a part of her that really came to like Wanda- she hoped by seeing Wanda’s memories, she would be able to learn how to possess this power, rather than take it from Wanda, but there was still a town under siege, and she felt the pressure to put an end to it, because if she didn't, she feared that Mephisto would go back on his deal and Agatha would be left with nothing. She became hungry and greedy for this power. She would not leave without Susanna. Even if that meant eliminating someone who had become a friend under false pretenses.

***

Agatha lost the battle to Wanda and became trapped in the mind of Agnes Bohner (the role she had created to get closer to the Scarlet Witch). This was the cruelest fate Wanda could have given her. She had confined Agatha alone in Westview. Because of this, Agatha was unable to continue what was needed to get Susanna back. Agatha would have rather died. There was so much pain in Agnes’ eyes from Agatha’s failure. She didn’t want to live another century of failing Susanna. If Agatha had just picked up sooner that Mephisto had tricked her, if she had just told Wanda what had happened, it was likely that Wanda would have tried to help her. Wanda would have understood because she created a whole new reality just to have Vision back.

***

Wanda, now in possession of the Darkhold, fled to a secluded cabin to become more knowledgeable in her power. As she flipped through the pages, she could hear her children calling for her.

Mephisto was able to find Wanda, to tell her that he could help her navigate the Darkhold. That Agatha had been too weak to do it for him. He let slip the deal he had with Agatha. Realizing what happened, Wanda went back to Agatha to free her. She took Agatha up on her offer of teaching her magic. Wanda wanted to help Agatha bring Susanna back, but she was weary of bringing back the dead because of what had been caused in Westview. She promised Agatha that they would find another way to not only bring back Susanna, but Tommy and Billy as well.

Mephisto felt betrayed by Agatha when she teamed up with the Scarlet Witch, and by way of torment, he used an apparition of Susanna. Agatha can’t touch her, can’t hear her, and Susanna constantly looked like she did right before she died. Sick and in pain.

Thinking this is just another trick, Agatha didn’t allow this to deter her from helping Wanda find her boys.

When they found the Billy and Tommy, Wanda had been able to find a link in the Darkhold to get Susanna back. This became Wanda and Agatha’s reconciliation. Wanda still wasn’t pleased that Agatha tried to drain her powers and hurt her family, but having the full picture put Agatha’s actions into perspective. Wanda was able to forgive Agatha, because: Family is forever. Wanda understood that Agatha was just trying to bring her own family back.

The cost of bringing Susanna back to their plane of existence was for Agatha to give up her immortality- which was fine with her because all she wanted was to grow old with Susanna. With Agatha’s sacrifice, and Wanda’s help, they were able to bring the woman back.

Due to all they’ve endured together and because they had no one else, Agatha, Wanda, Susanna and the boys became a found family.

Agatha and Susanna could now have a long, happy life together, be honorary aunts to the twins, and live in a beautiful cabin in Sokovia.

#Under a read more because it's a big boy #v; the downfall of a good witch (wandavision divergent) #new verse #Itsbeenagatha

[lovelyirony]

can I request stevesharon for the otp ask, please?

of course! 

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Steve signed up to be a barista because he needs to make an Instagram account for one of his art classes detailing how he uses art in everyday life, and he’s convinced that maybe if he learns how to make good coffee, then he’ll actually learn to like it. 

He’s right about both of these things, and gains a certain reputation around campus for having the best art pieces. (There are also the people who simply come to watch him work. Steve is quite the handsome man.) 

And then there’s Sharon, who is done with everyone and pays no attention to the heart he draws in foam in each and every one of her lavender-mint lattes. At this point, he’s dying. So he needs to up his game, he thinks. 

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Steve doesn’t think he’s doing that badly in math until Fury takes him aside and tells him that if he doesn’t raise his grade, he’s out of the football championship, and he needs recruiters to see him so that he can get a scholarship. 

Enter in Sharon, who is a tutor and also in the class before his. She’s nice, to the point, and teases Steve at every possible moment about football. But she does help in math, and she promises to come to the game on Friday. 

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

Steve takes their rivalry very seriously. It all started in eighth grade when Sharon showed him up on the diving board, and they’ve been competing in everything ever since. 

He’s always annoyed at how easy Sharon can just...take it? She doesn’t get mad at him like he gets mad at her, and she says that she finds it cute that he’s still holding a grudge over a “silly diving board round.” 

He’s not giving up. 

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

Steve and Sharon have been enemies ever since Steve got in the way of Sharon’s mission and basically assumed that she couldn’t do her job because she’s not him. Well, Sharon states that she didn’t need to go into a special machine and come out absolutely jacked to hell to do her job, and there’s the rivalry. 

There’s also the fact that they’re both after the exclusive Potts Ruby, one of Tony Stark’s most prized possessions. 

And they both signed up to be on the same security team for said Miss Potts. This is going to be hell. 

At least, up until Steve starts to realize that maybe Sharon isn’t as bad as he thought...

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Steve is very eager to meet his soulmate. He was always told my his mom that soulmates were special, and to be cherished. 

Sharon grew up with a mother who couldn’t give a damn about soulmates, not even when she had ended up with hers. Sharon learns that soulmates don’t necessarily guarantee that you get a great life full of love and happiness. She’s not looking forward to it. 

But Steve won’t give up. Not yet. 

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Sharon is very surprised when she gets a tiny little girl in her self-defense class, no more than seven years old, determined to “kick as much ass as possible, starting now.” Those were the words, verbatim. 

She’s more surprised that this little girl’s dad is a “aw geez, shucks mister” kind of character, wrapped up in too-tight t-shirts and seemingly oblivious to the gazes of all the PTA moms at the dance studio/gym. 

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient?

Steve wishes that Sharon would stop coming into his place of work with cuts and bruises all the time, and possible concussions. She tends to be as stubborn as him, which is endearing until she refuses painkillers and insists that she can get home just fine, thank you very much. 

He also wishes that he didn’t know what caused the cuts and bruises, although he’s also a secret agent, so he understand the realities of the job. (Even though he went to medical school to make sure he could take care of himself.) 

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

Sharon is the bodyguard to world-famous actor Steve Rogers, who tends to have some intriguingly obsessed fans. Steve insists he doesn’t need a bodyguard, but can’t seem to shake Sharon off of him quite yet. 

Sharon is determined to stick to her job and learn about why Steve Rogers is so squirmy around her after six months of working together. He wasn’t like that at first, and she’s not sure what’s causing it. 

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Steve is all about justice. And if he has to ransack royal ballrooms and terrify queens and kings, then he’s fine with that. Serves them right when he sees the subjects of the kingdom starving and malnourished. 

But the Carter Kingdom isn’t on his list. In fact, they do a bang-up job of running a country, although he thinks their desserts could use a little work. 

They’ve hired him to find Sharon, the next in line for the throne. She disappeared into the night, clearly kidnapped if the broken windows and bloodshed was anything to go by. 

He searches for a year, finding out more and more about this woman. It’s not until he runs into one of her former suitors that he finds a miniature, and falls a little bit in love with her teasing smile and elegant demeanor. It paints a picture of a lady who knows exactly her worth, but knows how to go along with everyone’s expectations until the last moment. 

So he isn’t expecting Romanoff’s ship to have a brand new member of the crew, who looks remarkably similar and has expertise in handling a sword, and pressing it against his throat. 

Well. That is...nice. 

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Sharon’s been in love with Steve since they were in seventh grade and she moved to their school. Steve’s been focused on being just like his father, preparing for an army and still having the boniest body she’s ever seen. 

But every Halloween, they go trick-or-treating and every Christmas, they exchange gifts and have snowball fights with Bucky and Sam. 

And every year, she falls more and more. 

She nearly gives up when it’s high school and it’s the end of everything, and they’re going to college. She should just get over it. 

...right? 

#i really liked this round #stevesharon #staron #sharon carter #steve rogers

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 11- Profiler, Profiled (S2E12)

Warnings: murder of teens, if you remember this episode then you know what happens to Morgan, but it’s never explicitly stated in this chapter

Ch 10 | Ch 12

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t tell Emily, did you?” Lydia accused, as her and Spencer took a stroll.

It was morning, before Spencer had to go into the office, and he’d offered to take a walk with her around a nearby park until then. They liked to take short adventures in the mornings now, since making evening plans was so touchy with their jobs. Lydia had never thought she’d be a morning person, but she jumped on any excuse she could to hang out with Spencer and just… be normal.

He swung their intertwined hands back and forth. “Not really. She accused me of being in love with you and I told her that she couldn’t tell anyone. But I never said that you reciprocated those feelings.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust her not to tell,” he argued. “If anyone on the team is going to find out, I want it to be from us.”

“Well, Morgan is really on my ass about this secret boyfriend thing.”

“I know. He told me about it. He asked me to help steal your phone to look through your contacts.”

She chuckled. “How did you respond to that one?”

“I said no.”

Lydia almost fell behind him because she was so distracted by his smile. His eyes would squint in the corners and he had a really prominent dimple when he was genuinely happy. She didn’t get to see that often enough. A laugh from him could give her a year’s worth of serotonin.

“I do, you know,” she mumbled, glancing away. Her heart was leaping out of its chest with every smile from him.

“Hm?” He squeezed her hand, gently.

“Reciprocate,” she explained.

He didn’t say anything, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, an embarrassed flush staining her cheeks, but he didn’t slow down or adjust his posture. So, she could only hope that meant he knew.

Not that she hadn’t been obvious about it before…

“I should go soon,” he admitted.

“I know,” she replied, nonchalantly. “If you end up getting a super awesome case, please convince Gideon I’m needed for some reason. I’m terribly bored.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re about to go into finals week for one of the most difficult semesters of college you’re ever completed.”

“Hey! I could still fail!”

“Please don’t,” he chuckled. “You’re on schedule to graduate in June.”

“But if I graduate, I have no excuse to see my cute tutor anymore,” she joked. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Your PhD,” he argued.

As they talked, they slowly made their way to the nearby subway station.

“I went on campus in person the other day to speak to one of my professors about my dissertation and I think she was trying to convince me to take over her job for her after she retires,” Lydia explained. “I was trying to tell her that I wasn’t anywhere near as brilliant as I am on paper, because I have your help, but she was pretty convinced I could do it.”

“I think you’d be a great professor,” he agreed. “It’s a job you could do while still being a contractor for the Bureau. What classes would you be taking over?”

She blinked. “Uh, Spencer? You don’t actually think I should consider that as like… an offer, do you?”

“Why not?”

“I’m 22! Who’s going to hire me as a professor?”

“Someone with eyes,” he retorted. “You’re brilliant and I don’t think your professor would joke around with you like that. Do you think it’s something you’d enjoy?”

She was shocked once more by the question. “Um… I don’t… Can I follow you to headquarters today?” she inquired. “I kinda want to talk to Hotch and Gideon.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia huffed, stepping away from Gideon’s office, coming up empty for the second time that morning.

“Are neither of them here yet?” Spencer asked curiously as she ended up at his desk.

“Nope. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.” She leaned back against his desk, looking around the quiet morning office. She never got to see it like this. She would always rush in, the last one to enter the briefing, and if it was ever morning when she returned from a case, Hotch or Gideon would send her home to sleep.

“What are you thinking about?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. “How peaceful it is in here. I don’t often get to see it like this.”

“You don’t have to sit at a desk and do office work,” he contended. “This is what a non-case day looks like for me.”

She sucked in her lips, contemplatively. Unconsciously, her fingers went to her ring, spinning it in circles, as she often did around Spencer.

He had begun to like watching her think. Her little ticks were his favorite part about her. Mostly, because she was a pretty sheltered off person. She was a good liar, that’s for sure. The only time she ever lost control over her facial expressions was when she was lost in thought.

Perhaps he liked it so much because it was one of the few times he knew she was truly genuine. She wasn’t hiding anything at all. She wasn’t even thinking about putting up walls around herself. She was just… her.

JJ and Garcia ended up walking into the office together, both of them stopping when they saw Lydia in the middle of the bullpen.

“Lydia, honey!” Garcia called, approaching her at a scary speed. “What are you doing here? Do we have a case?”

She shook her head quickly, calming JJ who was probably concerned about the chance that there was a case she didn’t know about.

“I just stopped by to talk to Hotch for a moment. About my position and stuff.”

“Oo,” Garcia teased. “That’s exciting, isn’t it? Your birthday is in January, isn’t it?”

Lydia squinted at her. “Do you memorize everyone’s profiles?”

“No! But I have a calendar with all the birthdays on it because birthdays are important and I want to make sure at least one person in the office knows!”

“That’s sweet,” she admitted. “But this isn’t about being an agent, if that’s what you mean. Or… not exactly. I’m trying to figure out what Hotch plans to do with me if I become an agent. I’m not a profiler, so I don’t know if he’ll want me to stay in this unit.”

“Neither of us are profilers,” JJ said with a nod towards Garcia. “You’re important to our team, Lydia. He’s not going to get rid of you.”

She shrugged. “If I’m not needed for all cases, why keep me on this team? Why wouldn’t the Bureau want to send me somewhere where I’m more useful?”

“Why is this coming up now?” JJ inquired.

“I was just…”

“Lydia’s professor wants her to take over her job,” Spencer interrupted, impatiently.

“It’s not official,” she said, before either of the girls could say anything. “She merely mentioned that she wanted to retire soon and was asking me about my plans and whether I like the idea of teaching some of her classes…”

Garcia's eyes brightened. “That’s amazing, Lydia!”

“I don’t have teaching credentials! It wasn’t a job offer! For all I know, she could be joking!”

“If you did become a professor, would you want to work there full time?” JJ asked.

Lydia sighed. “No. I want to be here full time, but there really isn’t a lot for me to do on most of your cases. I mean, that case we worked in Ozona this summer? For the first half of the investigation, I was sitting in the station doing diddly-squat. My expertise is in crime scene analysis and maybe chemical warfare. I love you guys, but it’s starting to look like I need to get another job to go along with this one that allows me to leave suddenly, or I need to find work elsewhere in the Bureau.”

Garcia seemed to be contemplating this, looking for a solution. “Are you certain you don’t want to be a profiler?”

“Not really? Maybe I’ll change my mind in a year or so, but I’ve never dreamed of being law enforcement. It really isn’t my scene.”

JJ smirked. “We might corrupt you yet.”

Lydia was trying to come up with something to respond to that when Garcia perked up with a sudden thought. “Reid! You have to show JJ and Lydia the rocket you made the other day!”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Rocket, huh? Are we talking mentos in a coke bottle ‘rocket’?”

He nodded. “Basically.”

“I want to see the rocket!” JJ exclaimed.

Spencer agreed, making them turn around so he could set it up in private. The three girls talked for a moment more before he said, “Okay, okay. It’s ready!”

On his desk was a small, black, plastic bottle with a grey cap. The edges around the cap were fizzing with some sort of carbonated liquid.

“Nothing’s happening,” JJ muttered and Spencer quickly shushed her.

“Watch!” he cried in anticipation. His fingers wiggled with excitement.

The sound raised in pitch until the bottle detached from the cap and flew into the air. The two blonde women squealed with excitement and Lydia laughed, until the whole group heard a cry of pain across the room.

“Ooh! Ah, what-?”

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Spencer apologized as the girls tried to hide their giggles.

“What was that?” she demanded, rubbing her forehead where the cup had hit her.

“Don’t you recognize a rocket when you see one?” Garcia teased, pointing at Spencer, who was clearly still guilty.

“I-I was merely demonstrating a physics law,” he stammered. “I-I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Oo!” she exclaimed, already on her way towards the group. “Show me!”

He started to set up again, making the girls flip away once more, much to Emily’s dismay.

“A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets,” Spencer told her and she rolled her eyes.

“But I thought you said it was physics.”

“Physics,” he agreed, before adding on, “...magic.”

Once they were allowed to turn around again, his hands were clasped in front of him, still eager to see the girls’ reactions.

Once more, it fizzled for a moment, before popping off of the desk and causing the group to spook at the sudden movement. More careful this time, they all watched where it would land, but apparently they weren’t careful enough, because upon its descent in front of someone’s foot, they all came to the realization that Hotch had just entered the bullpen.

He lifted up the discarded bottle in front of him and shook it in front of Reid’s face. Emily bolted back to her desk and JJ and Garcia tried to look distracted by something behind them, leaving Spencer and Lydia to face the unit chief alone.

“Physics magic?” he asked, understandingly.

“Yes, sir?” Spencer mumbled. He dropped his head ashamed, clearly having been caught showing off that trick before.

“Reid, we talked about this,” Hotch warned, dropping the bottle onto his desk.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Suddenly, Hotch’s features shifted into a more intrigued expression. “You're really starting to get some distance on those.”

Spencer’s proud smile was so adorable Lydia couldn’t stand it. She wanted to compliment him more just to see it for longer, but Hotch’s attention was suddenly on her.

“Ambers, are you here visiting?”

“No, sir,” she explained. “I came to talk to you, actually. If you’ve got some time?”

He nodded. “No problem.”

The two of them left the bullpen and walked into his office. When he finally turned around to face her, his face was split in a grin. 

“You know, I think you’re one of the only people in the office who’s not terrified of me?” he admitted.

“Should I be?” she joked. “Are you going to fire me now for watching Spencer show off a small trick?”

He shook his head. “As of right now, you aren’t on duty. If I so choose, I can decide not to hire you again, but you’re a private and independent worker so I do not have any power to strip you of your job.”

“That’s kind of crazy to think about,” Lydia informed him. “And to be honest, that’s what I’m here for. I’m trying to figure out if I want to be an agent or not.”

Hotch looked a little surprised, but he nodded. “That’s reasonable. What are your concerns?”

She ended up speaking to him for almost an hour about the cases she enjoyed working and the ones she didn’t and about the classes and exams she’d have to take to be a profiler. It was really enlightening. Lydia had spent so much time dedicating herself to forensics and she didn’t want her skills to go unused for the rest of her life. And Hotch could see her desire to be useful in ways the BAU couldn’t provide.

“Lydia, I think I should speak to some of the other units and see if they could use your help as well. I definitely don’t want you to think there isn’t enough work here for you, but I don’t control when and how crimes happen. So, you’re right. Perhaps some other departments might also find you valuable and you can take on more cases without having to leave the Bureau.”

“That’s the thing, Hotch, and it’s an interesting offer, but the reason I like the Bureau so much is because I enjoy working with you guys… the team. I guess I’m just worried about everyone throwing me around as needed and not being able to work with you all anymore. But I’ll do what I have to.

“The point of this was because it was suggested to me to become a college professor, recently. That would also take a lot of work and it isn’t exactly what I want to do with my life, but I’d be making money reliably and I could still do this. Be here, for you guys, like I am now. And I’d like that, but I’d appreciate being able to see all my options. ‘Cause it’s kind of confusing, for now.”

He gave her a genuine smile and said, “We can work with confusing.”

~ ~ ~

That evening, Gideon’s contact popped up on her phone.

“Listen,” she picked up, “if Reid told you I wanted to go on a case, I was just joking-”

“Lydia, we need you. Now.”

She shut her eyes, tightly. She should stop assuming she knows what’s going on. “Okay, I’m on my way,” she told him. “What’s up?”

“Morgan went home to Chicago for his mother’s birthday,” Gideon began. “And he’s been arrested by Chicago PD.”

That was unexpected. “What for?”

“They think he’s killed a kid. We have a lot to do and I want you to stay with him while he’s in custody.”

“Shit, Gideon,” she mumbled. “You have to clear his name.”

“That’s why I need you,” he explained. “Get your ass to the jet, now.”

~ ~ ~

The team was basically silent for flight and drive to the station. They were exhausted from their overnight flight and worried for their friend. It was just too weird.

Lydia followed Gideon closely once they were inside the building. She was jumping to help. This standing around and waiting for news was killing her slowly.

“Special Agent Hotchner, FBI,” Hotch announced as he entered the bullpen. “I’m looking for Detective… Gordinski.”

“I got this, Chuck,” a man said, dismissing the man at the front desk. He was bald, with a polite smile on his face. “How you guys doing? Wally Dennison, CPD.”

His reception, however, was less than friendly. “Where’s Agent Morgan?”

“Detective Gordinski’s in with the suspect now,” he explained

“I need to see him,” Hotch responded, sharply.

“When my partner’s finished talking to him,” Dennison offered, his eyes shifting around the group. Lydia kind of wanted to sock him across the face, but knew that for the moment, Hotch could do a lot better to get compliance.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch began. “And in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far… I need to see Agent Morgan now.”

Dennison glanced at the team again. He was intimidated, Lydia was realizing. So, she let her strong desire to hit him really show on her face so that he didn’t think of disobeying anytime soon.

“I’ll get Gordinski. He’s the, uh, primary,” he conceded, before walking off.

“I don’t like them calling him a suspect,” Gideon grumbled and Hotch shook his head.

“Me neither.”

“Do you think I could get permission to survey the crime scene?” Lydia asked Gideon quietly.

“No,” he whispered. “And don’t try it. We have to figure out what evidence he has against Morgan from him or else it will look like we’re trying to disrupt the investigation.”

Lydia didn’t try to hide her disappointment. She was feeling antsy. Shuffling her feet anxiously.

“Hotch will bring you in with him,” Gideon told her. “Be understanding to him. Hotch can be a hardass sometimes and if Morgan is feeling cornered, he may resist that. Let him know that he can tell you anything. You’re on his side.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Good.”

“Detective Gordinski, CPD.” The man approaching was far less welcoming than Dennison, but at least he wasn’t fake. The entire group sized him up as he held out a hand to Hotch.

“You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?” he demanded.

“Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

“Y- You think he’s a serial killer?” JJ stuttered.

“This is ridiculous!” Spencer agreed.

Hotch stayed professional while listening, but Lydia could see how much he thought this was bullshit. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I got 72 hours for that,” Gordinski evaded.

“I’d like to see him,” Hotch repeated.

Finally the detective stepped out of his way. “Be my guest.”

“Ambers,” Hotch called as he stepped forward and she quickly fell into step behind him, but she didn’t make it far.

“Hold on,” Dennison said, reaching out for Lydia’s arm to stop her. “We’ve only invited Agent Hotchner in.”

Before she could stop herself, she ripped her arm from his grip. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me,” she hissed.

There were wide eyes across the precinct, which Hotch used to his advantage.

“Ambers comes with me,” he stated, walking farther into the precinct and nodding for her to follow. He was ready for a fight with Dennison, but figured he should pull it away from the group. Especially if Lydia was going to act so brash.

“Agent Hotchner,” Gordinski shouted, following him down the hallway.

The two of them turned around, Lydia crossing her arms across her chest, as if daring them to try to stop her again. Gordinski and Dennison were frustratingly stubborn and she didn’t have the patience for it.

“We can’t just allow anyone to speak to the suspect!” he argued, his face red with fury.

“This is Lydia Ambers,” Hotch explained as she pulled out her badge for them to see. “She does contracted work for the Bureau and she’s very knowledgeable in conducting interviews as well as analyzing evidence. I’m taking her in to speak to Agent Morgan with me and then I’d like her briefed on the evidence and case you have made against him, along with the rest of the team, do I make myself clear?”

Lydia wished she could live in that moment forever. Their faces as they realized they had no power to stop Hotch were laughable. She could have sworn that there was steam coming out of their ears. And it helped satiate her need to hit Dennison for holding her back like a child.

Finally, Gordinski decided he was done analyzing her badge and handed it back to her which she took sharply, stepping out of his way so that he could show them the way to the interrogation room Derek was in.

He had Dennison do that and instead went back to speak to the rest of the team. Lydia watched him go for a moment, then followed them through the precinct and into an interrogation room.

Morgan was sitting down, looking over some photos. He looked nervous when the door opened, which shifted to relief, then confusion.

“Lydia?”

“Hey, Derek,” she said, gently. “Are you okay?”

He nodded momentarily, before looking back at the photos in front of him. “This kid.” His voice was careful and controlled. He knew things looked bad for him and there was perhaps guilt on his conscience. “I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch shrugged, knowing full well that Morgan needed to keep his head clear and prove his innocence.

Dennison was still hovering by the door, drinking a coffee. Lydia was trying very hard not to look at him, because his presence made her furious.

“So, he’s dead.” Morgan dropped the photo onto the table and Lydia instinctively reached for it.

“You shouldn’t-” Dennison began, but she flipped on him.

“If you so much as think about touching me again, I’ll break your nose,” she threatened. “Those are crime scene photos and as a part of this investigation, I have a right to look at them.”

He shut up quickly, sinking back into the corner of the room and she turned back to Derek who was completely baffled by her outburst. So, she tried to go back to her kindness tactic.

“May I see those, Derek?”

He nodded, lifting the stack up for her to flip through. Then, he went back to what he was saying. “I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.”

Lydia looked over them. Two were of the boy who’d died last night. Damien Wallace. He was lying in what looked like a dump. There were no evident wounds on his body, but his eyes were sunken and cold in the close up shot and his tongue was swollen, sticking out between his lips. If she had to guess, he’d been strangled.

There were photos of a different kid, that one clearly having been strangled by the marks around his neck.

And finally, there was a mountain’s worth of photos of him. Derek Morgan. They were all taken on the same day, what she could only assume to be yesterday. He was standing in a cemetery, looking down on a grave. He was leaning up against a car, outside of a dugout, watching a group of kids play football.

“Did Gordinski take these?” she inquired, sitting down at the table and laying out the pictures.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Dude was stalking me all day.”

Hotch also sat down at the table, looking at the collection. “Tell me the story from the beginning,” he insisted.

“I- I guess it starts when I was 15,” he started. “I was coming home from football practice one day. Me and my boy, we were goofing off, you know, we were throwing a football around. It landed in an empty lot and I snuck in to get it and I found this kid. The only person that I’d ever seen dead before that was my father… when I was ten. I mean, there I was, I was looking at this kid, and he was my own age, Hotch. Dead in this vacant lot. And he was never identified. Nobody knew who he was, nobody ever even reported him missing. And that, that just didn’t sit right with me. So I… felt responsible for him, I mean, I was the one that found him, right?

“I went around the neighborhood, door to door, trying to start a collection, and… eventually I got enough so I could bury him and… I gave him a little headstone.”

“What did you put on the headstone if he wasn’t identified?” Hotch asked.

“Just the date. I left room for a name in case he was identified”

“And you still visit him?”

“Hotch, I go see this kid every time I’m home. I just feel like he deserves to have somebody look in on him.”

The unit chief shrugged. “Gordinski must read that as a guilty conscience, a killer revisiting his victim. But that can’t be the only reason he suspects you.”

Morgan sighed loudly. “Believe me, that guy’s had it in for me my entire life.”

“He’s supremely confident that you’re his killer.”

He didn’t respond, but Lydia could see his frustration. He didn’t like Hotch questioning him. He likely thought it was an invasion of privacy, which Lydia could totally understand, but it worried her. If Morgan was keeping secrets from the team, things could end up ugly.

Lydia caught Hotch’s eye and glanced over at Dennison and the door, hoping he’d catch her drift and get him out of there. Luckily, Hotch understood and got up from his seat.

“Morgan, Lydia’s here in case you need anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Derek just nodded, dropping his head into his hands. With the detective and Hotch gone, Lydia reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry that this has happened.”

“Lydia, these boys are dying,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands, “and I can’t do anything.”

“The team is doing something. They’re going to figure this out. But obviously there’s a lot of history here that we don’t understand.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sitting up. “My history. The person I was then and the person I am now are completely different.”

“Believe me, I probably understand that more than anyone else on the team. I’m not here to force you to say something, but I want you to know, Derek… Those detectives out there only remember the old you. And when they realize that we don’t see you the same way, they’re going to try to warp the team’s perspective of you. They know things about your past that we don’t, don’t they? Gordinski and Dennison? I just think you should consider what that might be and whether or not you want the team to hear it from their mouths or from yours.”

He huffed. “Why should I listen to you about keeping secrets? I mean, no offense Lydia, but you aren’t exactly an open book.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together as if to wash off old dirt. “You’re right. I’m not. But if it will help us help you, I will be. If it will convince you to tell me whatever it is that you didn’t tell Hotch, I’ll tell you everything about my life.”

He shook his head, for the first time, looking absolutely exhausted. “Lydia, this is my life. And I just want to keep my personal stuff and my work stuff separate. I need that.”

“What’s going to change if we find out?” she asked, honestly. “Are you worried that we’ll treat you different? Is it bad enough to get you removed from the Bureau?”

“No!” he cried. “No! It’s just that it’s my business!”

Lydia wanted to respond to that, but the door suddenly opened and Hotch was carrying in a new file.

“What’s that, Hotch?” Morgan questioned, getting up from his seat.

Lydia could tell something was wrong. Hotch had lost his carefulness. Up until that point, he gave Morgan the floor to speak, explain himself, try to determine what had happened. But when he walked in, his concern was elsewhere.

“You have a criminal record,” he stated.

Morgan glanced at the file and Hotch handed it over to him. “What? Where did you get this?”

“What difference does that make?” Hotch rolled his eyes as if he was actually dealing with a serial killer. Lydia couldn’t help feeling furious with him.

“Hotch, this was supposed to be expunged,” he insisted. “My record’s clean.”

“I asked you if there was anything you hadn’t told me.”

“A judge expunged this. It doesn’t exist anymore, man.” Morgan waved the papers in front of him wildly. “I was a kid, it’s nothing.”

“Aggravated battery?” Hotch demanded.

Lydia got up from her seat, trying to diffuse the situation. “Hotch, why does it matter? I mean, you know about my past. If this-” she pointed at the file “-is enough to accuse him of homicide, you should probably put me in a straightjacket now!”

He glared at her, but made no attempt to reprimand her. “Morgan, tell me about the charges.”

“Ok… I was with some guys, we got into a fight with some other guys. Rodney, this gangbanger, we got into it a little bit, we knocked each other around, he got a couple of stitches in his head so they made it aggravated. That’s it! If you want someone to look into, try him. He’s been following me around since I got home!”

“You should have told me,” Hotch argued. “You know how important accurate information is to victimology.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Morgan barked. “Victimology?”

“It’s very likely the latest victim was an attempt to set you up,” Hotch explained.

“Are you profiling me?” he demanded, angrily.

“Morgan, we need to look at-”

“No! We don’t need to do anything!” he shouted.

Hotch’s voice got dangerously low. “Derek, you’re in trouble here.”

Morgan laughed. “Hotch, I didn’t do this. I am not worried about Gordinski out there-!”

“You still have three dead children.”

“Okay. Okay! So you profile them. That’s the case.”

There was a beat. “Is there still something else you don’t want us to find out about?”

“Hotch, I don’t need the people I work with going into my entire world,” he insisted, repeating what he’d said to Lydia.

Hotch simply turned around and left again. Lydia figured Morgan would be angry, but was shocked to see him turn it on her.

“What the hell, Lydia? What, you two got some good cop, bad cop scheme going? You’re sitting here trying to convince me to open up so that you guys can make me a victim in one of your case files?”

She sat down, letting her body relax into a completely calm state. He hadn’t reacted well to Hotch’s aggression, just as Gideon thought he might, so he wouldn’t be expecting this.

“I’m not a profiler,” she replied, flatly. “So, no. I’m not playing good cop. Gideon told me that you were going through a lot and that you’d need someone on your side today. Just in case something like this happened. Just in case things got messy. I don’t want anything from you, Derek. I’m here to be your friend.”

He scoffed. “Two minutes ago you were trying to convince me to trade secrets with you!”

“Because, as your friend, I thought that was what you needed. Someone to talk to. Someone to know what was going on and defend you. I thought if I opened up myself, you might realize that we aren’t that different. I understand you more than I think you know.”

“How?”

She reached across the table to grab the abandoned juvenile record. “Aggravated battery, huh? You remember how you asked me what my childhood fear was and I said it was getting kicked out of school?”

His eyes widened. “For getting into fights…” he recalled.

“Yes, sir. And you laughed at me. Said you didn’t believe me. I get it. I’m not the same person I was in high school-”

“You flipped out on Dennison earlier,” he continued. “When he told you not to look over the crime scene photos.”

She nodded. “You should have seen the scene I made out in the bullpen earlier… He tried to stop me from going in to see you and I ripped my arm away. I don’t even remember, I was just seeing red.”

He chuckled, finally relaxing a bit and sitting down beside her. “So, you were serious? You really have some anger management problems?”

“Yeah… did yours start after your dad died?”

He looked down at his hands. “I was ten. My dad was a cop. We were out together and we saw a robbery happening in a store. So, he went to stop it and he got shot.”

Lydia cleared her throat. “Okay, my turn. When I was ten, I found my mom in the bathroom, lying on the floor, foaming at the mouth. She’d overdosed on her antidepressants. Not enough to look like a suicide, but enough for it to feel like it wasn’t an accident.” She shrugged, setting her forearms on her desk. “The first person I ever punched was some journalist who wanted to know if there was a chance my mom had been murdered. They wouldn’t leave me alone. For days.”

“I’d be pissed, too,” he admitted.

“I’d be pretty upset if my mom had been killed by someone else,” she conceded as well. “If I had someone to blame for my mother’s death other than my mother, I would probably have a criminal record, too… I would find a way to make them pay.”

He settled down even more, watching Lydia carefully to see if he could point out any ulterior motives for her to be there, telling him this. But he couldn’t think of any. She was being extremely genuine. A true friend.

“In order to get something like this expunged, you’d have to become a model student,” she reasoned. “What helped you keep going?”

“Football.”

She smiled. “That’s funny. For me it was boxing.”

He chuckled in agreement. “So, maybe you were right. We had similar childhoods. Do you still box?”

“When I’m upset I find a gym or nearby ring. It’s the only way I can stop myself from beating up the people who get on my nerves.”

He gave a genuine laugh as she said that. “Well, I’m sure you can find a boxing ring in Chicago, but I’m just putting out there that you have my full permission to sock Dennison if it comes to it.”

“Be careful,” she teased. “You’re already on his bad side.”

“So are you, it seems.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a problematic person.”

~ ~ ~

“Hotch wants to talk to you,” Gideon announced as he walked into the interrogation room.

Lydia hesitated to leave Derek, even if just for a moment. “What about?”

“I don’t know.” Gideon was evidently tired. The last time she saw him this washed up was when they were dealing with the Fisher King. “I’ll stay here, don’t worry.”

She locked eyes with Morgan. “You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grumbled.

She nodded finally and left, finding Hotch standing directly outside, looking through the double-sided mirror.

“I know I can be abrupt at times, but if Morgan is involved in something he doesn’t feel comfortable to tell us about, that is a concern to the integrity of the team and I need to know it,” he told her, not looking away from the window in front of him. “I don’t need people arguing with me while I try to figure out what that is. He may not be proud of his past, but we needed to know about his criminal record and you tried to prevent that.”

“What good has the criminal record done you so far?” she inquired.

He stayed stoic, not responding.

“Fine, Hotch. I’m sorry I lashed out at you. May I see my friend again?”

“No,” he replied. “I want you to stay with JJ for a little while and see what Garcia finds on him.”

“You’re having Garcia pull up files on him like a suspect?” Lydia demanded.

“He is not a suspect,” Hotch snapped, finally looking at Lydia. “But right now, we have nothing. The only evidence that the police have provided is the circumstances that point to him. We are profilers-”

“Then go be profilers!” she shouted back. “Three kids have been murdered. One of which, we know the name of. Damien Walters. Have you talked to his family? Maybe tried to get Gordinski to tell you more about his two John Doe victims? Right now, the only lead I see you following is the one where Morgan’s a suspect.”

“We came here to prove his innocence. Not solve a case.”

“As if you could prevent yourself from stopping a bad guy when you see one,” she hissed. “You have always respected my privacy on this team. Any one of them could probably google my name and find out about my parents, so there’s no reason for me to hide it. But you let me. Because there are some things that are hard to talk about. And sometimes it changes the way people look at you.”

“Do you think he’s willing to go to jail for those secrets?”

“No, but it hasn’t come to that yet! ...Trust him.”

Lydia had to step away, knowing she was about to say or do something she’d regret. How could they not understand?

She waved to JJ as she passed, but didn’t stop. She needed to go outside and take a breather. Take a few moments for herself. That was all.

She paced outside the precinct for several minutes, jumping around slightly, but it wasn’t enough. If she went back in there, she might lose it. She hadn’t blacked out during an episode in a long time, but in that moment, she felt capable of a lot.

Sighing, she tugged off her jacket, wrapping one of the sleeves around her hand to soften the blow. This would have to do for now.

~ ~ ~

When she walked back inside, Hotch and Gideon were with JJ, the three of them talking quietly. She quickly brushed her fingers through her hair and threw her jacket back over her shoulders.

“You guys are leaving him alone now?” she asked.

“He’s not being very compliant,” Hotch said, shortly. “We need to spend our time elsewhere.”

“Like?”

A new voice spoke up from behind Hotch. “You folks work with Derek Morgan?”

Hotch turned around immediately. “Yes, sir. Closely.”

“You knew him well as a teenager?” Gideon inquired.

The man had just been getting coffee and slowly approached them. “One of the finest boys I’ve ever coached. Football. I run a youth center.”

Gideon smiled politely. “I gather you were instrumental in helping to get his criminal records expunged.”

“I feel terrible about that now,” he admitted, shaking his head. He looked almost like a disapproving parent.

“You do?” JJ asked.

“Well, in view of what’s happened-”

“What’s happened is a mistake,” Gideon explained.

His eyebrows knit together. “I’m confused. I thought Stan said there was all kinds of evidence.”

As if smelling the probability that someone would disprove his theory, Gordinski appeared at his side. “There is. Thanks, Carl. You can take Miss Walters home now. I appreciate you bringing her in.”

“Of course, of course… Derek Morgan. It’s still hard for me to believe.”

“For them, too,” Gordinski dismissed.

“I can understand that. Derek had a way of charming people into looking past his deficiencies.”

Suddenly, Lydia had tunnel vision. She didn’t even hear JJ’s question, because she was solely focused on Carl’s behavior. His words bounced around her head: I feel terrible… all kinds of evidence… hard for me to believe…

Derek’s deficiencies.

“Derek was at the youth center yesterday, wasn’t he?” Hotch was saying when Lydia snapped back to herself.

“Playing football with Damien Walters and some other boys,” Carl agreed.

“Carl’s the one that saw ‘em leaving together,” Gordinski intervened.

“Did you talk to him?” Hotch continued.

“I was working inside. By the time I was done, they were leaving.”

“And when was the last time you did talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Years.”

As he was saying that, he did something strange. He looked Hotch up and down as if sizing him up. It was almost like he was threatened by his presence.

Carl started to say his goodbyes to Gordinski and Hotch stepped away from the group, towards Derek’s holding cell. Before he could get too far, something came over Lydia and she ran after him.

“Wait, Hotch-” she called, stumbling up beside him.

“Yes,” he began, impatiently.

“I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but may I have permission to go with that guy back to the youth center?”

“Why?”

She paused for a moment, trying to piece everything she’d seen together in her head. “That interaction didn’t seem weird to you?” she demanded.

“Of course it did,” he snapped. “We find out there’s a guy in town who saved Morgan’s life and he doesn’t even talk to him anymore?”

“Not on Morgan’s side!” she retorted. “On his! He probably put a lot of effort into getting Derek’s records expunged. And then the second a cop tells him that Derek’s a serial killer, he doesn’t even ask for proof? And he’s talking about Derek’s ‘deficiencies’-”

“Maybe they’re not on good terms anymore.”

“And you think it’s Derek’s fault? I think it’s his. If he thought Derek was capable of murdering children, why would he let him hang around the youth center?” She took in a breath, not realizing she’d been running her sentences together. “Please? I’ll just talk to some of the kids and this way I’ll be out of your hair.”

He didn’t look pleased and Lydia thought for sure she was going to be sent away again, but Hotch just glanced over her shoulder and said, “Mr. Buford?”

She flipped around, just in time to see Carl stop by the door and turn back to them. “Yes?”

“May my team member come along with you to the center? Just to speak to some kids Derek was with?”

He didn’t look pleased. It took him several moments, just staring at Lydia to finally say, “Sure.”

~ ~ ~

She’d barely made it to the center when Hotch’s name appeared on her screen. She excused herself quickly, staying on the sidewalk outside the building as she picked up.

“What’s up?”

“Morgan’s disappeared. He ran from the station.”

“What?! What the hell is he thinking?”

“Do not tell Buford.”

“I won’t,” she told him quickly. “Do you want me to search nearby or…?”

“No. Stay put. I have reason to believe that Derek might come to you. Don’t confront him unless you think he’s going to do something dangerous.”

She tried once more not to lash out at Hotch for a lack of trust. “You think he’s coming for Buford?”

“Stay there,” he repeated.

Lydia put her phone down, trying to come up with the best way to see this through. Hotch wanted her to stay, but Lydia knew that Morgan was going to want to speak to Carl alone. And she should trust him to do that, right? And if she ended up hanging out inside the center, Buford might get suspicious… but Hotch was already super upset with her.

Pulling herself together, she made up her mind and walked inside. “Mr. Buford?”

“Yes?” he called from his office.

“It looks like my supervisor wants me back at the station.”

“Has something happened?” he asked, almost immediately. He was sitting up straight in his chair, staring at her intently.

“No, no,” Lydia dismissed as calmly as possible. “With the night falling so quickly, he’s considering wrapping up for the day. It seems,” she stated, glancing around, “that you don’t have too many kids here still anyway. I should come back tomorrow.”

His posture relaxed instantaneously. “Alright. Do you know how to get back?”

“Yes. My coworker is going to drive by and pick me up. Thank you.”

She left him there, stepping back outside and away from the door, so that if Buford decided to leave, he wouldn’t see her still standing out there. She made sure she still had a clear view of the entrance however. No one would go in or out without her knowledge.

It wasn’t until she was finally sure that Carl wouldn’t be able to see her that she noticed two people in a dugout across the street. It was too dark to make out anything other than their silhouettes, but she would bet quite a lot to say that was Derek over there. The other person was shorter and thinner. If she had to guess, one of the kids from the youth center.

They just talked for a while. Their close proximity made Lydia think the conversation was personal. And then, the kid left. Derek stood in the center of the dugout, just watching him go.

Lydia stepped out from her spot around the corner as he walked out onto the street and towards the youth center.

“Hey, Derek,” she started, softly.

He was stunned by her presence, but for the first time since she got to Chicago, he didn’t seem upset. He was resigned. He had a plan. And whatever he was going to do once he entered that building, he was committed to it. “Lydia, how did you find me?”

“I was following Buford… I didn’t trust him.”

Finally, she walked out to the center of the sidewalk, meeting him face to face. She glanced at the door before back at him.

“Do you want company when you go in there?”

He shook his head.

“Okay… I think Hotch is on the way. He thought you might end up here.”

“I know.”

“Should I let him in?” she inquired. “When he gets here?”

Morgan reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll know what to do. You just stay right here and wait until this is all over, okay kiddo?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t know what it was. Whatever Hotch or Gideon or any of them found out, she couldn’t see it. So, she worried that when he came back out he’d be a different person. And she wanted to give him a final hug before he disappeared behind that door.

But he needed to keep his thoughts collected right now. So she let him go.

By the time Hotch and Gideon arrived, she was just about ready to head in herself. Not for Morgan’s sake, but because Chicago in December was freezing cold. Alone, in the dark, standing on the sidewalk and freaking out about her friend was a bit too much.

Gordinski and Dennison were with them. And since Hotch wasn’t running the case, he listened to them when they asked the three Bureau members to stay outside while they figured out what was happening.

And they left with Carl Buford in handcuffs.

Lydia slipped right past them, walking into the youth center and up to Derek, in the center of the room. He had tears streaming down his face, but he looked at her with expectation. He needed to know that it was worth it. And it was.

She reached out, finally wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. “You did it. You did your job today. You caught the bad guy. I’m so proud of you.”

She didn’t need to know what had happened between them. Buford was going down for the murder of three children. And Morgan… he’d be okay.

~ ~ ~

“Where have you been?” Lydia teased as she sat down across Spencer on the jet.

“Emily left me at Mrs. Morgan’s house,” he groaned. “I spent the evening with his sisters. I hear you let Morgan escape from the station.”

“Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head. “I got kicked out long before that happened.”

“Kicked out?”

She looked down at her lap, then turned around and glanced at Hotch across the plane. “Yeah… Turns out Hotch doesn’t like it when you argue with him in front of other agents. I have some things to apologize for when we land.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got some things to say sorry for, too,” Spencer reassured her.

She simply shrugged, moving on. “Were his sister’s nice?”

He nodded. “After a little while. They were somewhat accusing when Emily and I started questioning them, but Emily convinced them we were there to help. They uh… they knew who I was. They said Derek talked about me sometimes.”

“You two have been working together for years,” Lydia said with a smile. “You really thought he didn’t tell his family about one of his closest friends on the job?”

“You think he considers us friends?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know he does, Spencer. Do you?”

“Think he considers us friends?”

“Consider him a friend,” she clarified.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

“Good.”

Lydia reached for her bag and pulled out her laptop to work on her dissertation for the rest of the flight. Spencer had been right the day before to say that she was in the home stretch of her graduate work. And it would be quite the hard run. But god would it be rewarding.

...she hoped.

Once the jet landed and the team started to file off, Lydia picked up her bag, only to be stopped by Spencer. They were the farthest back, so everyone was stepping off the platform and couldn’t see them. She gave him a look of utter confusion.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” he said, quietly.

He always knew, didn’t he?

“I was upset after my fight with Hotch,” she explained. “I’m okay now, I promise. It’s really nothing.”

He hesitantly nodded. “Okay. Do you possibly want to get something to eat?”

She laughed, finally making her way out of the aisle and off the plane. “Spencer, it’s like 3 in the morning.”

“All I’ve had to eat for most of the day is cake,” he argued.

Cake? Lydia thought. ...Wait.

“You ate his mom’s birthday cake??”

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff @wooya1224 @spencerelds

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds oc #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #untouchable #untouchable ch11 #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #lydia ambers #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jason gideon

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 5

Interlude: Thomas

(reader beware: mature content)

It was strange to say the least to have David here again after all these years. (All these years and not a bit of change.) Sometimes Thomas felt that he was hallucinating it (losing his mind at last) or dreaming. But then again, that couldn’t be the case. If this were a hallucination or a dream, things would be easier. They would be happier.

They would be happy.

Thomas had never liked to think - or hallucinate or dream - about how things with David had soured, towards the end. It had been easy to remember the good things exclusively, the companionship, the tenderness, the comfort and thrill and love. David had stayed a joyful memory, despite the tragedy of his (supposed) passing, somehow still an oasis in a desert of grief. Perhaps this had been idealization. It is easy to idealize a dead loved one. It is less easy to keep up that pretense in said loved one’s bodily, live presence.

It was strange, yes. How often had he wished in vain that someone, anyone would come back, just one of them, it didn’t even matter who? Just one other occupied room. Just one person to turn to, when things got rough. Just one person who would understand. Now someone had come back. And not just anyone. David, within reach again, to see, to speak to... to touch. But whenever his hands started reaching out, there was that memory again.

“Well, I just almost got myself and half the men shot for mutiny.”

“Shot for...? Thomas, what on earth did you do?”

“I retracted my opposition. Not willingly, mind you. I am to supervise the rearguard. You, Lieutenant, with your expertise, will most likely be part of the task force that’ll retrieve the actual library.”

“They split us up?! Thomas... do you think they know?”

“What is there to know?”

“Songbird, please...”

“You got what you wanted, Davey. You won. Operation Spatchcock is a go.”

And yet, still, despite all that, he could only ever curtail, never stop, the urge to reach and touch.

It was David, after all. David with that beautiful hair so good for tugging, with his eyes as clear as always, with those sweet, sweet lips. Those capable hands. It was David whose body Thomas knew. Touching would feel like coming home. Touching might piece something back together inside him, something that remained by itself, broken and abandoned and forgotten, for decades and decades.

And there was something scary in that thought. That David might break him open and unearth that hidden something. That there would have to be a breaking. Thomas could not afford to break another time.

So he left David to sit at the dinner table and stare holes into his plate by himself, went and fetched Peter’s finished Latin homework and attempted to peruse it in the drawing room. Peter’s Latin was coming along, at a sedate pace but nonetheless, but today it was abysmal. Clearly he’d had other things on his mind. And who could fault him? After puzzling through the first paragraph of it, Thomas crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of Scotch. The bottle was almost (but not quite) as old as he was, and had been nearly emptied slowly, over the decades, a glass or two every other year, because Thomas wasn’t a man who drunk to excess.

He found he couldn’t concentrate on the paper before him as well as he would have liked. Scraps of old, old conversations kept reverberating within his mind, loud today, understandable under the circumstances.

“You’re being paranoid, songbird. I understand, but... I am certain Folly command wouldn’t muster every last wizard of serviceable age just to send them off to die. It will be a tough mission, I’ve no doubt of that. But I’m convinced that we’ll come out on top.”

“Bullshit. It’s hundreds of miles behind the front, David. We’ll be cut off from any reinforcements. Nowhere to fall back to. According to intelligence, the place is a death trap.”

“And who do you know in intelligence? How would you have gotten an intelligence officer to relinquish that information, hm?”

“This is hardly the time. I don’t need to blow intelligence officers to see what’s bloody obvious. You think command cares if we make it through this one? It’s high time you got that pretty head out of your stack of books and faced reality. They’re willing to bet all our lives on this bloody suicide run on the off-chance that someone makes it home with that library.”

“There is considerable empirical value to that library.”

“Oh? That’s what it’s about, eh, for you? You honestly believe that I am going to stand here and let them slaughter my men for ‘considerable empirical value’. My men, David! I’ve got them this far! I’m not throwing them into the meat grinder for your fucking research.”

“Would you prefer seeing said research in the hands of the Nazis? God only knows what they’re doing with it!”

“I would see it in the hands of no one. Chuck a few bombs at the place and bury all of it. Damn you and damn your revenge and damn your research.”

Thomas sighed and poured another glass of Scotch.

Just then, the reason for his discomposure entered the room and sat down in a chair by the fireplace, his back straight, his face resolute, determined. Like he was going to make it work. It irked Thomas, and he didn’t know why, that David wanted to get to the fixing of things. There wouldn’t have been anything to fix if David hadn’t been so stupid as to advocate for the Ettersberg mission.

“May I?” David asked, reaching for the bottle.

“Get your own.” Waspish. Juvenile. Why couldn’t he stop acting like this? Why didn’t he feel like even wanting to try? Thomas lifted a hand to his temples. His eyes stung. He’d been getting very little sleep lately; the return of David shook loose memories, and the night terrors had come back.

David’s face looked soft in the firelight. almost like before the war, when it had been a little fuller. If Molly kept making pies at the rate she was going, he’d soon get back to normal. Thomas clenched his hands in his lap, and it was as if they were sending him little impulses: touch him, hold him, have him. But spurn him, sang his blood, don’t let him near.

It was easier when... he didn’t finish that thought. Didn’t say it out loud either, because that would have been the height of cruelty. It was a lie, anyway. It had not been easier when David had, for all intents and purposes, been dead. It had been... differently complicated.

Thomas went to pour a third glass of Scotch, reconsidered and took the last slug directly from the bottle. It got David’s attention, so he flicked his tongue against the rim of it, just for a split-second, just briefly enough to have plausible deniability. Back in the day, he would have winked. He didn’t now. Tease him, ignore him. Reel him back in, push him away. His heart was loud and clamorous and contradictory tonight. It was like being fifteen again, or no, scratch that, it hadn’t been... he hadn’t been nearly as complicated at fifteen. He’d only known that he found the boy who tutored him and sometimes came to watch the rugby exceedingly pretty, so he had brought him wildflowers plucked from the wayside, and cakes nicked from the kitchens, and helped carry his books and quizzed him for tests and took him along for nightly excursions and eventually asked to kiss him behind the shed for the cricket equipment.

For practice, he’d said. An experiment, David had said. It doesn’t have to mean anything, they’d both agreed. But then they’d actually managed, somehow, to bump their lips together, and Thomas had been thinking, oh, and yes and so good and I’m never doing anything else but this. And eventually they’d had to admit to each other that the experiment only ever yielded a need for repetition, and they weren’t practicing for anything. Neither of them actually desired a girlfriend like most of the other boys at Casterbrook. They desired each other, and kissing behind the shed for the cricket equipment, forever.

Oh yes, he had known at fifteen, at eighteen, at twenty that what they were doing could have seen them ruined, jailed, ousted from society. It had been a thrill to his young mind, a scandalous secret, an adventure. The glamour had worn off of it as they grew older, as their schoolmates were settling down with wives and children and summer houses in the country and Thomas and David were still sneaking around like teenagers, and ducking behind tiring pretenses and stupid rumours and Molly’s skirts for their safety. But that had just been what their relationship had naturally been like, a mundane fact of life, like taxes. And then there’d been the men with the pink triangles. The stark and final reminder that nothing about having to exist thus in secret was thrilling or mundane, that the people around them genuinely wanted them dead.

But everything had gone to hell in a handbasket by then anyway.

Thomas set the empty bottle down, and it hit the table a bit harder than intended. His hand-eye-coordination was already slightly off. Besides that, his face was starting to warm, in a way that told him that it was about time to retire from drinking any more before things seriously went south. But he didn’t want to listen to the voice of reason tonight. He wanted to listen to the voice that said, perhaps another glass.

So he traversed the room again and unearthed another bottle from the liquor cabinet. Walking straight wasn’t a problem - yet. Thomas wasn’t, usually, a man who drank to excess. But exceptions must be.

He had just poured the third glass when David asked, “What were you reading?”

Thomas gestured vaguely at the papers still spread out on the coffee table. “Tacitus. It’s Peter’s homework.”

“Oh,” David said. “Can I help you revise it? You seem tired, and I always had a hand for--”

“No,” Thomas cut in and poured the contents of his glass down his throat in one quick, decisive movement. “I told you before, and I was very serious: I won’t have you interfere with Peter’s studies.”

David sniffed. “But I am allowed to talk to him, aren’t I.”

“I suppose. I’m thinking about it.” Thomas looked from his glass back to David, meaning to give him a stern glare, but his eyes ended up roving, caught on the lines of David’s face, slightly unfocused. Here he was, back here, to touch. They’d kissed earlier, down in the lab, and maybe Thomas had hoped that after that, things would appear easier, clearer, somehow. But nothing was easier. He’d hoped, in secret, not even going so far as to articulate this to himself, that a kiss would put them back on an even keel, erase the clamour in his heart, restore tranquility to him. But nothing was tranquil. In fact, he hadn’t desired like this in a long time. He’d gotten one kiss, nowhere near enough to slake this suddenly recurring need.

“Come to bed with me,” he suggested.

“What?” David exclaimed with an incredulous little laugh. “You don’t trust me to go over your apprentice’s Latin homework, but you’d take me to bed?”

“Yes.” It really didn’t seem too extraordinary a stance to take. Peter’s studies were meaningful in the greater scheme of things. Sex wasn’t. “Personal is not necessarily the same as important.”

David shook his head. “I never could agree with you on that.”

To keep his hands and mouth occupied, Thomas poured himself another glass of Scotch, and downed it quickly. He was beginning to lose count of how many glasses deep he was. But that hardly mattered, because it made his lips tingle and it burned on the way down and the reasons why he didn’t want to touch David now were swimming out of focus.

“I had hoped it would be different,” David said, “our first time back home.”

Thomas couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. Our first time back home. “Davey,” he said, and it came out rougher than intended, “you’ve hoped for many things.”

“That’s true,” David murmured. “I suppose you were right, back then. It really was high time I faced reality.”

And this... was wrong, that David should suddenly talk like this. He’d much rather have naively optimistic David with his head stuck in a textbook than this broken, humbled version. Reach, touch, Thomas’s heart whispered, and it was easy to forget why it was a bad idea. Thomas reached, put a hand on David’s cheek, ran the pad of his thumb across David’s sweet mouth. David shivered, lips opening in a gentle gasp. It felt familiar in a way Thomas had forgotten things could feel. Like reaching back across the decades, and it was a miracle that his fingers remembered, even ever so slightly, what it was like to touch David’s face.

Suddenly, something dark clawed at his chest, something frenzied, almost like panic, because how could this be, this ghost of a sensation, remembered from all these years back, how could it be that this was real, brought to life again? Suddenly he feared that if he closed his eyes, and opened them again, David might have disappeared.

There was but one thing for it. Closer. More. Now their bodies were flush against each other, their lips crashing together, greedy, desperate, ungentle. Thomas fisted a hand in David’s hair - David whimpered so prettily against his lips - the other hand pulling up his shirt to get at the skin beneath, warm, living skin. The planes of David’s body pressed against his front, so familiar. His head spun, and fear threatened to drown him, choke him, so he sought salvation in David’s mouth, licking inside, kissing him frantically. Oh, he had been starved of this, and one kiss was not enough, so he kissed him another time, and another, and another.

“Mh... Thomas...” David disengaged, shifting back a little in his seat, a hand coming up to cup Thomas’s face. He sucked the index and middle finger into his mouth without hesitation.

“Thomas... shsh... you’re, this is not... you’re shaking, please stop, just a moment.”

David‘s other hand came to rest on Thomas’s shoulder, maintaining an arm’s length of distance between them, and it irritated Thomas, being so pushed away. Was he shaking? Maybe. But what did that matter? He could figure that out later, or never. He put a hand on David’s thigh and leaned forward against the hand gripping his shoulder, trying to chase David’s lips. “Now you’re complaining, Davey?”

“No, but...” David got up. Thomas, attempting to follow him, swayed into him, and steadied himself by in turn holding onto David’s shoulders. Whoops. Hopefully that looked like he’d meant to do that.

“See, you’ve been drinking,” David said. “It’s not right. Let’s just get you to your bed, okay, and I’ll get to mine.”

“Or...” Thomas flicked David’s chest with his index finger to stress his point, “we’ll both go to my bed and stay there and see what develops.”

David shook his head softly. “Another time.”

“What makes you think I’ll offer another time?”

“We love each other.” David’s voice was steady, his gaze clear and firm, and it rubbed something raw within Thomas, something that did not like being so exposed at all. “That is the one thing I am still sure about, even in this new world, even after the war, even after... that place. We will figure things out, but not tonight.”

Thomas laughed, a bitter, mirthless bark of a sound. Because he’d been impossible to David ever since he had returned, he hadn’t been able to contain any of the ugly slurry of his feelings, and he hadn’t been able to afford David even the slightest shred of courtesy, and yet here David was, talking about how they would definitely figure things out. “What if we don’t figure things out?” he asked, breaking contact, disentangling his limbs from David’s. “What if I don’t want to? What if I won’t want to figure things out with the man who led us all to go to Ettersberg?”

David bowed his head, his eyes now hooded, dark. “I’d understand that.” He took a step back, in the direction of the door. “Do you want to break up?”

It was a genuine offer. David was offering.

Do you want to break up?

Had he taken another step back? He was so far away. So, so far away. It was too dark in the reading room and he was slipping away, away into the past again, no longer in reach to touch, and maybe it was really just the darkness of the reading room, maybe it was Thomas’s vision going black around the edges, and he trembled, and he ached,

and he was close again somehow, hands clawed into David’s sweater, his head buried in David’s shoulder, breathing in his scent in horrid, flat, hitching gasps.

“No,” he muttered, when he had the air for it. “No. No, no.”

“Songbird.” David sounded saddened, startled. The nuances of David’s voice, suddenly again familiar. There was a hand down his back, a hand in his hair stroking along the hairline, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp in a way he’d forgotten he found comforting. David hadn’t forgotten. “Oh... Thomas. You’re not okay.”

It ought to have been ridiculous, you’re not okay. As much was evident. But he couldn’t recall ever hearing it said, and it did something to him, and he held on to David’s shoulder like it was the only anchor in a sea of chaos, and he didn’t know how to ride this out, so he clung and waited and the tide tossed him about and did not recede.

“I forgot what you smelled like,” he heard himself say, detachedly. “The sheets in your room lost your scent eventually, and then all your clothes did because I wore them, and it almost broke me a second time, because I was losing more and more of you with each passing day and you weren’t coming back to renew anything. I forgot what it was like to touch you. The sound of your voice. The feel of your signare. The feel of your hand.”

“Eighty years,” David whispered. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t understand.”

No, Thomas wanted to say, no you damn well didn’t, but he couldn’t. All he could do was cling to David’s shoulder and be battered by this, wrenched open by his care. Walking wounded.

“But I’m here now,” David continued. “I will take care of things.”

Somehow, Thomas found his voice again. It sounded strange to his own ears. “What things? What will you take care of?”

David looked at him, so earnestly it hurt to observe. “Anything needs must,” he said. “You.”

“But I am not for taking care of,” Thomas said. He didn’t know why he said it. Except... here is my duty, mine, alone. Do not suggest you will relieve me. There was never any relief. There will never be any relief.

“Oh, songbird, but aren’t you?” David asked. “The others, they all went into the country and attempted to heal, or they are at rest forever. When did you rest?”

“I...” Thomas tried to gather his resolve, put the walls back into place that David was wearing down with all these questions, and he found he couldn’t. He felt... once, as a child, he had watched Mother dispel slugs from her rose garden by pouring salt on the creatures. He, then five years old, had burst into tears at the sight of the slugs squirming impotently to get away as they succumbed to the fatal substance, and he’d tried to wrestle the jar of salt from his mother’s hand when tears wouldn’t stop her, and received a thorough scolding for it. He felt like one of those slugs now: soft and unwitting and utterly defenseless before an almighty fate. Tomorrow, the walls would be back in place. Tomorrow he would be The Nightingale again, unapproachable and aloof. But not tonight. Tonight he was soft and lonesome and powerless and there was nothing but the dark of the reading room, the alcohol making swirls in his head, and his boyfriend, sweetly returned from the dead.

“I... don’t,” he said. “I didn’t.”

“That’s not right,” David said. His hand was still in Thomas’s hair, stroking in a way that was infinitely soothing, blunt fingernails against his scalp. “That shouldn’t have been asked of you.”

Well, life doesn’t care about shouldn’t, Thomas wanted to say, it simply was asked of me, even when I was in so deep I could barely lift my head they were asking it of me, and not least because you weren’t there, because you ran away, but what he ended up saying, murmuring into David’s jumper rather, was “They needed me.”

David snorted. “Command? You never--”

Thomas shook his head. “The lads did.”

“Ah, yes. Your ducklings.” The smile was audible in David’s voice.

It had been a joke between them, Nightingale’s Ducklings. The younger and younger recruits they had kept sending down from London in the latter years of the war. Fresh-faced youths, barely of age, looking like they’d been playing dress-up in their uniforms. Some of them scared, some of them vigorous and over-eager to prove themselves to the more seasoned veterans, most of them now dead. Thomas had tried, whenever possible, to do his utmost to protect the boys, but tossed up against a place like Ettersberg, there had been no protecting anybody.

“And how are the chaps anyway? I’m assuming you’re still in contact with them all?” David chuckled. “Oh goodness, they must be old men by now!”

“I’d like to go to bed now,” Thomas said.

“Hm? Oh of course, of course.” Getting what he wanted, David was quickly distracted from his previous line of inquiry. I do know him so very well, Thomas thought disjointedly as David wrapped an arm around his waist. On autopilot - even still! - Thomas slung his arm across David’s shoulders in return. They’d done this on unnumbered pub crawls, then later on similarly unnumbered battlefields. “There we go, ay-up, Captain.”

“I can walk,” Thomas protested, even as his head dropped back onto David’s shoulder. Really, he wasn’t that inebriated. Slightly tipsy, that was all.

“In a straight line?” David questioned.

“That won’t be a problem.”

David sighed airily and nosed into his hair. “Let me have this, Thomas.”

----

Thomas tried again, when he had David in his bedroom kneeling before him (between his legs) at the foot of the bed, as David took his hand and unbuttoned his cuff and pressed one chaste kiss to his wrist. It made Thomas shudder, being so kissed, and seconds later he was reaching almost blindly for David’s face again, tugging him up, crashing their mouths together, wanting David’s lips on his, wanting David’s lips all sorts of places. But David broke the kiss and smiled at him, a smile full of such love as he didn’t deserve, and didn’t budge, even when Thomas slipped his right shoe off and ran his foot along David’s inseam.

David gasped, and twitched a little, but he said, “No, songbird. Another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Thomas said, which he hadn’t meant to, in a strange, rough voice that sounded much more 1940s than 2010s. Why on earth had he said that? Tomorrow he would remember all the very good reasons for not recommitting to anything where David was concerned. But tonight he was wanting, nothing else.

“I hope so,” David replied as he got up and smiled sadly, because oh, he knew those reasons too. He bent down one last time and ran his thumb across Thomas’s cheekbone, and kissed him again, a soft, small peck, a kiss goodnight. “Sleep well.”

And he went back to his own room.

So bereft of company and the warmth of David’s body, Thomas groaned and pressed the heel of his hand into his crotch. Somewhere along the way wanting had become needing, and now he was alone with it. As always, alone with it.

For a split-second he considered going and getting his entertainment elsewhere. Peter was in tonight, some few rooms over, perhaps this would be the night he finally tried to... but no, that thought was, as always, firmly tamped down, because Peter’s pregnant girlfriend was a woman of formidable power, and besides, there was never any use to any attempts upon the tragically heterosexual. He hadn’t considered Peter in such a manner at all lately, what with David around again, so perhaps this was one of these rare problems that solved themselves.

His pool of potential applicants already depleted, Thomas took himself in hand. He hadn’t felt the need to do this in a while, and didn’t expect to last any time at all. As if a tightly locked floodgate had been opened, his mind conjured up images of David, things he hadn’t let himself think about in decades and decades lest the grief make him lose his mind for good. But the memories were no longer tinged with grief now, because David was back, and his mind delighted in recalling again the lines and dips and curves of David’s body and being able to do so freely, without the crushing sadness of permanent loss.

David before the war, softer then, solid, (he still was too thin now) no shell-shock dulling the light in his eyes. The sensation of tracing the dip of David’s hips through the soft fabric of one of his jumpers, the hard line of him in his slacks, backing him up against a bookshelf in the mundane library (so risqué but oh, so thrilling) and listening to his breath deepen, sticking a hand down his pants, being greeted with the velvet heat of David’s cock, watching David’s face pinch and, eventually, release, going from biting his lips raw and red in an effort to not be overheard to slack-mouthed pleasure. David’s mouth just now, so pink and slick from their kissing, David kneeling between his legs and where that might have gone, in another, ideal world. While Thomas very much loved giving oral, he knew with David the receiving was just as sweet. He imagined them taking a night and just alternating sucking each other off until they collapsed in bone-deep, delicious exhaustion into dreamless sleep, and he felt his hips cant upwards into his fist with renewed need, and gripped himself just this side of too tight. Yes, god, he thought, my David.

At about this point Thomas noticed himself crying, a clear stream of tears down his cheeks, but they felt cathartic, so he left them. His heart was light. He had done this once or twice just after the war, brought memories of David to the forefront of his mind for this express purpose, simply exhausting any possibility of chasing a few seconds of relief from it all. The resulting crash and burn and slew of self-disgust when he’d inevitably remembered his boyfriend (supposedly) blowing his brains out in this very building had never been pretty. (He’d considered turning to drinking to excess then for a bit, until Molly had put her foot down regarding that.) Tonight he knew there would be no crashing and burning, because David was just down the hall, hale and whole and sleeping the sleep of the less-than-innocent.

He had flagged a bit, with the crying, so Thomas sped up his hand and remembered that week they’d spent at David’s father’s hunting lodge, the two of them alone in the empty countryside, free to share the bed in the master bedroom, free to wake next to each other and make early-morning love unhurriedly, free to prepare breakfast in the nude and take it back to bed. They’d been younger then, and made love almost unflaggingly, pausing intermittently to eat and generally observe life’s basic needs, only for this moment or that to start another round, and before they’d known it they’d come together again, fevered with need for each other, drunk on all this unobserved alone time.

My Folly now, Thomas thought disjointedly, we can do it in every room we never used to dare to, and he released another moan as he felt himself cresting, and the back of his head hit the headboard with a thunk as he came, came and came with the force of his lonely years, eking the moment out and stroking himself to overstimulation, until his hips twitched and his whole body shook with the pleasure-pain of it. And if he fell asleep in the wet patch before he could gather the resolve to get up and fully undress, half in déshabillé with himself still in hand, it certainly was undignified, but there was no one there to witness it.

#david mellenby lives AU #rivers of london #we change the pov character!! #there will be interlude: david also at some point and probably more than once #bc i want him to go off on his own a couple times #um idk what the f i did with the ending there #that was last night. it just kinda happened i'm still baffled by it

[seoulsborne123]

The Forgotten Queen: Chapter 1

To those unfamiliar with Bloodborne, it wouldn't be a deal breaker since I hope I will do a decent job to bring its elements in as organically as I can :) And as always: thank you for reading! Here’s chapter 1.

The Dolphin Cafe was busy as usual. Mai Taniyama paused to inhale the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread before continuing her trek up the stairs, through the hallway and past other small offices, until she reached the brown door with frosted pane. On it the words 'SPR Shibuya Psychic Research' was printed in an elegant script.

She pushed it open, making sure not to make too much noise. With the coast clear, she crossed the reception area and deposited her school items behind her office desk.

The sound of voices floated from the CEO's office. Even with the door slightly ajar, she couldn't understand what was being said. Curious, she silently approached to listen.

"I'd have to refuse."

"But Martin and I believe you're the best person to consult about this."

Mai's eyes widened. The voices were speaking in rapid English, but they sounded familiar. One she knew belonged to her boss, though it seemed as if speaking in his mother tongue made his voice drop a little lower in timbre, while the female voice could only belong to Madoka Mori.

What was she doing back in Japan?

She peeked inside.

Mai could only see her from the back, but from her light brown hair, which at times hit the light just right to make it seem almost pink, she knew it was definitely the bubbly, carefree investigator who kindly mentored her during her boss' absence. Thanks to her, Mai was able to graduate from being a part-time assistant, to a part-time investigator.

On the other hand, she could see her boss' face— he was sitting with his arms crossed, beautiful, as always, but aloof and maybe a tad irritated. Also as always.

"Is that so? Or is it more that it's the perfect excuse for the lot of you to get me to come back home?"

"Well…" Madoka hesitated. "I mean, of course Martin and Luella would be glad to have you back, but I'm sure they truly believe you're the leading expert on this. And you know I believe it."

"Don't patronize me. I don't intend to come home while I still have unfinished business here."

"So you keep saying. But what? Is it… Could it be Gene's spirit that keeps you here?"

At the mention of Gene's name, Mai stiffened up.

There was a pause before he answered, "It is in everyone's best interest for Gene's spirit to move on. He was a powerful psychic. His spirit turning malevolent over the years will surely become problematic, therefore I need to figure out why that idiot won't move on before it's too late." His voice was calm and collected, almost detached.

Typical Naru.

Mai shook her head and pulled away, knowing that she shouldn't be eavesdropping on this personal conversation. It would be best if she made her presence known sooner or later, otherwise it would be more awkward to try and explain why she had been so quiet this whole time. She headed to the kitchenette to prepare everyone a cup of tea.

Meanwhile, Madoka observed her ex-student's casual posture and decided to push matters further.

"Noll…"

He was known by many names: Noll, Naru, Kazuya Shibuya, Oliver Davis. To people in Japan he was known as Kazuya Shibuya, head of Shibuya Psychic Research, though it was a fake name used to hide his true identity so he could investigate his brother's death in secret. To the greater psychic community and the rest of the world he was Oliver Davis, renowned for his psychokinetic abilities and as a valued member of the Society for Psychical Research. To his Japanese colleagues and friends he was known simply as Naru, narcissistic and arrogant at times but always their dependable leader. But to her he was always Noll, her young, prodigy student who caused her way too many headaches once upon a time, although nowadays his expertise greatly surpassed her own.

"Is it really not something you can pursue back home? Your spot in the university can't be held for you forever, you know."

Noll sighed. "I'm not putting my studies off indefinitely. Once I finish here, I intend to get my degree. If they can't hold my spot, then I will simply just have to reapply."

Madoka hummed. He had a point. Having already written several papers as a leading expert in Parapsychology and psychic phenomena, it's not like reapplying for admission would be too difficult for him.

"So," she pressed on, "what is going on, exactly? With Gene, I mean. Is he bound to the site of his…?"

The words hung in the air. She wasn't quite sure how to phrase it without getting emotional. Gene had also been her student once.

"It's not the site he's bound to," Noll answered. "Gene's spirit latched on to Mai. It seems I'm unable to contact him unless I'm in the proximity of—"

Noll stopped abruptly and Madoka turned around. Mai Taniyama stood meekly by the doorway.

"H-hello. Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let Naru know I'm here. I've also prepared everyone a cup of tea."

"Taniyama-san! How nice to see you!" Madoka switched to Japanese and spoke it as easily as she had spoken in English.

"Mori-san, hello! I didn't know you were in the country."

Madoka tilted her head coyly and winked. "Just visiting my favorite protege. Oh, and Noll, too."

Mai giggled. "Well I should get back outside. Sorry again for interrupting. If you want, I can head downstairs for a while to give you guys more privacy?"

"Oh, there is no need to do that, Taniyama-san."

"Indeed, I doubt you understood any of it anyway."

Mai turned to Naru with a scowl. "No, but that's because I was trying not to eavesdrop. For your information, Yasuhara-san has been tutoring me and I do much better with English now, thank you very much."

Naru shrugged. "I suppose anything is an improvement for you."

Mai stuck her tongue out at him.

Madoka laughed. "At any rate I was really just talking to Noll about a case back in England. I think he's the best person to solve it, but so far he's been refusing me."

It wasn't a surprise. Naru was very particular about the cases he took and often turned away many clients. He was only interested in what he deemed were legitimate cases of supernatural phenomena. However, the last few times Madoka made the trip to Japan had only been for important reasons: once to take on a case that involved an Oliver Davis impersonator (which turned out to be one of their toughest supernatural case of yet), and the other was to take over as temporary CEO of SPR while Naru and his family laid his brother's body to rest. If this case was important enough for her to cross the ocean to coax him about it, wouldn't that already speak of the gravity of the situation? Thinking thus, Mai voiced it out loud.

Naru studied her. His gaze was too penetrating and intense, Mai wasn't sure if he was even aware he was doing it.

"W-what?" Mai asked.

"If you're just worried about being away from your cute part-timer, why don't you just bring her along?"

Mai spluttered in embarrassment while Naru merely rolled his eyes with a scowl.

"Come to think of it, considering the gravity of the situation, it might be best if you could bring in all your experts. I think you'll be needing everyone's help for this one."

Naru still appeared unconvinced. "The logistics of bringing my entire team and equipment abroad would give me too much headache."

"I didn't want to say it before, but Mr. Pratt is actually really interested in this case. He has stepped forward to fund the field research, so whatever you need, you can take it from headquarters. Having of course, read your case report on Urado, he was hoping you'd be the one to take the lead on this and asked me to recruit you if possible. I'm sure he'd be perfectly fine to have your entire team over."

Naru smiled wryly. "And were you just trying to go for theatrics?" Mai noted that he seemed to switch to English naturally when he was displeased. "This conversation would have gone a lot shorter if you started with that."

"I didn't want to use the big guns until the end."

With a heavy sigh, Naru answered, "Then I haven't really much choice, have I?"

#Forgotten Queen #ghfanfic #ghost hunt #oliver davis #eugene davis #mai taniyama #kazuya shibuya #soulsborne123

[arthur-morgan-slap-my-ass]

Touch Me

@hoseam said: you know have u ever thought about riding Hosea's face or just Hosea eating you out in general bc I have,,, a lot

Anonymous said: AKSJSJSJ ITS THE BITCH THAT ASKED FOR DADDY HOSEA YES THANK YOU I LOVED IT; now because I’m a greedy hoe for hosea (I guess you could call me HOESEA ha) how would you feel about some smut that’s just him making you cum like 500 times just from lazy oral and he’s just having fun with it and ur just like completely FUCK KAJJSJSKKJ and he’s just like lmao and having a great time turning you into a mess

Anonymous said: Soft daddy Hosea tying up your impatient ass so he can take his time doing everything he wants while you are a whimpering mess beneath him

Anonymous said: Idk if you’re still open to fic ideas but god I would kill to read a fic of reader staying with Hosea in a hotel for a night and after a bath enjoys teasing him wearing an almost see through blouse and bending over with no underwear on trying to “innocently” tempt him and he gets so frustrated he just has to touch you even tho he tries hard to resist and be a “gentlemen” about it... bonus points if Hosea makes a mess of the reader (or on her) so she has to bathe again 👀💦

A/N: I am.... idk mate I poured too much of myself into this fic. This is the epitome of my soft feelings for Hosea. I’m crying. I love him. There were so many requests, I panicked. Forgive me for any mistakes, I proof read this myself in the middle of a class, so if I go badly in that test, it’s u guys fault.

Word Count: +5k of lovey dovey sin

Summary: light bondage, soft daddy hosea being the softest dom ever, praising every 5 seconds, you being a teasing little asshole, gentle aftercare DURING and AFTER the deed, soft touching, the most heart warming smut you’ll ever read, a compilation of requests that got out of hand.

Well, if anything, you had what was coming to you.

You felt as fresh as a spring morning, having just gotten out of a properly luxurious bath that the Hotel of Saint Dennis offered — even if they charged for it, you had deemed it a proper blessing after weeks on end getting cleaned up with nothing but a bucket of freezing cold water. It wasn’t always that you could afford yourself such small luxuries, much less with Hosea’s company, given that the man was most of the time running after Dutch to make sure the man wouldn’t end up killing himself — or the whole gang, for that matter — in his crazy plans.

You cocked your head to the side, bending your knees on the soft bedding and allowing the white cotton shirt to ride up your thighs, watching the man sitting across from you in one of the lavish velvet armchairs of the room. He seemed to be too focused on the book he had in hand to be paying much attention to you — not that you minded. It was nice at times, the quiet moments of intimacy that you both had, companionable silence in his tent at late nights as he would read on and on to the light of the lantern and you’d drift off to his hand caressing your ankle.

With a smirk, you rolled to the side and stretched in the bed, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. The shirt had been pushed up once more, now reaching your waist and giving an ample view of your backside and “goods”. Not that you were trying to rile Hosea up — well, maybe —, but it was nice to see just for how long he’d keep up the respectable gentleman-y façade before giving in to your teasing.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing there,” Hosea commented idly, flicking the page of his book and that prompted an amused huff from you.

“Me?,” you feigned innocence and looked over your shoulder, with doe eyes. “I’m not doing anything.”

Hosea’s lips twitched up before he decided to look at you with an expression that made it clear that he didn’t really believe you. “What a terrible liar you are.”

You hummed, smiling softly even though you knew he couldn’t really see it. “Can’t help that my tongue isn’t as skilled as yours, dear,” you rolled to the other side, now lying with your belly up and catching his eyes with yours. “We both know you’re the specialist here, ain’t you?”

The man shook his head, although you could notice the slightest hint of a flush on the tips of his ears. He was hooked. “Little vixen, you are.”

“Won’t you come touch me?,” you teased further, running a hand down your thigh to stop it right over your knee. “We have this bed all for ourselves, such a shame if we let it go to waste…”

Hosea huffed a laugh, placing a dried off golden leaf between the pages of the book he was reading, in an all too familiar and well practiced motion. As much as you loved watching him read and be his introvert self, you loved it even more when he pampered you with attention.

“What am I supposed to do with you?,” Hosea smiled now, loosely clasping his hands on top of his stomach as he watched you from afar. He looked really handsome like this, barefoot, down to his sleeping shirt and pants, none of the daily apparel you were so used to see him in. “Giving me a run for some peace and quiet, is that so?”

You smiled, shifting your legs to make the sleepshirt that wasn’t really yours accompany your movements, caressing you as it clung to your skin, flashing your intimacy at him. “Come and teach me a lesson, daddy,” you whispered, parting your legs and snaking a hand down to your entrance with a soft sigh. “I’m dying to have you all for myself tonight.” Hosea hummed, amused by your wanton display. He wasn’t uninterested — more like enjoying the little show you put up for him —, but stayed silent as you slowly caressed your sex. “Won’t you come and teach me how to behave?”

“Should be more careful with what you ask for, sweetheart,” Hosea said, quietly. His voice, usually chirpy and good natured, had adopted a darker tone, like a low rasp — and that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Come and touch me,” you whispered in a sultry voice, slipping a finger inside with a tiny gasp, already feeling impatient, “been missin’ you…”

Hosea smirked, strained. He was enjoying your little show, perhaps far too much; unwilling to put a short end to it, but his mask of decency — if you could call it that — was starting to crack. He shifted on the armchair, adjusting his position. “Lookin’ so pretty it’d be a shame to waste the view, ain’t that so?”

At that, you huffed out a breath, something in the middle of a laugh and a whimper. “Don’t be dense, you know I don’t like waitin’ ‘round…”

“That so?,” Hosea inquired, still perched on the luxurious armchair; as a proud ruler to a small kingdom. “Don’t think you know what you askin’ for, darlin’.”

You smiled wickedly, feeling the growing wetness between your legs thanks to the subtle threat thrown your way. Another finger slipped in, making you moan and arch your back slightly.

“That feel good, sweetheart?,” Hosea’s voice sounded impossibly low, contrasting the soft crackling of the fire in the fancy hearth of the rented room.

You whimpered, needy and hot in face of the sweetness of Hosea’s voice. He knew how to get you worked up far too well, and that pushed you to move your fingers slowly in a gentle come-hither motion. Hosea clicked his tongue, cocking his head to the side as he watched you make a mess of yourself.

“Look at ya,” he chirped, although you could hear the cutting edge of his voice, straining to keep control, “a lil’ troublemaker, ain’t you?”

Gasping out a laugh, you lolled your head to the side to lock eyes with him, still pumping your fingers in and out. Hosea watched you with half lidded eyes, flickering every now and then to your entrance and, you knew, marveling at how wet you seemed to be.

Now was the moment to strike.

“Come touch me,” you pleaded, puffing out your chest in an attempt to seem even more enticing, “I want you.”

Hosea smiled, pleased at your choice of words. “Might disagree on who has the silver tongue around here, don’t ya think?”

The man got to his feet, his half hard erection marking the soft fabric of his trousers as he approached you. The bed dipped as Hosea sat beside your body, his calloused fingers gently caressing your torso through the thin cotton shirt. You whimpered, closing your eyes in frustration.

“So little patience, my girl,” he whispered, bending down to press a kiss to the dip below your neck, roaming hand moving down grasp at your hand. “Why don’t ya let me take it from here, hm?,” he offered, warm breath fanning over your cheek before he kissed you, slow and sweet; pushing inside at the same time.

You gasped gratefully, arching your back at the expertise of Hosea’s touch. He cooed at you, peppering tiny butterfly kisses all over your face, the hand beside your head digging pleasantly into the mattress as he built up the momentum. “So pretty,” he said in a husky voice, twisting his fingers up making you whine and turn your face to hide it against his neck.

He smiled, now pressing gently on your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Soundin’ so sweet today, darlin’,” his wrist moved faster, lips ghosting on your skin, “you wanna cum? Jus’ like this?”

Keening, you nodded fervently, repeating over and over, “yes, yes, please.” Hosea all but chuckled, whispering sweet nothings as you writhed under him.

“Go on,” he acquiesced, benevolent as always, “cum for me, sweetheart.”

Without much further thought, you did.

The well known feeling spread through your body like a gentle wave from the beach during summertime. Hosea pressed a kiss to your cheek before retreating and offering his cum smeared fingers to you. Obediently, you opened your mouth, mind still buzzed and thoughts fuzzy.

“That’s it,” he praised, smiling gently, like a proud tutor. “Such a good girl, ain’t you?”

You whimpered around his fingers, licking them clean to the best of your ability. Hosea’s praising was addictive, you had come to the conclusion one night after he had kissed your forehead and whispered about you doing a good job. “Yes,” you muttered through a mouthful, closing your eyes; the pungent taste of your pussy covering your tongue.

Hosea cocked his head to the side, watching you with warmth in his eyes. You were so eager at times he feared not being able to keep with you, but experience was on his side. “Wanna cum again, babygirl?,” he asked, as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yeah,” you said heatedly, reaching to palm his erection, “daddy—“

“Ah, ah,” the man took a gentle hold of you hand, insistently pushing it away, “patience, my dear.”

Pouting, you gave him a resentful look, “you’re teasing far too much tonight.”

He hummed in amusement, reaching out on the bedside table for the red neckwear he wore at times. “That I am.”

Your breathing quickened at the sight of the bandana. “We’re going creative tonight?,” you inquired, allowing him to pull your hands above your head and tie them up on one of the posts of the canopy bed.

Hosea smiled at your little quip, pleased at your willingness to go along with his lead. His hands caressed the skin around of your tied wrists, the cotton digging into it, almost reverently. “Ah, you know me,” he commented idly, moving down to your face and pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. His gaze held yours when he pulled back, lips quirking up slightly. “I like to take my time.”

It was always like this, with Hosea. At times, he’d rather keep it soft and intimate; you holding tightly to him in the dark as he kisses your neck heatedly. Other nights, he’d let you take the reigns, following your lead as you rocked your hips down on his — never stopping the myriad of praises thrown your way.

But there were also nights where Hosea would rather take his time with you, using your impatience and eagerness against yourself. Some part of you was suspicious he rather enjoyed it, watching you huff and pout at him, but you knew it was laced with reverence and love rather than possession and personal gratification. It made your heart swell and throb for him.

You tried moving your wrists, clenching your fists and frowning. “It’s… too tight…”

Nodding, he immediately undid the knot. His hands coaxed yours to lay on top of the neckwear, tying them together on your palm so you could grasp at it. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, pulling harshly at bandana to find out that you were positively tied up. “Much better, thank you.”

“Pretty girl,” Hosea sighed, continuing his careful exploration, “a naughty lil’ thing, ain’t you? No one would be able to tell how much of a wanton lil’ vixen you are.”

His hand caressed your neck, playing with a strand of your hair. You relished under the attention, closing your eyes and let out a soft sigh as his fingers followed the trail of your collarbone, popping out the first button of the shirt. Hosea hummed, pleased at your responding shiver.

Another button popped out. “You look so precious wearin’ my things,” he commented idly, and you fixed your eyes on him, “so lovely.”

You arched your back, trying to hint on what you wanted. “Please, daddy…”

Hosea leaned over, kissing around the areola of your breast, making your catch your breath in your throat. “So sweet,” he praised, cupping the soft flesh in his free hand as the other kept on its task of taking off the offending article of clothing, “my lovely girl.”

You moaned, pushing your head back into the mattress. “Yes,” you whimpered, clenching your hands over the neckerchief, “please.”

He kissed the peaked nipple, flicking his tongue slowly over it. Hosea breathed out, cupping your breast in his capable hands — something you had always thought about, even before getting intimate with him, so capable —, squeezing the soft flesh gently in his grasp. “Sweet girl,” Hosea whispered, kissing the other breast, making you whimper.

Your cheeks flushed, lips parting slightly, “yeah.”

Hosea pulled away, fluttering a kiss to your collarbone. You didn’t protest, submissive under his touch and gaze; even expectant on what he was about to do next. He slid down the bed, the wood cracking under your conjoined weight as Hosea settled his face between your thighs; shoulders pressing up on your backside.

You sighed, trying to pull the man closer with your legs. Hosea didn’t budge, instead pressing a lingering kiss to the outer lips of your sex, sucking at the sensitive skin gently and making you gasp. You arched your back, closing your eyes in frustration because it felt too good. “Please,” you keened, shifting under his weight on top of you, “daddy—“

He hummed in response, a warning tone for you to behave; and you subsided with a disgruntled whine. Hosea’s tongue licked your entrance, hands snaking around your thighs and fingers digging into your supple skin. With a sigh, he pressed his face more between your legs, alternating between licking your clit and sucking at the inner lips of it. The build-up had been far quicker than what you had expected but, hey, you weren’t about to complain. His focus changed to your clit, teasing it softly the way he know you liked until—

“Oh—,” you gasped, twisting your hips, feeling it tense as another orgasm, this one softer, rippled through your body. Hosea wasn’t detained by that, mouth still working around your pussy.

With a pleased little hum, his hand let go of your thigh, moving to press two fingers into your dripping entrance as you thrashed. You whimpered, feeling the gentle tease inside of you again, torn between frustration and pleasure. “Please—“

The arm still holding your leg shifted to rest on top of your stomach and navel, to keep you down. Hosea sighed, scissoring his fingers as his tongue teased your entrance before moving to your clit again. He was unrelenting, moaning into your cunt as you still spasming sex clenched once more; his fingers pressing up at the spot that he knew made you swoon.

“I... I—,” you choked, feeling as if you were about to burst once more, sweat already covering your body in a fine sheen, “I’m—“

Hosea doubled his efforts then and you cried out, trying to fight off the pressure of his arm on top of your hips. He pulled out his fingers, pressing his face more closely to your cunt in an attempt to stimulate you further. With a shriek and tears at the corner of your eyes, you came once more, shaking under the weight of him.

You gasped for breath.

The hotel room felt like it was too far away for you to reach at the moment, so you closed your eyes instead; riding the feeling for a little while longer. Your body still trembled, here and there, little sighs that sounded suspiciously like tiny moans coming past your lips. Hosea caressed your knee to get your attention and you whimpered, turning your face at his direction with doe eyes. You could still go.

“Alright there?,” he asked with a smug little smile and you didn’t even have the presence of mind to remember feeling annoyed. You watched him for a second longer, turning your cheek for a loving caress. Hosea stole a kiss from your lips and you could taste yourself there, although fleetingly. “Good girl.”

You nodded weakly, not really sure to what you were agreeing to and pulled at the restraint with a desperate little gasp. Every time Hosea praised you, for whatever reason, you couldn’t quite tell if it was because you did something good or he simply thought you were deserving of it for being yourself. Sometimes you suspected it was a junction of both, although you couldn’t be quite sure. But any other thought left your mind as he smiled down at you, eyes committing every little detail that he could to memory before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“More,” you croaked numbly, agitating slightly. Your hands pulled at the neckwear once more, making the bed creak; although you knew you were more likely to burn your hands than break anything to make an escape, “please.”

Hosea watched you for a second, cupping your face and stroking it with his thumb. “Greedy girl,” he said in a level voice, coaxing you to open your lips and suck at the thumb that had been caressing your cheek. You complied without further ado. He cocked his head to the side, his cum slick fingers, still warm, brushing at your face with the devotion only a man in love could offer. “Beautiful.”

Opening your eyes, you fluttered your eyelids innocently. Hosea snickered, although he still allowed your tongue to run freely through the pad of his finger, the saltiness of it nearly addicting. You felt somewhat numb, tired and spent, but you still wanted more. You always wanted more.

The opened shirt still clung to your body, bunching up and pooling around your shoulders from the wild thrashing. Hosea cooed softly, popping the finger out of your mouth with a protestant whimper coming from you. “Come now, be a good girl for me,” he half-laughed, moving to untie your wrists from the bedpost.

You squirmed, feeling the slight soreness of your arms. It didn’t hurt, but wasn’t comfortable neither — and you kinda hoped he’d keep you tied up.

“Turn around for me, baby,” Hosea asked, petting your head. You obliged happily.

His hands undid the knot on your palm, squeezing them gently to work back the feeling into them. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you answered quietly, thanking the heavens for the crisp smell of velvety sheets against your face, “good.”

Hosea hummed, moving to slowly rub at your forearms and biceps, his calloused hands adding even more feeling to it; making you almost drowsy with sleep. You sighed in pleasure, lolling your head to the side to allow him to massage your shoulders. He was so gentle and caring when lowering your arms you quite literally didn’t notice it until the knot had been tied with your hands behind your back.

Your breathing caught in your throat, some small part at the back of your mind panicking until you caught sight of the man beside you. Hosea smiled, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand as if petting a particularly affectionate cat.

It made you at ease.

“Such a good, good girl,” he said in a secretive tone, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple; and you could feel your eyes going hazy with the gather of satisfied tears. You loved pleasing him. It was so easy, so good; so sweet.

You whimpered, squirming weakly. You still wanted more, a lot more — how could he not tell?

Hosea smiled down at you, pleased at how easily he had managed to break your mischievous spirit for the night. You were a hardworking one, eager to please and easy to subdue — but what he liked the most about you was how you’d manage to make him feel like he was still on top of his game, still young and able.

“My precious girl,” Hosea whispered, caressing your clothed back through the thin and drenched through nightshirt, making you keen lowly. His hand was heavy on your body, comforting and warm, you thought idly; mind too fuzzy to keep rational track of the situation. You felt him moving to scratch the back of your head, eliciting a pleased moan from you. He said something else, a praise by the sound of it, but you didn’t — or couldn’t — register it.

Next thing you knew, Hosea coaxed you to move again; this time on top of his body as he settled in the bed beside you. Your thighs spread to accommodate on his lap, your head resting securely against his chest and his erection pressing insistently to your entrance through the pants he wore to bed. Your breathing deepened, becoming more labored and making you squirm on top of him with want. “Daddy, I’m—“

“It’s okay,” Hosea shushed you, pulling at the nightshirt to expose your back to his careful exploration, “feelin’ good?”

You nodded weakly, closing your eyes again. His fingertips pressed to your skin in a loving way, making you sigh in pleasure. His hips rocked up to yours, the soft fabric soaking through with your essence, making you struggle weakly against the bindings on your wrist. “I want…”

“Yeah?,” he cooed sweetly at you, petting the soft expansion of your backside up to your shoulder blades, raising goosebumps on your skin. You ground your hips on his, tensing your thighs in blind desire. “What’s it that you want, hm?”

With a displeased groan, you hid your face into his neck, nuzzling your face there and breathing in the scent you had grown so used to — herbs, lavender soap and the musky smell of after-shave —, so comforting and familiar. Hosea slid one hand down to your backside, snaking his arm around your waist to keep you there. You felt the gentle caress of his hand on your cheek, catching the frustrated tears gathered at the corner of your eyes.

You felt too far gone to answer properly, clinging to him like a lifeline, feeling shy and needy atop of the man. He hummed, squeezing the skin of your waist to catch your attention, hand still brushing your cheek and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “C’mon, now,” he whispered, voice comforting and soft, “tell me.”

“I want…,” you tried to answer in a breathy voice, shivering with need. He prompted you on, petting your head like one would do to a cat. That took a low and pleased little whine from you, your face turning in the direction of his affection. “I want you…”

“Good girl,” Hosea praised, letting go of your waist to fiddle with the buttons of his pants below you, undoing them hastily, “good, good girl,” he pressed his lips to the side of your face, peppering it with kisses and making you whine in need, “shush, shush…”

Too caught up in your own mind to take notice of what was happening, you allowed the man to push your body up; his hand a steadying force on your waist to help you balance yourself on top of him. Your back touched his raised thighs, supporting your weight when you finally got there, making your breathing quicken.

Looking down, you watched the length of him, hot and firm for you, nestled comfortably between your spread legs; his pants barely taken off.

You mewled, shifting your gaze to him before moving it back down. “Now, now,” you complained, squirming on top of him, as if you’d be able to slip it in on your own. “Hosea, please—“

Hosea grunted, knitting his brows together. You looked positively goddess-like, bathed in the warm light of the bedroom, covered in a sheen of sweat; flushed and disheveled because of him. It made his heart jump with affection. He took a hold of his cock, coaxing you to push up so he could get a better angle to thrust in, although it wouldn’t really matter with how wet you were.

As needy as you were, you complained loudly at the way he’d taken a hold of your waist, keeping you from quite literally impaling yourself on him. He wanted to take his time.

“I don’t want slow,” you babbled incoherently, frowning in annoyance. He’d had his fun, you wanted yours too. “I need it—“

Hosea looked up at you, somewhat amused by your neediness, sliding his hands up your torso to grasp at your sides. You felt the hold of him on you loosening up and you squirmed again, annoyed at being restrained and so dependent on him — even though the bigger part of you was living off of it. He let go slowly, touching your shoulder softly and, as if on cue, you allowed your thighs to give in.

The first stretch was always exquisite.

It didn’t burn, but you felt the pressure sliding in, every inch up from the depths of your core to the lips of your pussy spreading to accommodate him. It took all the little focus left in you not to let out a shrieking cry of satisfaction, leaning back to rest on his upraised thighs; the only thing going through your mind just how good it felt.

He watched you, almost reverently-like, and caressed your body. His hands brushed the underside of your breasts, your back arching in response and making his breathing deepen in response. You closed your eyes with a frown, moving your hips tentatively.

“That’s it,” Hosea praised quietly, palm moving down to hold onto your waist securely. Feeling more confident about not toppling over, you rocked your hips faster, not sure if you wanted to grind your core against his cock or rotate your hips to delay the loss of him. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?,” he asked suddenly, urging you to move faster.

You could feel the sweat trickling down your back, the neckwear around your wrists digging into the skin, the wetness of your excitement between your legs seeping to your thighs. With a broken sob, you nodded quickly, accompanying Hosea’s directions.

“That’s right,” he agreed, sugar sweet and velvety like chocolate, in a voice bordering the reverence of a repentant sinner. His hips thrusted up, throwing you off your rhythm, but you whined and followed suit, eager to impress and to be praised. “Feels good, doesn’t it?,” Hosea asked as one of the hands holding you shift to between your legs, gently thumbing at your oversensitive clit. “Could do this to you all night,” he commented idly, caressing one of your breasts and taking an excited little keen from you, arms agitating themselves as you tried to break free, “… and you’d let me, wouldn’t ya?”

“Yes!,” you half-whined, closing your eyes again at face of your burning need, far too gone to even try to maintain eye contact with Hosea. His fingers applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing gently and steadily, making you thrash on top of him, “so good, so good—“

Hosea breathed out unevenly and you could feel the falter of his rhythm when you struggled. He moaned something that could’ve been your name or a sweet praise, squeezing your waist to steady you on — or in a vain search for control, it was unclear. “My girl,” he moaned, urging you to raise your hips slightly, coaxing you to ride him. You complied immediately, the smooth drag of his cock making you whimper and want to lean forward as to allow him to thrust more wildly than you could in this position. “C’mere, c’mere,” he whispered, hands impatient to drag you down to himself.

Your head nestled securely below his chin, face tucking securely into his neck. You tried opening your teary eyes, seeing the freckled expansion of lithe chest as it rose and fell with the effort of fucking you. You felt Hosea’s hand on your neck, pressing your head more fully into his chest as the other took a firm hold of your backside.

With a choked back mewl, you struggled one last time, allowing the sensation of him drag on until you couldn’t. Hosea’s fingers tangled in your hair, your body rocking into his, following his rhythm to the best of your ability, your breathing feeling ragged and manic to your own ears and you don’t— you can’t—

“Hosea!,” you cry out and your muscles tense up, clenching tightly as you come, the sensation burning and consuming from within your core; chaotic and perfect at the same time, bordering the violent.

“Sweet girl,—“ the man chokes out a desperate and harsh sound, allowing you one moment longer of seemingly unending bliss before pulling out. “Makin’ me so proud,” he gasps breathlessly, the words jumbling at his throat and you barely had the time to open your eyes before you felt the warmth of his seed painting your backside in generous spurts.

You close your eyes for a moment, thoroughly exhausted and spent on top of the man, barely noticing it when he unties the bandana on your hands to free you — the only sign of it being the sore feeling on your arms and the slight burning sensation on the sensitive skin of your wrists. You moan, eyes closed and hands reaching for his shoulders. You had longed for touching him so long now, it felt like you hadn’t ever done it.

Hosea caressed your back with his fingertips, allowing his breathing to slow down before deciding to move and ready you both to sleep. You nuzzled further into him, kissing his neck softly over and over, making the man chuckle.

“Did so good tonight,” Hosea hummed idly, tangling his fingers in your hair, this time sweeter, “my beautiful girl.”

You nodded, feeling sluggish and sleepy. You had sweated through your sleeping shirt, the bath you had paid for earlier a waste now. “I wish we could do this always,” you confessed quietly, sounding smaller than you actually were, but still meaning every word. Luxury was a hard thing to find in this life, companionship and love included.

Hosea chuckled in agreement, pecking your forehead lovingly. He shifted under you, coaxing you to lay on your side at the soft mattress, getting up on his feet with a groan.

“Where you goooooing?,” you drawled in a complaining tone, extending your arm, “come baaack…”

He shook his head by the water basin, wringing the towel before approaching you again. “Clingy lil’ thing, ain’t ya?”

You puffed out your cheeks with a frown, trying to look annoyed. “I just want to spend time with you.”

“I know,” he nodded with a half-hearted laugh, kneeling beside you and proceeding to wipe off the stickiness on your skin, dabbing where needed and folding the towel a couple times. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” you offered in a soft voice, already closing your eyes and relishing under the gentle attention, “and sore.”

Hosea hummed lowly, pulling off the thin shirt still clinging to you. “We’ll sleep in a bit, sweetheart,” his hands caressed your arms deftly, making you turn towards him and the source of affection.

You sighed tiredly, never wanting it to end. The bed dipped under the weight of his body beside yours, his hands pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder, your arm draped over him possessively. Sighing, you closed your eyes, already feeling the promise of sleep coaxing you into its pleasantness. The last thing you remember registering, the soft press of Hosea’s lips to your forehead.

#hosea matthews #hosea matthews x reader #hosea matthews imagines #red dead redemption #red dead redemption imagines #saucy #soft #fics #requested

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Begin Again (Mortician!Steve and Baker!Bucky Modern “Moving On” AU)

Ten:

Growing up in a funeral home had some downsides. One of which being no one wanted to hang out in a house where deceased individuals were stored in the basement before being disposed of. Apparently, it was creepy. Something that Steve never quite understood. Perhaps if he hadn't grown up in a funeral home, he'd find it creepy too. But who really knew. And although Steve had had only one friend and had been just fine, he still hated seeing Eddie go through the same loneliness that he had.

After all, Steve had assumed that with the rise of people interested in true crimes and other morbid curiosities, they'd find it endearing.

Another thing that Steve hated? Not being able to sleep in. It had been one of Steve's biggest pet peeves growing up. So, when Eddie trudged down the family staircase to the kitchen in his pajamas only to grunt at Steve, he understood. Understood and he simply poured Eddie a steaming mug of coffee.

"Dad rope ya into working?" Steve questioned, taking a drink of his own coffee.

"Eh," Eddie noncommittally answered. His face scrunching up in disgust at the black coffee. Crossing the kitchen, he made sure to scratch Vinnie between his ears. Grabbing the Oreo coffee creamer from the fridge, he shuffled back over to his mug on the counter. Steve couldn't help but snicker a little.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie deadpanned, "Eat me."

"Ooh, you kiss your mama with that mouth?" Sam, the funeral home caterer, mocked as he entered the kitchen from the family entrance with a stack of casserole dishes.

"Nah," Eddie took a drink and playfully corrected, "I kiss your mother with it."

Setting the dishes on the counter, Sam started unpacking the oven-ready prepared food. Amused, but feigning offense, "You better not be disrespecting Darlene Wilson like that."

"I don't hear her complaining." Always more arrogant when he was tired, Eddie simply shrugged a shoulder and suggested, "Better get used to calling me, 'Stepdad.'"

Pleasantly surprised by that, Sam turned to look over at Eddie. Appraising the teen as he nodded. Then, he looked at Steve and accused, "He gets this from you."

"Please," Steve scoffed. Hiding his smirk behind his floral mug, Steve argued, "He gets it from Nat."

Just staring at Steve for a moment as he thought of a rebuttal, Sam pursed his lips, finally conceded, "Fair."

Weakly raising his mug in victory, Eddie shuffled back over to the family staircase to head back upstairs. Not that anyone could blame him. With it barely being eight in the morning, Steve knew it wasn't an ideal time to wake up on a Saturday. Sam simply turned towards the wall oven, that had already preheated -- thanks to Steve. One of the upsides to morning services was Sam's French Toast Bake.

Just smelling a hint of the cinnamon sugar caused Steve's mouth to water. Exaggerating the whiff, Steve teased, "If you and Nat weren't perfect for each other, I'd propose right here and now."

"Well, you know what they say," Sam placed the glass dish into the oven, "Best way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"That's funny, I thought the best way was on his dick."

Choking on his coffee, Steve looked over at the funeral cosmetologist, Wanda. Crossing her arms along her chest, she quirked a brow and smirked at Steve. Clearly amused by how coffee nearly shot out of Steve's nose at the surprise of her comment. Although Wanda had worked at the funeral home for years, she always found it funny how Steve reacted to crudeness. Which was probably why she kept making them.

Setting down his mug, Steve grabbed a napkin and started wiping his face and blowing his nose. Still coughing all the while, Steve cleared his throat and complimented Wanda, "You look nice."

"It's the same black dress I always wear," Wanda waved off, further entering the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. Giving Steve a side glance, she smirked, flattering Steve, "You look nice, as well."

"Thank you," Steve blushed, running his hand over his beard to smooth down the hair while also running his hand over his classic, plain navy-blue sweater. Dusting imaginary lint from his gray slacks, Steve asked, "When did you get here anyway?"

"An hour ago," Wanda answered, using the Oreo creamer as she questioned, "What about you?"

"Half hour ago," Steve took a careful drink of his coffee. Gesturing over to Vinnie, Steve teased, "Someone didn't want to wake up."

"I know exactly how that is," Sam confirmed, making sure that the five casseroles for the reception were ready to go.

Playfully, Steve rolled his eyes and said, "They're kids. Let them sleep."

"I know that," Sam answered with his own eye roll. The grin that accompanied it showed that he was still in a good mood as he thought aloud, "Which reminds me. I need to ask Eddie if he can babysit next Saturday."

Brows furrowing, Steve crossed his arms. Thinking about Sam's three sons from a previous relationship and how much the seven year old and five year old twins loved him, even referring to him as Uncle Steve. So, he offered, "Why don't I do it? The boys love me."

Pressing his lips together, Sam purposely didn't look at Steve. Sheepishly, Sam explained, "Nat and I were kind of hoping that you would be… getting out there…"

"Sam," Steve sighed, clenching his jaw in hopes of controlling his annoyance. Even though he was pretty sure that Wanda and Sam could hear the annoyance sprinkled in disappointment with simply saying his friend's name.

Taking on a more teasing tone, Sam asked, "Aren't you tired of three-wheeling?"

"Leave him alone," Eddie announced, entering the kitchen once more. Now dressed in a pair of khakis and a black sweater. His auburn hair still messy though as he reassured Sam, "He's happy."

Quirking a brow at Steve, Sam gave Steve's appearance an assessing glance. He must have seen something though because he didn't debate the subject anymore. Instead, taking out the French Toast Bake and placing it on the counter to cool.

Changing the subject, Sam asked, "When's the service?"

"Ten," Eddie, Wanda, and Steve all answered.

Amused, Sam blinked at the three of them and teased, "You definitely all need to get lives."

"I have a life, thank you," Wanda defended herself. Turning on her heel, she carried her mug into the business side of the house. Effectively ending the conversation. Steve really needed to take notes on that.

"So," Sam started, directing his attention to the teen. "Ya busy next weekend?"

"Date night?" Eddie assumed. Sam nodded and Eddie worried his lower lip with his teeth before disclosing, "I was actually invited to a movie night."

"My man!" Sam exclaimed, holding his hand up for a high five. Giving Steve a pointed look, in a, See?!, way.

Steve rolled his eyes. Then, it occurred to Steve, "So, looks like you're still in need of a babysitter."

"Looks like it," Sam agreed, weakly sighing in exasperation. All the while, Steve beamed. Especially once Sam started cutting the cooling breakfast treat. Plating a large slice for Steve, Sam playfully advised, "Don't let it go to your head, Rogers. I'm mostly agreeing because I know that I can pay you with food."

Happily taking a bite of the French Toast Bake, Steve closed his eyes and groaned. Around another bite of the delicious breakfast, Steve teased, "Let's go to Vegas. Get married. Right here and now."

"You only use me for my kitchen expertise," Sam winked. Tapping his finger against his chin, Sam suggested, "We need to find you a man who can cook."

"Or who can bake," Eddie muttered into his coffee.

A shit-eating grin broke across Sam's face as he asked, "A baker? Anyone in particular?"

"What? There's a secret society I don't know about where all bakers know each other?" Steve good-humoredly mocked.

"Bowling league, actually. We meet on Tuesdays," Sam gave as good as he got. Playfully rolling his eyes before redirecting his attention to Eddie, "So, who is it?"

"The guy from What's the Batter With You," Eddie slyly disclosed like some biddy over tea.

"You went to What's the Batter With You? Without me?!" Sam questioned, turning back to Steve. Placing his hands on his hips, Steve was reminded of being a child under Sarah's disappointment. All Sam needed to do was start tapping his foot while he waited for Steve's answer.

Gesturing towards Eddie, Steve defended, "We were celebrating Ed getting a D on his anatomy test!"

"You got a D?!" Sarah questioned, standing on the last step with her hands on her hips.

"Steve needs the D," Eddie muttered, narrowing his eyes at his brother. Still scowling, Eddie said louder, "It was a really difficult test."

"You have a tutor," Sarah exclaimed, wide-eyed. Heading for the coffee machine, Sarah asked, "Were you even going to tell us? Or were you just going to try and forge a better grade like Cliff used to?"

"Hey! I'm not like Cliff!" Eddie exclaimed, crossing his arms along his chest. Steve couldn't help but nod, agreeing that Eddie wasn't nearly as bad as their older brother. Until Eddie argued, "I'm worse. I take after Steve."

"Hey!" Steve scoffed, playfully glaring at his kid brother.

"I mean, you should see the way he gets all dopey around attractive guys," Eddie kept talking as though Steve hadn't protested at all.

"Trust me, I know," Sam good-naturedly rolled his eyes. Chuckling, Sam clarified, "First time that we met he was so flustered that he just stared at me, slack-jawed."

"I did not," Steve waved off Sam's comment, even though he was blushing. Especially when Sam reenacted the expression with jaw dropped unattractively open and wide-eyed.

"You should've seen him with the baker," Eddie chuckled, doubling over in his laughter. One hand clutching his stomach while the other held onto the counter top.

"Shut up," Steve complained while Sarah gushed, "You met someone?!"

Rolling his eyes, Steve grabbed his mug of coffee and left the kitchen. Following the hallway and pushing the door open to enter the business side of the house. Passing the dining room that had tables set up for the reception after the funeral. Passing the casket display room to find nothing out of place, Steve peeked into the parlor room that was set up for the service. He found Wanda there, putting some finishing touches on the woman. A Mrs., Steve looked to the side where an old photograph and floral wreath stood, proclaiming, Margaret "Peggy" Carter.

Just another Saturday.

#begin again #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #moving on #oof #mortician steve #dying to be with steve #baker bucky #bakers gonna bake #bucky is a sweetie pie #what's the batter with you #barnes' bakery #rogers' funeral home #life is a mess #pining #just another saturday #sam is sassy and we stan #eddie is def not a morning person

[duskowithapen]

Aurix Chapter One

Regarding Riven’s Teaching Skills (Or Lack Thereof)

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“You’re an incredibly talented warrior Riven,” Professor Saladin began once Riven sat down, “But you are not good at training others to become the same.”

This was the third time Riven had been called into the Headmaster’s office to discuss his teaching ability. It was only three weeks into the new academic year.

The first time, Professor Saladin encouraged him to be more understanding towards the students who went to him for extra training, who were struggling with a form or wanted to learn from a warrior known for helping save the Magical Dimensions – “Your skills are worlds ahead of the students you teach Riven, and they will have difficulty keeping up with you. You need to exhibit some level of patience with them, or they will never be able to learn from you.”

The second time, Professor Saladin told him about an informal ‘fight club’, as none of the students had called it, that had been formed – “Students claim to be learning more from each other than they do from one on one training with you, Riven. They say that is given the choice between taking lessons with you, or cleaning out the dragon stables, most students would volunteer for dung duty. No one volunteers for dung duty.”

Riven had just scoffed. Each year, the freshmen seemed to be getting softer and softer. They couldn’t comprehend the simplest of instructions. They were insulted by the softest of criticisms. The simplest weapon forms seemed beyond them. And don’t even get him started on his Tactics and Strategies class – his only regular academic class for seniors that he covered once a week – the students refused to talk! He would ask them questions and they would just sit there, dumb and silent.

Interpreting his scoff correctly, Professor Saladin continued, “You were the best strategist in your graduating class. Your swordsmanship is second only to Sky. You have so much knowledge and experience that your students would benefit greatly from, but you seem incapable of sharing it.” He leaned forward with fingers steepled. “I want you to remain a teacher at Red Fountain Riven, but if you do not show me that you are willing to try and fix your attitude, then I will have to let you go.”

He couldn’t believe it. “What?! You would kick me out of your school because a couple of kids can’t handle my classes?”

“I would remove you from teaching because when the entire cohort was asked who the worst teacher they ever had was, almost every single one of them agreed that it was you.”

Riven stood with such force that his chair went flying. “You can’t get rid of me!”

Professor Saladin stood in response. “I don’t want to get rid of you Riven. You have so much potential as a teacher, and so much to learn as one. You just don’t have the patience or attitude to realise it.”

He was starting to panic. I don’t want to leave Red Fountain. It was his home, the one place he felt truly safe. As much as he hated to admit it, leaving his squad, his family… it would be easier and less painful to pull out his heart. And after losing Musa – after letting her go, and not trying hard enough, and – He couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t lose this too.

With a wave of his hand, Professor Saladin sat back down. Riven retrieved his chair.

“I am going to give you one last chance to improve. If you do not succeed in the given task by the end of the school year, you will no longer be a part of Red Fountain.”

Riven swallowed painfully. “What do I have to do?”

The smile on Professor Saladin’s face, if looked at in a certain life, could be considered pleased. To Riven, it looked positively sinister, and made his stomach sink to his toes. “There is one student in Red Fountain who doesn’t see you as the worst teacher. They will be assigned to you as your protégée – they’ve shown great promise in swordsmanship, can be quite a crafty thinker when they put their mind to it, and indeed, they remind me a little of you in your first year. You are going to act as their mentor, tutoring them in any classes they have difficulty in, things like that. I would advise working on an accelerated course in weapons handling. Of course, you can ask your squad for assistance in their respective areas of expertise, but you are to be their main trainer.

“Your ability as a teacher will be proven at the end of year exams – I expect your student to achieve suitably high marks, given that they will have a year of one on one training – and I will also construct an extra credit challenge course that they must complete. If they do not, your tenure here will be terminated. If they succeed, I will see about reassigning you to your classes, unless you wish to continue training your student into their sophomore year.”

Biting down the urge to scowl, Riven nodded. “Fine. Who’s the student?” At least he’s getting someone who is essentially a blank slate – fewer ingrained bad habits to deal with.

Professor Saladin’s smile widened. “They are a freshman from Ventus Institute. You have leave to train them however you see fit – they had a, how to put it… unusual training experience at Ventus, so they may be a little behind on some things.”

Riven snatched the proffered file with a curse. An unusual training experience, huh? So they won’t even have the very basics under their belt yet! He wanted a blank slate, not a slate that hadn’t even been made yet! He’ll have to practically hold their hands through weapons maintenance, physical training – all the things students are meant to know before they come to Red Fountain. And they’re mean to have potential? They probably can’t even hold their sword the right way round!

“Oh, by the way, your student is also mute – if you can also get them talking consistently by the exams, if they pass, you’ll only get the best senior students next year.”

The subsequent cursing was loud and foul enough to scare a bird into flight, shock two freshmen into dropping their books, and make Helia look up to the sky in resignation.

“They’re waiting for you in Training Room Four – that will be yours to use for the year. Good luck!”

This is going to be GREAT.

*******************

Riven tried his best to twist his face into a less terrifying scowl. No use scaring off his new student before they’ve even started training. Their file was still in his hand – he hadn’t looked at it yet. A student’s ability was better realised when experienced through a sparring session rather than notes on a page. Especially when it came to students from the Ventus Institute.

Ventus Institute was arguably one of the best schools for warriors in the Magical Dimension. Located in a mountain range on the planet Auris, Ventus prided itself on creating exceptional soldiers. The planet’s infantry was often spoken of in reverent tones, their archers were said to never miss their targets, and their skill at dragon wrangling made their mounted cavalry the envy of the Magical Dimension. Every year, five of their sophomore students were chosen by Saladin to complete their training at Red Fountain. They would leave as foot soldiers and return as Generals. However, because of the Institutes’ reputation, many of the students had an ego the size of Magix and an inflated sense of their own skill. Riven can remember breaking the arm of a Ventus student back in his first year – he was picking on Timmy because he preferred to hone his technological talents over his physical. Very few people accepted his hand-to-hand challenges after that.

But coming back to the current issue, it was very likely that Riven was going to be stuck with an egotistical, under skilled bigot of a student for a year – and the unusual training thing just stunk of entitlement.

Grumbling under his breathe, Riven pushed open the door to Training Room Four. It was one of the smaller rooms, designed mainly for teachers to maintain their skills, but there was enough space for both him and his student.

A student who was currently facing away from him, running though some of the katas of Form I: Shii-Cho. They weren’t doing too horribly, Riven admitted to himself. Their footwork as a little off – Cordata sometimes forgot to take the slighter build of his students into account when demonstrating forms – and they would need to put more power into their swings if they wanted to do any kind of serious damage, but those were small issues, easily fixed. From behind, they reminded him a little of Helia before he cut all his hair off. Pin straight black hair fell from a low ponytail to reach just past their hips. They obviously hadn’t had their growth spurt yet, given the narrow shoulders and the fact that they probably wouldn’t have reached his chin in height, but that would come in time. Helia was a twig when he started at Red Fountain but look at him now and you’d never think it.

And then the boy turned around.

It wasn’t a boy.

“SALADIN!!”

The Headmaster looked up with a serene face even as Riven barged into his office mere minutes after leaving. “Is everything alright Riven? You look like you’ve had a shock.”

“What is this?!”

This was the girl he had just dragged across the school by her wrist (her very thin wrist), practise phantosaber, or bokken, in hand. Bright purple eyes looked between Riven and Professor Saladin under a black fringe.

“Hello Celeste,” Professor Saladin said kindly. “I see that you’ve met your new mentor.”

The girl – Celeste – slowly nodded. She didn’t look entirely pleased by the situation.

“Is this a joke?!” Riven shook the girl’s arm, ignoring the way it seemed to shake the rest of her, and said, “Since when were girls invited to train at Red Fountain?”

“Celeste is a special case, and I owed the Ventus Headmaster a favour. I assure you; she is more than capable of meeting expectations – I wouldn’t have allowed her to attend if she couldn’t.”

“I don’t care how good she is, she is still a she!”

“Celeste,” Professor Saladin emphasised, “Currently holds the highest marks in her grade in the geographical surveillance exercise, was the quickest person in her grade to correctly demonstrate the first three katas of Form I, and has been recommended for further training by the Headmaster of an esteemed Institute. She has every right to be here. If you do not think yourself capable of being professional and training her, you can hand in your resignation right now.”

Riven spluttered for a moment. It was bad enough that he was going to have to mentor someone, but he had to mentor a girl? A girl who was…

“You said that she was mute! How can a mute girl learn how to be a Specialist?”

Professor Saladin shrugged. “You are going to have to figure out the best way to communicate between the two of you. Just because you are a teacher now, does not mean you stop learning. Unless Celeste has any objections, you will train her or you will hand in your resignation.”

Two sets of eyes turned to the girl. Holding the bokken at parade rest with the tip against the floor and both hands on the hilt, she stared uncertainly between the two men. Riven’s hand was still wrapped around her arm, and he let it go with a scoff.

“Celeste? This is your choice – it does not change your situation at Red Fountain. No matter what, you will be trained.”

Riven stared at the stupefied girl who was going to decide his continued existence at Red Fountain. Is she going to say yes? Why would she? Who is in their right mind would consent to being taught by me?

****************

Celeste’s morning wasn’t going the way she expected it to. She’d overheard stories in the halls about Professor Riven’s temper, but she’d never expected to see it for herself!

Professor Codatorta had sent her to Training Room Four this morning rather than assigning her a sparring partner – “You’re being given to one of the new teachers to train.” When one of her classmates (and wasn’t that a funny thought, her having classmates), the Professor had growled at them.

“This is a punishment for the teacher, not the student. Or would you rather take her place as Professor Riven’s apprentice?”

The class went deathly silent then. None of them wanted one on one lessons with the scariest teacher at Red Fountain.

Said teacher wasn’t in the room when she got there, so Celeste took the chance to start practising her form. The bokken felt good in her hand – so much better than the broken ones she was allowed to touch at the Institute. Even if, technically, she wasn’t meant to be touching them either.

Celeste didn’t technically exist in the Institute.

(Be quiet. Don’t let anyone hear you. Don’t let anyone see you. If anyone tries to catch you, run. Don’t take anything that might be missed. If anyone but Headmaster sees you, you’ll be banished)

(And banished means that you’ll never see me again)

She was one of those weird secrets. As long as no one had proof that she existed, Celeste could do anything she wanted, including living in a school where only boys were allowed to learn how to fight.

But now she was at Red Fountain, where she was encouraged to fight, and got in trouble if she wasn’t seen at certain times, and isn’t allowed in the kitchen, because if she wants food, she can get it from the dining room three times a day like everybody else.

It was a bit of an adjustment period, not just for her, but everyone else at the school. Most of the students ignored her, which was fine. Some of them picked on her a little – making fun of her behind the teacher’s back, accidently missing their target during blaster practise and hitting her instead, chasing her down the halls to help her practise her evasion – but they were tiny things. She could deal with them. It was easy enough to dodge a stray blaster shot. No one followed her when she jumped over the third-floor balcony, so that was an escape when she needed it. A couple of the students who chased her broke into her room once to mess up her things, but she had so little to mess up that they didn’t actually do anything, so that was fine.

The hardest thing for her to get used to was walking down the halls in broad daylight, rather than sneaking down them in the shadows. Celeste had never realised how pale she was until she stepped out into the sun one day with her sleeves up and almost blinded herself. The sun could be so bright, it was overwhelming.

None of the teachers were too worried about her not talking – if they really needed an answer, she’d type it on her tablet and show them. Professor Codatorta didn’t even need that. He seemed to be able to take one look at her and immediately know what she was thinking – it was disconcerting to be seen so clearly.  

But back to Professor Riven.

Celeste had been so focused on making sure she got the kata right that she hadn’t noticed Professor Riven coming into the room. When she turned around, he looked so angry. Apparently, it wasn’t because she was using a bokken without permission, like she thought, but because Professor Saladin hadn’t told him that she was a girl.

Professor Codatorta was right. This was a punishment for the teacher. And if she didn’t say yes to being taught by him, he was going to leave. She didn’t know what terminated meant, but she recognised resignation. It meant leaving something you didn’t want to leave, like when Professor Da-Vid was kicked out of the Institute. If Professor Riven didn’t teach her, he wasn’t going to be teaching anyone.

Not many students wanted to work with the temperamental professor – many of them complained about how harsh Professor Riven was, how he busted their arses, and has obnoxiously high standards, and would never give a compliment.

He sounded a lot like Headmaster.

Celeste bowed deeply to Professor Saladin, because that’s how you showed you respected someone, by letting them see your back and trusting they won’t hurt you for it, before holding her bokken out to Professor Riven, hilt first. She had to communicate her choice somehow, right?

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Celeste couldn’t help but smile. I’m going to be trained!

****************

Riven stared at the proffered bokken in disbelief.

Professor Saladin, for his part, looked too amused for Riven’s liking. “I believe Celeste is consenting to being trained by you.”

With a scoff, Riven pushed against the sword, ignoring the twist of guilt he felt when it impacted with the girls’ stomach. “Don’t go just throwing away your weapon, you idiot.”

She looked at him for a moment, as if committing the words to memory, before giving him a nod so deep it was almost a bow. Riven inhaled deeply before he said anything – Ventus Institute was a very old-fashioned school of training, and gestures of respect such as bowing and scraping were commonplace there. He’d just have to train it out of her, just like every other bad habit she probably picked up.

“Well, you two should go and discuss your schedule – Riven, I have sent you Celeste’s timetable regarding the classes she still needs to take, but you are responsible for the rest.”

After that dismissal, Riven stalked out of the office with the girl hot on his heels. He didn’t say a word until they reached the relative safety of Training Room Four – their training room. On the way he scanned her schedule. He scoffed. Schedule wasn’t the best word for it, more like checklist. The only classes he didn’t need to cover was Politics and Information Technologies. Every physical class was his responsibility, along with War History and Tactics and Strategies. To be fair, his area of expertise was strategy, and War History was an easy enough class – all you had to do was memorise a few dates, write an essay about when this war happened or why that king killed this king, and you were golden. An attached note said that the curriculum for both classes would be sent to him, and that he would need to ensure his student had enough time to do her theoretical coursework on top of whatever homework he assigned.

His student. Her.

How had he not seen her before now? Classes started three weeks ago. He had covered two freshmen War History classes for a sick teacher in that time. Surely, he would have noticed a girl in the class.

(He didn’t)

In the centre of the training room, Riven pulled out a bokken of his own. “Professor Saladin says you have potential – prove it!” With a lunge, their duel began.

Out of all the sword forms Red Fountain taught, Riven preferred Form V: Djem-Sho. It combined Forms II and III into an aggressive style that merged defence and offence into a terrifyingly well-rounded whole. It best suited his ‘attack is the best defence’ attitude without leaving him open to counter-attacks. Admittedly, it could be a confronting form, and definitely not something a freshman would have fought against before.

The girl was blocking admirably. She had obviously been practising her Form I katas, but some of the tighter, faster movements resembled the Form III defence some of the sophomores had been trained in earlier in the week. Her dodging skills were well developed, avoiding more attacks than she blocked, which given her slighter form, was probably the best idea. She was built for speed, rather than strength. However, she continued to give up ground, Riven backing her around the room. He struck only at every second opening she left in her defence, not wanting to call an end to his test too soon.

After some time though, Riven grew annoyed. “Don’t you know how to attack? Or can you only walk backwards?” He snarled, halting his advance. They were back where they’d started, the girl panting lightly in the centre of the room. With both arms outstretched, he sneered, “C’mon, show me that potential Professor Saladin thinks you have.”

Something in the girl’s face twisted. His first thought was anger – that’s what most students felt when he goaded them like this. But when she didn’t strike immediately, he waved the hand not holding a sword.

“Are you just going to stand there all day? Fight!”

A second later she lunged into an underarm strike, and as he parried, it hit him. That wasn’t anger – it was hesitation.

Then he noticed something else.

Her attack form was so much worse than her defence.

That’s all Riven could think about as he parried the, honestly, pathetic attempt of an advance. The girl was tentative in her attacks and slow at taking advantage of any (purposeful) slips in his guard. A fairy could fight better than this!

“I thought you were a warrior!” Riven goaded, “Is this all the Ventus Institute can do? Defend themselves well enough to run away?” He parried another half-hearted blow before launching into a flurry of attacks.

The girl defended herself desperately, feet slipping on the training mats, but Riven wasn’t going easy on her this time. He locked her bokken with his own, pressing her wrist against her chest at a painful angle, and with his other hand he begun to poke her in the forehead with one finger. “Look at that! You can’t even defend yourself from a finger!”

It only took two more pokes before the girl released a soundless snarl and moved.

With surprising force, the two bokken were twisted and pushed against Riven’s chest, driving him back far enough for her to swerve down and under his guard, snapping a bruising kick at the back of his knee. Clearly she was trying to knock him off-balance, following it up with an elbow to his stomach. Riven recovered quickly, landing a sharp hit across the girls’ shoulder as she slid past him.

It wasn’t until Riven’s face almost met the floor that he realised – that lapse in judgement was deliberate.

The girl only came to Riven’s collarbone. When she slipped past him, she was far enough under his guard to slide her bokken between his legs and twist, forcing his supporting leg forward and putting enough pressure on his other knee to make him move it unless he wants to risk a fractured knee cap. As he stumbled, she elbowed him in the spine. It would have been a perfect move if she’d pressed her advantage, but instead the girl moved back and allowed him to recover.

Riven cursed even as he smirked. Celeste wasn’t one to be underestimated. At least, not when she was riled. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head (which sounded a little like Musa) that compared her to a younger him – both so full of rage and dangerous when unleashed.

The spar lasted a little while longer, Riven landing some hits that even made him wince in sympathy, and the girl catching another lucky shot along his ribs. “Alright, alright, stop!” Riven held up his hand and watched, surprised, as the girl froze in place, bokken still overhead, ready for a strike.

That is some impressive control.

“We’re done for now; you can put your sword down.”

Nothing. Just a wary stare and an even tighter grip.

Riven growled and tried again, dropping his own weapon. “I said stop, we’re done!”

The girl blinked and brought her bokken down to parade rest.

“Alright, so you’re not a total loss,” Riven admitted grudgingly. “You’ve still got a long way to go, and you need to learn how to attack, not just defend.” He paused to see if she would say anything and had to force down a wave of anger when she didn’t. “You get the rest of the day off to do your coursework – I’ll send you your updated schedule later.”

When she didn’t move, Riven waved a hand, “You’re dismissed.”

The girl bowed, put her bokken back on the wall, and left.

Riven looked down at his own weapon and sighed. “That was interesting.

Outside, Celeste was thinking the same thing.

*************

At first, all Celeste could see were shadows. Shadows of trees, shadows of grass, shadows of a river that once wound freely through the forest, now frozen in time. Her hands (but not her hands) came into view holding a rusted key.

Her mouth twitched into a pleased smile – all sharp edges and subtle warnings. It wasn’t a nice smile (it wasn’t her smile)

A voice too deep to possibly belong to her spoke. “Finally.”

#aurix #winx club #celeste #riven #found family #well #more finding family #they're not quite there yet #winx fanfiction #please say this works #don't know how to do the thing #where it asks you #to keep reading #hope it does it automatically #someone tell me if it works #and how to fix it

[aspiringauthorintraining]

Partners in Crime #2

“I’m on my way, don’t worry.” (Y/N) assured, looking down the road. “No, I’m sure I’m not lost. I just wanted to stop by to grab some coffee for us. I found out about a great place from a friend.”

“I thought I was the only friend you had in Central City?” The voice on the other line asked in a hurt tone.She could imagine the pout forming on her friend’s face.

“I thought I was friends with Cisco and Dr. Wells too?”

“Well…you know what I mean. And, you told me that you couldn’t hang out yesterday because you had work? If you didn’t want to see me you could have said so.” 

“Oh my gosh, Caitlin, stop. I did have work, but we had no current cases, so my partner offered to show me around town. And this all happened after you called me yesterday.” She tried reasoning with her friend, to stop her from wallowing in sadness.

“…”

“Caitlin, are you still there?” she asked, breaking the silence. 

“Fine, I forgive you.” her friend finally responded.

“Oh, thank you soooo much.” (Y/N) replied sarcastically, but with endearment. “Well, I’m gonna hang up now ‘cause I’m in the parking lot. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Okay, see you soon!” Caitlin exclaimed gleefully.

(Y/N) noted the very empty parking lot. Well, better parking spots for her, she shrugged. As she walked towards the building, it brought up nostalgic memories of her friends, when she visited them a year ago. 

“Caitlin? Anyone there?” She called out into the pitch black lab. “I’m pretty sure I’m in the right room.” 

She retraced her steps in her head, thinking if she made wrong turn in the hallway, when suddenly, the lights turned on, blinding her.

“SURPRISE!!” 

As (Y/N) regained her vision, she saw her friends standing in the middle of the room with bright smiles.

“You guys! You almost gave me a heart attack, and momentarily blindness.” She said with a grin on her face.

“Well, then it was worth it.” Cisco high-fived Caitlin, who was standing next to him and Dr. Wells. 

Playfully glaring at her friends, she walked over to grab them in a deathly hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Caitlin exclaimed when breaking apart the group hug. “And this time, you’re staying longer than before!” 

Caitlin Snow, or Dr. Caitlin Snow, was (Y/N)’s friend from university. They had met when Caitlin bumped into her inside the campus coffee shop, and when they discovered they were taking the exact same upper level classes, it became the start of a beautiful friendship. 

(Y/N) was also the reason Caitlin and Ronnie met too. When Ronnie was in need of tutor for Quantum Physics and Equilibrium, she overheard his conversation and gave him Caitlin’s number, who had a crush on him since the day she saw him in the Science Library. (Y/N) made them promise that she would be the godmother of their future children the second after Ronnie’s proposal. After she found out what happened to Ronnie during the particle accelerator incident, she grabbed the next train to Central City to help her friend through the rough time. It was hard already that she just lost one of her best friends, with Ronnie’s death, so she couldn’t even imagine what it felt like for Caitlin, to lose her best friend and her fiancee.

“Now we can have Sherlock marathons!” Cisco cheered.

Cisco Ramon, was (Y/N)’s spirit animal. They agreed they were each other’s soulmate, platonically of course. Their first meeting was when she visited Caitlin after the particle accelerator explosion. They clicked right away, and kept in touch after she returned back to Starling. And of course, he would always butt into her and Caitlin’s facetime whenever he could.

“Of course! You better have been training for it.”

“Duh. Dude, marathons are the reason for my existence. I’ve been training for 2 years for this.” Cisco happily chomped on his 45th Twizzler of the day, grinning in between chews.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s good to have you back.” Dr. Wells greeted her. 

(Y/N) also met Dr. Wells for the first time, when she came to Central City nine months ago. He was cold at first, but eventually warmed up to her; noticeably, after he had a bite of her famous brownies. Her mother always said, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”. 

“Thanks Dr. Wells! It’s really nice to see everyone again!”

“Have you thought about my offer from last time? It still stands. Although, I understand if you choose not to take it, based on our lab’s reputation now.” Dr. Wells’ smile faltered, being reminded of the events a few months past.

When Dr. Wells met her, he was intrigued to find out that, instead of becoming a scientist or working in a lab discovering the next element, she was working as a forensic scientist in Starling City. She was offered a job at STAR Labs when she came to console Caitlin, but turned it down because she didn’t want to leave Starling City at that time. But now that she moved, the situation was different.

“Really?” (Y/N) lit up. “I completely forgot about it, with all the moving and chaos.” 

“Well, STAR Labs would be lucky to have a scientist with your expertise join us.”

“Dr. Wells, there’s really no need to persuade me. I would take the offer in a heartbeat. But…” she trailed off, a frown forming on her face after remembering her other job.

“I moved here to work at the CCPD, and so I wouldn’t be able to work full time here.” 

“Of course, forensics is your passion. But, not to worry. We’ve been in a partnership with the CCPD, ever since the appearance of the metahumans in the city.” Dr. Wells explained. “I’m sure we could work something out with them.”

“Are you serious? Thank you! Thank you so much!” She shook Dr. Wells’ hand rapidly with excitement. Caitlin and Cisco grinned at the news, excited to hear that their friend was joining their small team. 

“Well, we have one more member of our team who has to approve of you, but I’m sure he will.” Dr. Wells chuckled at her persistent hand-shaking.

“Who?” 

She didn’t notice anyone else in the room with them when the lights had turned on. 

“He’s not here right now. He, uh, works part-time here at the labs actually.” Cisco fumbled over his words nervously.

“So, what’s the plan for today guys?” A voice sounded from behind her, making her slightly jump. 

Turning around, (Y/N) saw Barry saunter into the room with his hair all over the place, like he just walked through a windstorm. She was surprised to see him in STAR Labs. It seemed he was too, by the look of his widening eyes and his frozen state.

“Uhhh…” He paused, failing to come up with any words. “Y-(Y/N)! Wh-wh-why, I mean, w-what are you doing here?” He scratched his neck nervously, looking at the others for an explanation. 

“Barry! What are you doing here already?”

“We thought you were coming later…”

Cisco and Caitlin were in a state of panic as well, while Dr. Wells pinched his nose in frustration. Barry continued looking antsy, looking anywhere in the lab except for at her. 

“What’s going on here guys? Is Barry the other person I’m supposed to meet?” Her friends continued to panic and everyone continued to look anywhere but at her, trying to avoid answering her question. 

“Barry is actually…” Caitlin finally spoke, looking at the others in the room for help with her sentence.

“He’s here for CCPD!” Cisco yelled out. Confused, Barry gave a ‘what’ look to Cisco, wanting further explanation.

Dr Wells chose to intervene at this moment. “Yes, Mr. Allen is here to go over the recent meta human case we just closed. Isn’t that right Mr. Allen?”

“Y-yes! That is exactly why I’m here. To talk about the case…” Barry echoed Dr. Well’s words, seeming unconfident with his words.

“Really? I thought today was your day off Barry?” (Y/N) wasn’t convinced that it was the real reason he was here.

“It is!” Cisco interrupted. “But you know Barry. He’s a workaholic. Those off days still can’t stop him from working, right Barry?”

“Yeah!” Barry replied a little too enthusiastically. Caitlin buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.

Something seemed off to (Y/N), but she decided to drop it at the expense of not wanting to hear anymore lame excuses. “Alright then, I’m just gonna head out now with Caitlin. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Barry.” 

And before the boys could make a bigger mess than they already did, Caitlin push her friend out of the room, silently glaring at the boys from behind.

#cwimagine #cw imagine #the flash imagine #flash x reader #flash imagine #the flash x reader #barryallenxreader #barry allen x reader #barryallenimagine #barry allen imagine #partners in crime series

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter Twenty-Three: You Want To Hear More.

This chapter was meant to be a sweet homage to @gotham-ruaidh on her birthday - but I was an epic fail and missed it. Then this chapter took an age to refine. But hopefully it’s worth the wait. Gothie, you are an awesome human and ILY. 

Many thanks to @suhailauniverse as always - my heroine. 

MASTER LIST can be found behind the words should you need it <3 

The soft sway of the nets hanging in Jamie’s windows broke the semi-silence. Claire was breathless, her flesh almost torn from her body whilst Jamie lay wordlessly by her side. He healed her in ways she couldn’t comprehend; from the light touches he showered on her through the day, to the more powerful thrust of his hips as he hovered over her in their bed - there wasn’t a single scar left open on her body since he’d entered her life.

“What are ye thinking about, sassenach?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“You.” She whispered back, the steady pound of her heart racing against her ribcage increasing slightly with the admittance and then slowing to a normal beat once again as lucidity returned and the bones in her legs removed to allow her more agile movements to resume.

“And what, may I ask, specifically were ye thinking about?”

“Too much all at once. But mostly how much I love you.”

“I think ye said that out loud quite a lot last night, if I recall?”

“I couldn’t help it.” Laughing quietly, she turned her head to face him so that he could see the redness sneaking across her cheeks. “You had your lips against my neck - it’s my weak spot. It…” she continued, inhaling deeply as she brought to life last nights amorous activities, her eyes closing briefly as the images played behind her lids, “...makes my toes curl and my heart stop for just a moment.”

“I could tell. Ye shuddered, but no’ in an unpleasant way. Yer skin came alive wi’ goosebumps and ye curled yer body so close to mine that I couldna tell where ye ended and I began. That’s why I kept doing it.” He smirked, his lips curling up in such a way that it made him look angelic and very accomplished all at the same time.

“I’d let you do that to me all day long - you’d hear no complaints from me.”

Enjoying the freedom summer afforded them, Claire and Jamie were basking in the glow of one another. They’d spent nearly twenty-four hours half naked as close to one another as humanly possible. In amidst the turmoil they’d faced over the last few weeks, the idle bliss they now found themselves in was a blessing.

“Is that so, lass…” he teased, running one finger beneath her chin as she sighed, satisfaction rolling through her.

“If only we could stay here forever.” She replied, shifting her hips closer to his as his fingers trailed lower. The unopened letter seemed to call to her from the table as she tried not to think about the information that it might contain.

“We can, mo nighean donn.”

“What does that mean?” She asked, changing the subject entirely. “You never told me you spoke another language.”

“Oh, aye. I speak Gaelic, the Scots variant no’ the Irish. Da was certain he wanted us to learn it. Did ye know that less than 2% of Scots speak it?”

Claire shook her head and tipped her head back, her lids hooded as she smiled softly.

“Aye, well, that’s true. It’s dying out but my father’s parents spoke it fluently, as does da and he wanted us to continue the tradition - it runs deep in the Fraser blood, ye ken?”

“Being bilingual?” Quirking a brow, Claire nudged her nose playfully against his.

“Yer a witty one, but no,” he returned, kissing her softly, “upholding the proud Scottish tradition of speaking the language, ye wee sassenach heathen.”

“Oh, so it’s name calling is it?”

“It is when ye mock me.”

“Well it just so happens that I can speak quite a hefty amount of French, Mr Fraser - I’m not perfect, but I lived there for a year in my early teens.”

“Och! That sounds interesting.” He muttered, his lips caressing her earlobe as he ran his hand softly over her belly. Feeling her response to his touch, he increased his ministrations.

“You want to hear more?”

“Always.”

Breathlessly, his fingers drawing the words from her as if by magic, Claire leaned her head towards him and spoke - her body aching for him as she did so. “It was your stereotypical French adventure really. I stayed in Paris - we moved because my father took a year secondment with work. Mother stayed at home and schooled me because I didn’t, in the beginning, know enough French to get by…” gasping, she inhaled audibly as Jamie’s fingers crept lower, running along her pelvic bone until he reached the top of her thigh.

“And did ye get to see the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes.” She groaned, unable to control the flex of her hips and she thrust upwards.

“I’ve never seen it, though I’ve been to France. Tell me about it, Sassenach…” he trailed off, letting his digits dance over her sensitive skin.

“It’s big.” She returned, her words no more than a whisper now as language failed her.

“Aye, I bet it is...and?”

“Sturdy….fuck...it’s powerful. Externally, it’s a mesh of metal and geometric, harsh lines, but it’s beautiful and captivating.”

“Ach, so it’s full of contradictions then? A complex structure that instills wonder and awe in those that come across it.”

Unable to continue talking, Claire arched her back to enable her mouth to reach for his. “I don’t care,” she mumbled, her hands running down the curves of his spine until they rested neatly over his arse, “I just want you inside me, please.” The feel of him pressed against her was too much to bear as she hooked her leg around his hip, trapping his hand between them.

“Jesus in heaven, Claire,” he cursed lowly, his fingertips twitching against her heated flesh, “I canna control myself when ye say things like that.”

“Then don’t.” She coaxed, rolling her hips once as she turned herself, pinning him to the bed beneath her. With her groin pressing solidly against his, she could feel how much he ached for her too and she smiled, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Using her hands to keep her balanced, she dug her fingers into the pillows where she had placed them -either side of Jamie’s head- as she angled herself so that she could feel the warm length of him between her thighs. “Because I don’t think that I can wait any longer.”

Taking hold of her waist with both hands, Jamie steadied her as she bent forward a little and pushed herself down. In an instant he was nestled inside her, her hips now fully level with his as she sighed loudly - the look of relief spreading across her face as she let her mouth hang open.

“Move wi’ me, Claire.” Jamie moaned as he shimmied his hips upwards to meet hers - the sound of their bodies moving as one echoing around them. “Rock yer hips in time wi’ mine.”

“Yes.” She returned quietly, nodding her head as she obeyed, her motions slow and stunted as she gave herself time to adjust to him this way. Her expertise in this area was limited; at first she’d been privy to only the basic sexual positions and as time had gone on, and her intimacy with Frank had become more and more sparse - she had given less thought to achieving any pleasure through intercourse. Her last time with him had been fraught with tension, the thought of him touching her making her feel queasy and sick.

Part of her had worried that her personal relationship with sex had been irreversibly damaged by that experience but the moment Jamie had touched her, kissed her, held her close to his chest - she had all but forgotten those terrible moments and allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the caress of someone who actively cared about her wellbeing.

“J-Jesus,” she gasped, her legs tensing as a bolt of unadulterated pleasure shot through her turning her bones to jelly once more, “you feel so good.”

As the edges of her vision blurred, Claire closed her eyes and pushed herself down one final time as she shuddered, her body clamping down -almost painfully- on Jamie before flopping forwards, a shivering mass of spent tissue as she melted into a puddle on his chest.

“Did you…?” She managed to ask, her breath coming in pants as she tried to recall whether she’d felt him orgasm at the same time as trying to recover from her own.

“Aye.” Jamie whispered, a tender smile pulling at his lips as he stroked the sweat from her back. “Now rest, Claire.”

Shifting her back onto her side, Jamie pulled the blanket back around them both, cocooning them as they shut out the steady build of traffic that was beginning to invade their privacy. Brian was coming to collect them both in a few hours so that they could make the journey up to Inverness together, but until that point he didn’t want to think about anything other than Claire. He especially didn’t want to have to think about the prospect of sharing her.

“You too then,” she sighed, “I can almost hear the cogs in your head turning. Sleep now, just sleep here with me for a little while.”

Unable to resist the calming lilt of her voice, he closed his eyes and buried his nose into her hair - her curls tickling him as he kissed her cheek reverently. “I can’t wait to show you everything, Claire,” he mumbled, his words slurring together as he dozed on and off, “where I grew up, the farm...all of it.”

“Me too.” Yawning, Claire burrowed closer, letting the swoosh of the cars lull her to sleep as the dull Glaswegian daylight fluttered over them, the patterns from the drapes creating strange floral shadows over their fatigued flesh as their chests rose and fell simultaneously - their bodies synchronized even as they slept.

#private tutor au #gotham's writing workshop #jamie and claire

[howlnikiforov]

Trespass

Chapter Six: Blind

Pairing: Hyungwon x Reader

Word Count: 1908

Summary: You would think that one would be able to trust their soulmate, be able to love them unconditionally, and know them better than yourself. But that isn’t always the case. Who was H.One, and why did the universe think you could be soulmates?

Trespass Masterlist

The next time you saw H.One was a week after you got your masters degree. He stopped coming by your work, and you were too busy to notice his sudden absence. Now that you weren’t drowning in work, you couldn’t help but note his absence. You almost found yourself wanting to see him, since it had been an unusually long time since you saw him last. You weren’t expecting to see him leaning against a lamppost, just outside the cafe you worked at.

The moment he laid eyes on you, he pushed himself off the lamppost and began walking towards you. Something seemed to pull you to him as you met him halfway. “You’ve been gone.” You said once you were close enough.

“You’ve noticed. Didn’t think you would.” He replied.

“Well...I didn’t really. Not until like, a week ago.” You confessed.

“I see. Did you miss me?” He raised an eyebrow as he asked his question.

“Kinda hard to miss someone you don’t particularly want in your life.” You bit back.

“Wow, no reason to hurt me that much.” He feigned mock hurt, to which you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you here?” You were tired of beating around the bush. All you wanted to do was get home, change into sweatpants, and curl up on the couch to binge watch your favorite drama.

“I wanted to see you, and talk to you.” He admitted.

“Well, you’re seeing me and you’re talking to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home before I get even more pissed off.” You began to march away when he caught you by the wrist and turned you around to face him.

“Can we start over?” It was hard to hear his quiet plea through his face mask.

“What?” “Can we start over?” He repeated, this time louder, more confident.

“Why?” “Because the way we were introduced to each other was hardly fair.”

“Maybe you think that way, but I don’t. I’m glad I got to see your true colors before anything happened.”

His grip on your wrist tightened marginally, his eyes pleading with you to listen. “Please...I promise what you’ve seen is only a fraction of who I am.”

“So you officially admit it then. You are a bastard.” You’d laugh at the situation if it weren’t for the look in his eyes. They begged you to listen to him, and they exposed a vulnerability you’ve never seen in him.

“Yes. I do things most wouldn’t approve of. I evade the law. But that’s not all I do.” He let go of your wrist, running his hand through his hair instead.

“Then prove it to me,” You demand, “if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to. After all, if you were able to save me, you can’t be all that bad.” You didn’t chance another look at him as you turned and left.

As it turned out, curling up on the couch with a tub of chocolate fudge ice cream and your show on TV was not as relaxing as you’d thought it’d be. Your drama only managed to remind of you of H.One.

Who did he think he was, coming to you and asking to start over? Even if you wanted to, you’d never be able to forget the things he’s done. How could you? They were burned into your mind. The way he ruthlessly broke Youngjae’s wrist-granted he was saving you,- how he stoically stood still while someone was beating Youngjae, the harsh words he used towards Sohyun, it was all there, in perfect clarity. You could hear his sharp voice, see his words cutting like a knife. There was no way he’d be able to prove he was anything more. Actions speak louder than words, and his actions screamed he was a danger.

Then again, he wasn’t always bad, you supposed. Sometimes he seemed civil enough, when you held brief conversations with him. He also rescued you. How could you forget that? You didn’t think it was possible for him to defend someone like that.

You’ve thought about telling your father about him, about giving him to the law, but when it came down to it, you weren’t sure you could. Even if you did, you were sure he’d just find a way to avoid them.  He mentioned evading the law earlier, so he was sure to have a way to hide from them, or get him on his side.

Seeing how he talked about Youngjae and drugs, you figured it was safe to assume he was involved in the drug business. He obviously dealt them, but did he do them too? Did he drug people to take advantage of their drunken state? Or was it strictly business? What other things was he involved in? He was connected to that club Sohyun had brought you to. Not only was he connected, he seemed to be the boss of the place, if Ki’s interaction with him was anything to go by. You often found yourself wondering how your friend knew about that place, since it was in such sketchy area.

Who was he? And why did he always cover his face with a face mask? What was the purpose? To hide? To appear ominous? To get people to stay away from him? Whatever it may be, it worked. Except for you. The mask didn’t make you want to stay away from him, and he didn’t appear all that creepy to you. Maybe it was because you were his soulmate, you weren’t too sure.

An idea struck you then. If he had such a wretched reputation, surely there’d be something about him on the internet. You turned off your TV and went to your room, opening the laptop you had on your desk. You googled his name, expecting a bunch of articles condemning his acts to appear. However, nothing of the sort appeared. Instead, you saw articles praising him.

You clicked on a link, the headline of the story reading ‘H.One donates five hundred thousand dollars to children’s hospital.’ The article explained that it was his second time donating to that specific children’s hospital. It went on to detail his other charitable works, like how he opened a soup kitchen.

Every article written about him applauded his good deeds. You couldn’t believe it. Was what you had seen of him really just a small side of his? No, it had to be a much larger part of him. You’ve rarely seen him act good. You thought about how he treated Sohyun, and then how he had saved you from Youngjae. That had been the one time you’ve seen his character be more than an ass.

It was strange seeing so many beautiful articles written about H.One. He had admitted earlier he had many wrongdoings, and hid from the law. So why did he do such good deeds under his name? You knew H.One was an alias, but why would he continuously use the same alias?

Okay, so maybe you could give him that chance he was asking for. Who knows, perhaps he just hasn’t reached his full potential yet. It was possible his actions were all behavioral, something he’s learned through his environment. There could also be a sociocultural aspect to him; he’s been influenced by social norms to think it’s okay to be violent. You blamed America for that one. 

He was an enigma, and every day he reminded you of the exact reason why you began to study psychology: so you could solve the mysteries behind the human brain. Could you continue trying to find psychological answers when you barely knew him?

You had to wonder, what made soulmates? Thinking about your unwanted bond with H.One led you to start developing your thesis for your Ph.D: the psychology behind soulmates. Very few people ventured into that area, simply because no one wanted to ruin what made soulmates special. Those who did look at it, never looked into why everyone was paired with their significant other. All the studies were about how a soulmate made you feel. You were going to change that.

A couple days later Sohyun called you while she was taking her break at work. You were worried something was wrong because she never calls you while she’s at work. As it turned out, she was calling to tell you that H.One came by the cafe, and had apologized to her, telling her he would have done it sooner had he not had to go out of town for awhile. You thought back to the argument you had with him; it’s been more than a month since then. You were surprised he apologized, but it was late and had suspiciously come after you told him to prove he was more than a bastard. You had a hard time believing that he was sincere to your friend.

You felt bad for Sohyun, because he was using her as means to get to you. He may have been thinking that it’d be a start to proving he’s not the ruthless man he is, but it was the wrong thing to do. It only served to prove you right. You were a psychology major, these things couldn’t get past you. Your expertise in this area was going to be an obstacle for him, one that would be virtually impossible to overcome. It made you laugh, thinking how he’d only be showing his real self to you while he was trying to show a fabricated personality.

You ran into Youngjae for the first time in a month on your way to work. You tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t let you go.

“Y/N,” his voice stopped you in your tracks, “I heard you got your masters degree. Congratulations. Though I must say I’m rather offended you didn’t tell me about the ceremony. I thought for sure I’d be there for you.”

You forced a smile to your face, “I’m sorry, but I really just wanted my family there.” Your excuse was a poor one, you knew, but it was the only one you had.

“Sohyun isn’t your family though.” He pointed out.

“No, but she may as well be. Seeing as we’ve been best friends for most of our life.” You answered, feeling yourself get defensive. “I didn’t have to invite you. Just because I’ve been tutoring you doesn’t mean I have to invite you to everything.”

“No? Then why did you invite me to the club? And our relationship is more than just a teacher student relationship Y/N”

“Then what is it? Because that’s all I’ve ever seen us as.” You avoided his previous questions, knowing he wouldn’t believe your answers.

“Oh Y/N, don’t you know it? We’re supposed to be soulmates, we’re meant for each other. The heavens just fucked us over and put us with the wrong people.”

Sure, you weren’t particularly fond of the idea that H.One was your soulmate, but he was better than Youngjae at least. The thought of being with him made you nauseous, and you wanted to run far away. It was stupid of you to believe Youngjae would’ve made a flawless soulmate.

“Look, Youngjae, that’s not us. The heavens don’t make mistakes like that. Sure, mistakes are made, but not like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really got to get to work.” You dashed off, sprinting away in hopes you could get far away from him. You were glad to see that he wasn’t following you when you glanced behind you.

#thekpopnetwork #mxnetwork #monsta x #hyungwon #chae hyungwon #hyungwon x reader #monsta x fanfic #monsta x fanfiction #hyungwon fanfic #hyungwon fanfiction #mafia au #soulmate au #monsta x mafia au #monsta x soulmate au #fluff #angst #monbebe #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #jooheon #kihyun #shownu #wonho #minhyuk #i.m #changkyun #h.one #hyungwon fluff #hyungwon angst

[jaehyunbelviso]

Used Pt. 3

Author’s note: I’m sorry if the ending of the chapter is bad, the next chapter will be better, I promise. Thank you <3

Attentively, you waited for his next action. You knew he wasn’t expecting an answer from you; he knew just the effect he had on you, and he took advantage of that.

He lowered his gaze and stared into your large eyes, smirking down at you. He was aware of the fear in your eyes, even if you weren’t. Slowly, his rosy lips inched towards yours and his hands began to undo the buttons of your uniform shirt. 

All you could do was kiss back. Your body and soul wanted him, even if your mind knew he was forbidden. The kiss ended too soon.

“What should your first punishment be, princess?” Taeyong said, his voice just above a whisper.

You remained silent, as usual. You only observed, anticipating his every action.

“I have an idea,” Taeyong murmured, his hands untying the tie around his collar and carefully placing the dark material over your eyes.

He wrapped the tie around your head twice before tying a knot. You had no idea of what he had in mind or if he had anything in mind. However, you soon learned Lee Taeyong was the type of man to plan out an hour of deviant entertainment in just a matter of seconds.

No longer could you see if he was looking at you. You lost your sense of direction when he held your shoulders firmly and turned you around. You felt his cold fingertips softly trail a path from your collarbone all the way to the hem of your skirt, leaving goosebumps on the exposed skin of your breasts and stomach in the process. His hand raised your skirt up carefully and slipped into the waistline of your panties. You yearned for his cool touch. He dragged his middle finger in between your lower lips and began to rub your folds, his rhythm unbroken.

Not even a minute had passed and you already felt your legs giving in. The pleasure from Taeyong’s fast pace making you lean forward. Swiftly, his other hand that had been holding your arm to balance you seized your neck. His grasp on your neck was not violent, only gentle. A soft gasp left your mouth when butterfly kisses were peppered along your ear lobe and jaw.

“I’ve missed your body so much, baby,” Taeyong whispered.

You were too entranced to reply. Then, all of a sudden, his fingers left your heat. He pulled you over to the teacher’s desk, his desk. He motioned you to sit on the desk. Hesitantly, you did as he said and used your hands for support as you casually leaned back and waited. His dark eyes studied your body as he cautiously opened your legs just enough to have access to your delicate fruit.

Since your sense of sight had been hindered by the black fabric covering your eyes, you didn’t notice Taeyong kneeling in front of you, his eyes absorbing the vulnerable being before him. You felt his hands tug the sides of your panties. You lifted your body up slightly, so he could slip them off more easily.

His hands wrapped around your thighs and dragged you towards his face. His warm breath tickled your heat and made your heart beat wildly. Desperate for his mouth, you grinded forward. A small chuckle lingered in the air before you felt his wet tongue lick a strip up your pussy. His index and middle fingers separated your lips as his tongue began to lap at your folds. The new and distinct taste drove him absolutely mad.

He closed the gap between your lower lips and his mouth and moved his tongue inside of you in circular motions. His tongue flicked your clit and made your hips buck forward. He must’ve known you were close to cumming because he suddenly removed his mouth from your heat.

“Taeyong…” you groaned, your lips pouting.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Y/N. Why would I let you cum?” he replied, his fingertips gracing your inner thigh.

“Why don’t you get on all fours for me, baby girl?”

Dubious of his orders, you did as you were told. Although you weren’t sure of his next action, the end was sure to be sex. Still sitting on top of the desk, you warily got on your hands and knees. Without any warning, his hand came down hard on your ass. You cried loudly at the unexpected pain. Shortly, the room was filled with a second slap.

“Stop it, please!” you begged, the stinging sensation crawling over your right side.

“I love it when your ass jiggles, baby. Let daddy spank you a few more times. You were a bad girl, after all,” Taeyong countered, his hand massaging your cheek.

You sighed deeply and braced yourself. You bit your lips harshly when he spanked you twice more, leaving no time for healing.

“Okay kitten, I think you’ve had enough.”

His hands clutched your waist and pulled you in his direction. You were able to get off the desk with his help and now stood with your back facing him. His hands remained on your waist and he began to suck at your neck. You felt him roughly press his clothed member on your bare ass.

“Taeyong, please fuck me.”

“Say no more, kitten.”

You heard him fumbling with his belt and pants, your heart rate increasing once more. You were eager to experience the ample pleasure he first granted you.

Still turned away from him, he aligned his hard cock with your sensitive heat. His thrusts started slow and you grew impatient. Your hand sluggishly made its way down to your middle, you needed to feel more.

“Good things come to good girls who wait,” Taeyong said, his hand hastily removing yours.

He wrapped his arm around your waist and leaned you over the desk. In no time, he was pounding into you.

Whimpering, you gripped the edges of the desk. You felt tears well up in your shut eyes as his cock rammed into you. Not only did skin slapping onto skin fill the air, but moans and pants penetrated the air likewise. 

Close to release, a phone rang, your phone. He abruptly stopped and you palmed your skirt for your phone. You took it out of the pocket, removed the cloth that acted as your blindfold, and read the contact. It was your brother. Tentatively, your finger slid left and you put the phone to your ear.

“H-hello?” you quietly answered, your voice noticeably shaky.

“Where are you, Y/N? Mom wants you home right now,” Hansol rushed.

“I-I had to stay to finish a university application,” you responded, the first excuse you could think of being of your brother’s expertise.

“Don’t lie, I take care of your applications. Hurry home.”

He ended the call.

“You should go home, Y/N,” Taeyong said, sliding his member out of you.

“No no no no, please fuck me Taeyong,” you begged.

“Maybe now you’ll be a good girl and come to me first.”

A mischievous smile played on his lips as he pulled his pants up. You pouted and buttoned your shirt while searching for your panties. You didn’t notice Taeyong had made his way over to you, fully dressed and composed, until he was standing only inches from you.

“Y/N?” Taeyong softly voiced, his fingers tracing shapes on your waist.

“Yes?”

“Surely you will stop ignoring me now, right?” he questioned, his head lowered.

You smiled and nodded but realized he probably hadn’t seen. Carefully, you laid your hands on his cheeks and lifted his head to where your eyes met his. You smiled brightly and pecked his lips lightly.

“I’ll see you Monday evening for a tutoring session,” you commented before heading out of the classroom.

You ran out of the school and to your house. You quit halfway and resorted to speed walking due to your lack of endurance. You would’ve asked Taeyong for a ride but arriving with him this late on a Friday would have made your family, more specifically your brother, suspicious.

-

As the days passed, the sexual encounters continued. Each evening was wild and eventful. You would give your parents the tutoring excuse and run off to Taeyong’s house while Jaehyun was still at his office.

To Taeyong, sex wasn’t just sex. He loved to roleplay and try new things with you. He wanted to expose you to his beautiful and exotic world of pleasure.

Often times, you felt like his new toy but never did you object to anything he proposed.

Sure most times you took on the submissive role, but other times he gave you full control of the situation. These rare moments were the ones you lived for. You loved to watch him on his knees, begging to devour your wet pussy. You craved the small, helpless thrusts into your mouth when you’d suddenly stop sucking his needy cock. You savored his vulnerable state, and he adored yours.

-

A month had passed since the occurrence in the classroom and right now you were at Taeyong’s house for your daily tutoring session. After messing around, both of you would eventually sit down and review the material from class.

As the two of you sat comfortably on the living room couch on a rainy Wednesday evening, you couldn’t help but giggle at Taeyong’s sly flirting.

“Why are you laughing? You’re supposed to be listening to my explanation,” Taeyong pouted, his fingertips running up and down your exposed thigh.

“I’m trying to but you’re distracting me,” you responded, a smile coating your face.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes,” you breathed, fits of laughter erupting in the air now as Taeyong tickled your abdomen.

“Ahem,” a deep voice coughed.

The two of you turned towards the interruption, Taeyong now on top of you. Your eyes went wide as you recognized the familiar tall figure to be none other than your teacher’s husband, Jaehyun. Immediately, Taeyong lifted himself off the couch and greeted Jaehyun.

“Jaehyun! Did you get out of the office early?” Taeyong asked, surprise apparent in his tone of voice.

“Yes. Can I speak to you in private, Taeyong?” Jaehyun requested, his tone much more serious.

Taeyong nodded and followed Jaehyun into the dining room, closing the glass door behind him. You could slightly hear parts of the conversation.

“Taeyong, you know I don’t like it when she comes to our home.”

…

“We weren’t doing anything.”

“Don’t you dare lie, Taeyong. I saw you.”

You heard an annoyed sigh, most probably from Taeyong.

“Baby, you know you’re the only one I love.”

“Oh, am I really?”

“Yes, of course. She’s only a kid.”

His cruel words were like shards of glass to your heart. Did you mean anything at all to him?

…

The door opened, and Jaehyun stepped out first. Taeyong followed shortly, his head hanging low.

“Y/N, you should head home. It’s late,” Jaehyun suggested, irritation present.

You waited for Taeyong to interject. Soon realizing he wasn’t, you nodded and focused on the floor for the fear of Jaehyun seeing your teary eyes. Hurriedly, you gathered your belongings and headed to the door, his cold stare making you feel nervous and uncomfortable.

“Y/N?” Jaehyun pronounced, wanting your attention.

“Yes?”

“We’ll see you at your family’s New Year’s Eve party this weekend,” he announced, his dimples on display only mustering up hate in your heart.

He was well aware you had heard the conversation in the dining room, and he knew exactly the effect Taeyong’s harsh words had on you. He understood your heart was crumbling and you were short of breath. However, he wasn’t going to let this go. Jaehyun was going to make it clear to you who exactly owned Taeyong, and he was planning to demonstrate it to you New Year’s Eve.

#nct #nct 127 #nct taeyong #taeyong #nct fanfic #nct scenario #nct smut #nct angst #lee taeyong #kpop

[exoticarmy127]

Save You (Jungkook, OC) Part 2

Forgive me for taking so long in updating this... My mind was preoccupied with other things lol. Anyway, enjoy! 

PART 1

Jungkook was now eighteen and he never thought he would ever go through something what most people would call a “crush”.

Having become distant and detached from everyone for a long time could affect you in ways that alters your very being. Jungkook has been so used to avoiding contact with anyone that he had forgotten how it felt like to look at someone…

And not want to look away.

Jungkook tried to forget about her: Olivia Kim, the new girl in his Math class. He didn’t mean to but he found himself stealing glances at her more often than he should; subtly staring and looking away instantly when she turns. It was a good thing he was already an expert at blending into the background and avoiding eye-contact.

He wouldn’t say it was a crush, exactly… more like a fleeting fascination. It's not that he liked her that way (Though she was not at all bad looking, Jungkook thought. With her warm brown eyes and long dark hair… Completely not my ideal type at all.) but he was more curious as to why there were no numbers hovering over her head.

At first Jungkook thought it may have been delayed and that it would eventually show up in a day or two. That happened once a couple of years ago with a little girl he accidentally locked eyes with at a convenience store. Jungkook could remember being thrilled when there were numbers on her, thinking his curse has somehow been miraculously lifted. But a couple of days later, he caught sight of the same girl on his way home from school. She was just about to ride a car and when Jungkook locked eyes with her, he saw it. He deflated; shoulder sagging at the discovery that he could still see those awful numbers. Although he was a bit relieved upon discovering the little girl still had long years to live.

But it's been a week and Olivia’s numbers have yet to come up. Jungkook liked to think he couldn't see them at all now but he knew that was a lie. He could still sense it coming off from everyone…like a stain you can’t really remove.

This was the first time that he has met (well the correct term being "seen" considering they haven't once spoken with each other. Not that Jungkook was planning on it either) someone without it and it's weird considering being human means… we all die.

Unless she isn't human, a voice suggested in his head which he snorted at because this was no time for crazy talk. But Jungkook couldn’t keep wondering about it. When everyone’s numbers seem to be working just fine, here was Olivia just sitting on her chair—numberless.

The only other person whose numbers Jungkook couldn’t see was his, and even he himself wasn’t completely sure why. But he figured it was better that way and opted not to dig deeper into the topic since knowing everyone else’s time of death was enough of a burden. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of knowing the exact day that he was going to die either.

"Jungkook, you should help out Olivia."

Jungkook snapped up at the sound of his name, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. He immediately caught sight of the numbers hovering over Mrs. Chan's head and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest when he saw that the woman only had five years left to live.

"Sorry?" He asked stupidly as he looked around and saw his classmates already standing up from their seats, preparing to leave. Jungkook tried to recall when the dismissal bell sounded but couldn't. He figured he was too distracted.

"You and Olivia." She pointed out. "I need you to help her in Math. I thought I'd turn to you since you're the Math genius of the class." She chuckled and before Jungkook could protest, the woman held up her hand. "Not without incentives, of course. Don't worry, Jungkook. This is extra credit work and I'm sure it would look good on your college recommendation letters."

And there it was. Jungkook hated it when his teachers throw in the "college card”, like he couldn't see right through their intentions. They all wanted the same thing: for him to socialise more, to join a club, to make friends...

And other specific things Jungkook can't do.

"I'm sorry. But I... I can't—“

"It's only for this semester, Jungkook." Mrs. Chan said, smiling sweetly. "I'm sure you can sacrifice a bit of your time to help a classmate out."

It's not that, he huffed internally, wanting to tear his hair out in frustration because he couldn’t explain the true reason behind his reluctance to accept.

It's not that I don't want to help..., he thought.

It's just too risky.

"Please, Mrs. Chan. Thank you but I think we can tell when someone doesn't really want to do something."

Jungkook was surprised at the voice that spoke up, unaware of another presence in the room. He turned slowly and saw the last (and maybe first, but he won't ever admit it) person he wanted to see.

Olivia was biting her lip, looking a little embarrassed. It didn't occur to him that she was standing behind him all this time while Mrs. Chan pleaded for him to help her out in Math.

Jungkook gave her a one-over, surveying her green blouse and jeans. He thought he looked exceptionally pretty today...

Wait, what?

"Ahem." Jungkook looked up to the sound of someone clearing their throat and was surprised to see Olivia staring daggers at him.

"I—“ Jungkook stammered, wanting to apologize for staring so rudely but ended up looking away and clearing his throat instead, feeling his ears warm up from embarrassment.

Olivia stared at him for a second longer before moving her gaze back to the teacher. "And besides, I'm sure there are others who would be willing to help me out. Maybe someone smarter."

Jungkook's head snapped towards her so fast he thought he would've gotten a whiplash.

Excuse me, he wanted to say.

“I mean, if he was really the best…he wouldn’t be so scared to help someone out considering it’s his subject of expertise.”

Jungkook scoffed unknowingly at that and was instantly embarrassed when Mrs. Chan gave him a look.

Is she actually taunting me? He thought incredulously as he clenched his right hand.

"Isn't that right... Jungkook?"  

Jungkook's breath seemed to hitch at the sound of his name coming out of her mouth. He looked at her then and their eyes met in a challenging gaze.

Wow she totally is, Jungkook thought as nobody budged. It was almost pathetic: their little staring game. As if that gesture would make him change his mind.  

Well it did.

Jungkook was actually taking the bait. He was the smartest guy in class and there's no way he was going to let her get away with what she just said.

Right then he decided he wasn't going to let her trample over his pride.

"Just for the whole semester, right?" He asked and Mrs. Chan's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He turned towards Olivia who had a mildly surprised look on her face, not expecting him to agree and take her bait.

"Yes, just for this term Jungkook." And just like that he agreed with a curt nod. He glanced at Olivia shortly, and then smirked when he saw the surprise still present on her face.

He glanced up slightly, seeing her numbers still absent no matter how hard he willed them to show.  

Very odd, he thought before walking away and leaving the room; secretly wishing it stays that way and that her numbers don't ever show up.  

~~~

Olivia was seventeen and wished she didn't have to move to a new place.

It would've been okay but she was in the middle of high school for god’s sake and having to move just before her senior year really sucked especially when she had to leave so much behind. She should’ve been preparing for prom with her friends, not getting used to a new house, a new school, a new life.

She was having a crisis and she couldn’t do anything about.

Her father got a new job in this city and she couldn’t be more proud and happy for him for getting promoted. She could still recall how happy he was when he told her the news; how his face lit up like stars the way it used to…

But her happiness was only short lived for right after, he told her about their plans of moving away. Olivia couldn’t say anything considering A: she was only seventeen and she can’t exactly live on her own yet. And B: she’s the only family his father got left after her mother passed away a couple of years ago.

“I know you’re in the middle of high school, but this could be a good start for us.” His father explained and Olivia could hear the hidden message behind his statement:

This could help us move on.

And who was she to say no if this was going to help her father? Her father who had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and doing too much overtime at work; whom she had heard crying a few times at night when he thought she was already sleeping.

They needed this and Olivia would be supportive no matter what.

She just wished it had been easier.

She just wished school didn’t have Math and that she didn’t suck at it enough for her teacher to assign her a tutor.

I just wish my tutor wasn’t so cold, she had thought the moment Mrs. Chan called in the boy who always sat at the very back of the classroom. The one who seemed to be sleeping half the time and never participated in class discussions yet still managed to get the highest grade.

The boy her teacher called Jungkook. And currently, the boy who just walked away after agreeing to tutor her in Math.

“Well to be honest? I wasn’t expecting him to say yes.” Mrs. Chan chuckled before giving her a small smile. “He’s a sweet boy, Olivia. Don’t worry.”

Olivia bit her lip to keep from saying that she could only see bitterness clouding over the guy. She supposed she had been a little harsh when she taunted him. And she didn’t mean to be mean, but she needed the help and if she wanted to pass this class, she needed help from the smartest kid in class. And it seemed that Jungkook was the guy and he already had “no” written all over his face before Mrs. Chan could even fight for her case.

“He’s very… reserved.” Mrs. Chan explained. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed. So it would be best if you’re the one who approached him first regarding your tutoring schedules."

Olivia nodded and thanked her before sprinting out the door to catch up with Jungkook. Luckily, she was able to catch him by his locker down the hall. She watched him for a while, finally getting a good look at him.

First thing she noticed was that he was tall; with long legs and broad shoulders. A good physique but unfortunately wasted with the way he’s always hunched over and slouching.

The next was: Jungkook was actually good-looking; cute with big doe-eyes. Olivia thought he would’ve been school crush material if he had given a bit of his time in dressing well or maybe combing his hair once in a while… or making an effort to actually smile.  

“Uh. Hi.” Olivia started as she approached him. Jungkook glanced at her briefly then returned his gaze to his locker. Olivia bit her lip and decided not to take it the wrong way. “O—kay. So I’m—“

"We can work after class. Monday's through Wednesday's at the library, 5 P.M. sharp.” Jungkook said before shutting his locker close and giving her a curt glance. Olivia’s mouth was slightly open, surprised by his straightforwardness. Jungkook, on the other hand, merely stared her down with a levelled gaze before continuing. “If you're late, don't expect me to wait for you.”

Olivia closed her mouth and cleared her throat. She looked at him and saw that he was still staring, realizing too late that he was waiting for a reply.

“Oh! Um. Yeah, okay. I mean 5 P.M. sounds good. At the library…”

Jungkook nodded. "We can start next week.”

“Why not tomorrow? It’s Wednesday…”

Jungkook gave her a look before shrugging. "If you want.”

“I want to.” She nodded and Jungkook blinked once before nodding as well.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, then.” He turned to leave but Olivia reached out and tugged at his sleeve; stopping him.

She frowned when he saw the way he flinched. She figured he didn't like being touched so she let go immediately.  "Sorry, I—“

Jungkook looked down at his sleeve then at her, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“I just wanted… to say thank you,” she let out, feeling a little breathless for no apparent reason. “For doing this and for helping me out when you didn't really have to."

Jungkook just stared, his lips pressed in a thin line as she continued. "And I guess I also wanted to apologize a while ago," she said. "I didn't mean to be rude. I just, I really needed the help and—“

“It’s fine.” He interrupted, already turning away. “Bye, Olivia.”

“Wait!”

“What?” He snapped as he half turned in annoyance. Olivia felt a little guilty for keeping him.

“I'm sorry. You can just call me Liv. And uh...—“ she bit her lip. “Can I get your number? I mean, for tutoring purposes. You know... if one of us has an emergency and can’t make it—“

Jungkook looked like he was contemplating real hard before answering, "Like I said, 5 P.M. sharp. We can have a fifteen-minute grace period, if you like. After that, if any of us is not there yet, consider the session cancelled.”

Olivia tried not to linger on the fact that he just pretty much declined her request for his number but decided that maybe he just doesn’t trust strangers with his personal contact. “Oh okay. Cool. Thanks. I’ll…see you tomorrow, I guess?"

Jungkook nodded curtly before finally walking away; leaving Olivia standing there in the hall, wondering what's up with her mysterious classmate, Jungkook.

~~~

Olivia ran.

Rain poured hard from the skies and she could feel her skin, slick with sweat, mingling with rainwater. Her hair was damp and her shirt was already sticking to her body but she continued to run.

Step. Splat. Step. Splat.

Her shoes waded through the wet pavement and she might have been crazy to be running on wet floors but she had to find him.

Turning the corner, she almost slipped if it weren’t for hand instantly stretching out to hold firmly against the brick wall. She stopped to catch her breath, crouching down with her hands firm against her knees. The rain continued to pour and she could see headlights flashing against her closed eyelids.

She counted to five before opening her eyes. She gasped as her vision cleared, gaze settling on a familiar form on the other side of the street.

Her eyes widened and tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she saw him across the street, wearing a black shirt and red backpack slung over his broad shoulders.

He looked to his right before stepping off the side street and began to cross.

She called out to him.

He looked up.

Beep!!!

Flash!

“NO!!!”

~~~

Olivia woke up with a start, sweat beading down her forehead and against the side of her face. She placed a hand over her racing heart; feeling like she had just ran a marathon.

Running.

She was always running in her dreams.

Olivia couldn’t remember when the dreams started. She couldn’t recall it’s beginnings nor has she ever deciphered it’s meaning.

It was always the same one: with her running through the rain then tuning the street to lock eyes with a boy whose face she could never remember no matter how many times she has woken up to the same dream.

He had no face yet she knew it was the same boy. She felt it was him every single time.

Olivia ran a hand over her face and swung her legs to the edge of her bed to stand. She figured a glass of water would help calm her nerves.

As she walked down to the kitchen, the vividness of her dream begins to blur, like an ill memory willed to be forgotten…

But the memory of the boy’s eyes remained clear as glass even in her awakened state; the fear in his eyes she could recall so vividly, right before the bright lights flashed.

~~~

"And that's how you get 5.46. You just have to apply this formula then divide it by two."

Olivia scrunched her eyebrows, feeling her brain turning into mush. Jungkook was patient as he explained the steps one by one—not missing a single detail. They've been doing the tutoring session for several weeks now and Olivia had come to know Jungkook a little bit better despite his quiet demeanour.

(Emphasis on “a little bit”)

Olivia was naturally friendly and social and could practically get anyone to warm up to her in under an hour. But warming up to Jungkook, however, proved to be an even harder feat than taking intermediate Math.

Jungkook was too quiet—aloof, and would only speak to her if it’s a subject related to Math or school in general.

Olivia believe you could tell a little bit about a person in the way they dressed or the things they owned. Jungkook almost always wore black or one of those white shirts that seemed to be too big for his figure. The fact that he carries around the same gray backpack didn’t really give her much to analyze on either.

Jungook was literally a walking mystery. And Olivia was slightly getting tired of figuring him out.

“I think we can call it a day.” Jungkook suddenly said when Olivia finished the last of the exercise he had given her. “You did okay today.”

Olivia tried not to snort at that. “Okay” was probably the closest thing to a compliment Jungkook has ever given her. She looked up and saw him already standing from his seat and gathering his belongings.

Olivia bit her lip, unsure what on earth she was thinking when she blurted, “Hey Jungkook? Are you busy later?”

The library was already quiet as it is, but with Jungkook pausing and turning to stare at her like she has just spoken to him in a different language, the silence was almost deafening.

“Why?” He asked. “Do you need more time to review…?”

“No, I—“ Olivia shook her head, her hand gripping the pencil so tightly she feared she might break it. She wasn’t sure either what came over to ask such a thing.

Because you wanted to get to know him once and for all, a small part of her brain said.

Jungkook looked at her expectantly and Olivia thought since it was already out there, she might as well finish what she started.

“I’m just…really hungry.” She sighed and Jungkook’s eyes rose slightly. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab some McDonalds... My treat!” She added at the last minute, as if bribery was the only way to get him to say yes.

Olivia held her breath for an answer. She could almost feel the “no” resonating through Jungkook’s blank stare. He always seemed like he had somewhere else to be and was almost always in a rush to leave; their sessions always ending on the dot. So Olivia was sure he would say—

“Sure.”

Olivia sighed in defeat, and then perked up when she realized she had heard him wrong.

“Wait, what?”

“I said sure.” Jungkook simply said as he placed his Math textbook into his backpack. He slung one of the straps onto his right shoulder and looked at her expectantly. “You coming?”

It took Olivia about ten seconds to gather her things and follow Jungkook out of the library; feeling fulfilled at having her mystery tutor finally agree to do more than just teach her about fractions and integers.

“I’m ready, let’s go!” She said as she went towards him, practically bouncing like a puppy. Jungkook merely looked at her then, shook his head slightly before turning and walking ahead.  

Olivia stood there dumbfounded—floored, really.

Was it just me? Or Jungkook actually smiled?

~~~

The trip to McDonalds was short. It was, after all, just a few blocks down from the campus.  But the silence that surrounded them as they walked the streets made it seem like the roads stretched on forever.

I can’t do this, Olivia thought helplessly just as she sidestepped Jungkook and turned to face him. Jungkook stopped, surprised when he was suddenly face to face with her but before he could speak, Olivia began walking backwards.

“So,” She held the straps of her backpack as she continued to walk backwards. “You’ve been in this town for how long?”

Jungkook gave her a worrying look. “Can you not do that?”

“Why?”

“You could trip and fall—“

“Please, I’m a pro at this.” She smirked though Jungkook didn’t look like he believed it one bit. “Anyway, how long?”

When she kept walking, Jungkook sighed and thought it was hopeless. He knew how determined she could be from the way he watched her answer all those problem exercises. The girl would fight to explain her answer even if she was wrong.

Somehow, that made Jungkook smile. He admired that trait of hers: the strength to speak one’s mind.  

“All my life.” He muttered, glancing down slightly to make sure she wasn’t stepping on uneven path.

“Whoa, really? That’s cool. Do you have siblings?”

“A brother.” He answered again and Olivia was thrilled. This was the most she had gotten out of him. She wondered what he had eaten this morning to be this way. She wanted to know so she could buy more of it for him.

“I don’t have a brother or a sister.” She replied while Jungkook merely shrugged.

“Doesn’t really make a difference whether you have one or not.” He muttered and Olivia paused, sensed something dark in his tone.

“Of course it does! It’s…less lonely. I wished I had a sibling. What’s your brother like?”

Jungkook looked away then and sighed heavily. “He… he’s much older than me so we never close. He works in the US as an engineer…” Sadness clouded over Jungkook’s face but it was so brief Olivia wondered if she even saw that right. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

This time, Olivia stopped and looked at him. “So who do you live with?”

Jungkook shrugged, “I live alone.”

Olivia’s eyes turned wide as saucers. “Is that even legal? You’re what? Seventeen?!”

“I’m eighteen.” Jungkook corrected and just like that the discussion ended. Olivia often forgot she started schooling much earlier than most kids, causing her to be a bit younger than her classmates.

“Oh okay well then—whoa!” Just like Jungkook had predicted, Olivia actually tripped on uneven path. She prepared for impact but it never came, for Jungkook was already reaching out and pulling her towards him. She stumbled forward, right onto his chest and the impact knocked the breath out of her.

She looked up and their eyes met. And for the first time, Olivia felt her lungs stopped functioning.

Jungkook’s eyes weren’t black as his soul as what most of her classmates believed (the boy wore so much black they assumed he was part of some cult).

They were warm brown; like dirt against your bare feet as you run across a field…

Hand in hand, wearing a flimsy white dress, she looked up with a smile and just as she had expected, he was already looking down at her—his eyes reflecting pure love and adoration.

His eyes…

Wait, what?

Olivia blinked and backed away so fast it’s almost like she had just been electrocuted. She was terrified by her thoughts, unsure where they had come from.

“You okay?” Jungkook asked, looking slightly worried by her shaken form.

Olivia looked at him and saw the boy who has been tutoring her Math for weeks now; seeing nothing different and yet…

He felt like a whole different person.

“Fine.” She smiled tightly and shook her head when Jungkook gave her a doubtful look. “I’m fine, just… thought of something. Wow I must really be starving!” She joked as to lessen the awkwardness before turning away and walking ahead.

Olivia was unable to look him in the eyes after that.

~~~

A few more weeks passed and Jungkook felt something turn like a switch with regards to his relationship with Olivia.

Olivia made him forget. She made him forget that he was alone; that he had this weird ability of seeing the exact time of a person’s death.

He often found himself watching her; memorizing her smile and even the way she would scrunch her nose in distaste whenever she was faced with a difficult Math problem. Jungkook liked the way she laughed—even if she snorted sometimes. It was supposed to be funny but Jungkook only found it endearing.

Jungkook liked her determination and couldn’t help but feel proud whenever she passed a test; when she turned back to look at him in the classroom, waving her test paper with the B- written in red ink at the top right corner of the page.

It wasn’t just the fact that he couldn’t see her numbers at all; a mystery he’d rather not crack and hoped wouldn’t dare change. But Olivia had somehow made him feel like he could finally breathe—like he could finally see the light after hiding under hoodies and looking away from people’s faces.

With Olivia he could see. With Olivia, he could stare for as long as he wanted without feeling afraid—without feeling the weight of guilt whenever he was faced with the numbers hovering over people’s heads.

With Olivia, he could be normal.

And he might be naïve, his feelings unbounded by experience or valid reason. He may be like a moth drawn to a flame, unashamedly following the light he has been deprived of for so long…

But Jungkook has never felt so alive. And as crazy as it sounds, he couldn’t deny that he was already falling in love with her.

~~~

Trips to McDonald’s became some sort of a ritual even long after the tutoring sessions ceased. Olivia had found a friend in Jungkook and he in her; a pairing the whole school was frazzled by.

The two of them would often meet at the library still, be it to study together or to talk about books they’ve read or movies they’ve watched. Jungkook was a big fan of anime while Olivia was an avid reader of Manga. They seemed to get along with the things they liked and it was a big factor in making their relationship grow…

“Math was horrible.”

Jungkook chuckled as he looked up from his sketchpad, watching Olivia slam her book down on the table before taking her seat right across from him. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Hey didn’t you get a B in the previous test?”

“Yeah, because of you.” She pointed out and Jungkook blushed. “Just because I’m barely alright in Math now doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Jungkook smiled, showing his bunny teeth which made Olivia smile wider. She liked it when he smiled like that—too happy and cute for his own good.

At the thought she suddenly felt shy, knowing she would be lying if she said she wasn’t crushing on their resident mystery boy. Big time.

But she knew she had to hold herself back. It took a while to get Jungkook to talk to her. and surely hasn’t been easy breaking into his walls. She wasn’t sure how the boy would take it if she confessed that she liked him like that. She might just find herself rejected and shut out again, and the thought terrified her.

Though Olivia allowed herself to dream; often wondering what it would be like to simply hold his hand.

Little did he know that Jungkook thought the same way.

“What are you doing anyway? It’s Friday, no home work!” Olivia reached out to grab the sketchpad and Jungkook was mildly distracted by her smile that he actually let her.

Big mistake.

“No—wait!”

But it was already too late.

Olivia knew Jungkook could draw but what she saw on the paper, drawn in charcoal, was beyond what she would call great. She blushed a bright pink upon the realization of what it was he had drawn.

“Liv, I can explain—“ Jungkook stuttered.

Olivia couldn’t believe it; for staring right back at her was a sketch of her eyes, perfectly capturing every single detail it felt like she was looking through a mirror.

“It’s…really good.” She swallowed before returning it to him. Jungkook sighed and took it back, closing the sketchbook shut before she could see anything else he had drawn. Specifically the one’s inspired by her.

“I…” Jungkook’s ears were turning red and Olivia could see him retreating and building up those walls she had worked so hard to bring down.

So before he could hide, she said, “Hey, it’s really good. You really captured my eyes.”

Jungkook relaxed slightly at her words but shook his head. “No… I could never get your eyes right.”

“Oh??” Olivia tilted her head to the side, eyes questioning.

“They’re too deep…too…” Beautiful, Jungkook wanted to say but shut his mouth instead, not wanting to make things more awkward or sound like a complete creep.

“Well they look pretty good to me.” Olivia shrugged before standing up.

“That’s cause you are pretty.” Jungkook muttered shyly; eyes locked on his sketchpad on the table.

Olivia felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Literally. “W—what?”

It took a few seconds before Jungkook replied, looking up at her with a gaze so determined that she couldn’t seem to look away.

“I said you’re pretty.” He said. “And you’re smart and funny… and I just—!“ he huffed and Olivia was stunned by his outburst. “I’m sorry! I just had to tell you that I think you’re pretty great.”

Olivia stared at him, seeing the determined glint in his eyes which was a sharp contrast to his blushing face.

“Oh god you think I’m a creep.” Jungkook said with a grimace. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. It’s stupid. Just—mmm!” Jungkook stopped when something warm engulfed his lips and it took a split second for him to realize that Olivia had leant over the desk and kissed him.

It was just a peck but enough to make Jungkook’s insides tingle. The kiss was everything he expected it to be: warm and soft. And she smelled so good Jungkook felt himself dizzy.

Too bad it was only short and when Olivia leant back, Jungkook found himself leaning close, chasing after her lips once more.

“I think you’re pretty great too.” She whispered and Jungkook felt like he was walking on clouds.

“Yeah?” He asked teasingly as his lips ghosted over her lips once more.

“We’re in the library…” Olivia warned, but didn’t move to hold herself back.

“Do I look like I give a fu—“ Olivia kissed him before he could finish his sentence and Jungkook was quick to respond by snaking his hand to her neck, deepening the kiss.

It was, hands down, the best night of his life.

~~~

Jungkook walked Olivia to the bus stop that night, their hands intertwined with silly grins plastered on their faces.

“Are you going home?” She asked and Jungkook glanced at her with a slight smirk.

“Is that an invitation?” He teased, earning a jab to his rib. He chuckled as he squeezed her hand once; still unbelieving he was actually holding it. “Yeah. Home sound like a good idea.”

“See you tomorrow?” She grinned at him as they reached the bus stop. Instead of answering her, Jungkook pulled her in for another lingering kiss. Olivia smiled into it, wondering that for someone who didn’t like making friends and spends most of his time alone, Jungkook was a hell of a kisser.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” She mumbled, dazed from the kiss. The bus arrived just in time and she was slightly disappointed at that. Jungkook saw through it and chuckled then leant close to kiss her on the nose.

“Bye.” He said as he nudged her towards the bus.

‘Bye.” Olivia said as she waved goodbye before finally boarding the bus.

It was almost cruel the way the world works when she climbed up the steps and looked back at him, smiling and giving him one last wave.

Their gazes locked for a brief moment.

Jungkook moved to wave back when something caught his eyes. The smile faltered from his lips and his hand that was supposed to wave back lay limp on his side, unable to move.

The bus doors closed before Olivia could notice the change in Jungkook’s expression. The vehicle began to move, leaving Jungkook in the dark street as dread spread across his chest, like an ice brinicle had touched him. Smoke puffed out of his mouth as he gasped; knees buckling and breathing turning shallow.

He looked at the street, eyes shaking with unshed tears as he watched the bus disappearing from view; getting smaller…and smaller until it was nowhere in sight.

But Jungkook couldn’t forget…

He saw it.

He saw Olivia’s numbers.

To be continued.

Lol another plot twist I know. haha What do you guys think will happen? Let me know! Hope you enjoyed the update!

- Kaye Allen

#Save You #Jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bangtan scenarios #networkbangtan #BTS #Jeon Jungkook #stories #BTS Jungkook